17
He didn’t come for me.
Livvy sat in the drawing room, a book clutched in her hands, the words unread. The embers were dying in the fire, and outside the snow was falling thick in the early morning. It’d been a full week since she’d been rescued from Viscount Stamford, and it felt as though she’d been trapped here. All she could do was replay that moment when Martin came to her rescue. But then he’d let her go home with her father, and she knew then that she would never see him again. She’d carried hope within her that he might come and whisk her away to be married. But he hadn’t. He’d cared for her, but it wasn’t enough for him to come back.
She put the book aside. It had been like that for days, a listless wandering of her thoughts, a lack of desire to even rise from her bed most mo
