"They are beautiful, sir," she said almost weakly. And she sighed softly, "Mayhap it ain't a good time ta be out here then. I did not wish ta make ye feel sad in a roundabout way." Then she turned her face so it was in profile and he might catch a glimpse of the faint dotting of freckles upon her fair cheeks. She wouldn't have noticed if he did look, for now she was the one who gazed off... But then she shook her head and her eyes went downcast. "Mayhap I should..." she paused, swallowing painfully. But if she left, wouldn't he starve? Oh, damn. This was a mistake.

He would never requite, she thought, and he would always be in pain if he couldn't climb back down to earth to the people who were frightened for him. She looked at him and England did as England does. The sound of thunder came from overhead. She looked at him one more time and then she turned and just... walked at first. She was sure he wouldn't follow.

She hoped for once that he didn't...

The first, cold, fat raindrop hit her neck and slithered down her spine. She began to half heartedly jog, then stumbled a few faster steps forward. She was soon lifting her skirts and running away from the estate, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with tears. A sob wrenched from her as soon as she knew he would have been far behind her. Assuming there was a pathway leading away from the garden into the countryside, she would dart away from him and his house and her feelings for him. She stumbled and fell, hitting the ground. The air whooshed out of her but she was alright. She buried her face in her arms as the rain started to slowly drizzle in a rhythm of offbeats.

She could see that she had done what she ought to have never done... And she would have to talk to Edward's brother. He would certainly understand, right? And she lay there, not moving, not crying, just resting her head against her arms and ignoring the dampness soaking into her clothes. She did not care right then, she felt like she wanted to melt into the ground.