Richard arrived back home that night after two days in London to find Diana waiting on the front steps.
She was wrapped in a shawl, cheeks touched by the evening chill, looking healthier. She looked beautiful standing there, beneath the light of the moon. She stood the moment he dismounted, basically bouncing on her feet.
Richard knew at once that her excitement was not for him. That stung more than it should have. And he accepted that he was jealous. Jealous that this excitement wasnt meant for him.
She was not waiting because she had missed his face, his voice, his charm, or any of the other gifts God had so generously given him and then apparently forgotten to teach her to appreciate. No. She was waiting for news of her mysterious Henry. The merchant. The lover.
The more time Richard spent with her, the more he realised he did not want this mysterious merchant to have her.
So he would hide her for as long as he could.
