He watched as she marched to the carriage, the familiar splash of the red cape spun away, each gust of wind driving like a cold knife into his heart, a defiant insignia against his will. The footman assisted her into the carriage and the door shut. He waited, waited for her to glance back, if only for a mere second, to see his heart tearing into pieces. The door shut with a jolt; the carriage lurched forward and sprang to the road, leaving him behind in a whirlwind of bitter salt rising from the ocean beyond the cliffs. He moved to the steps, ignoring the peel of thunder cracking over the leaping waves. Cormoore had descended into a mist of darkness; gloom replaced the summer. What he had shortly come to love had returned to the bitter pains of childhood misery. He was alone, unwanted, facing the storm brewing.