Finding Betsy (Betsy Jones Book 2)

Finding Betsy - Chapter 7

It was eerie to be at the cottage alone. After spending the previous four nights at the Davenport Estate, Betsy had had to force herself back to the smaller, and somehow emptier space. It was strange how quiet it was. It was so easy to become accustomed to the sounds of the children in the morning. And in the afternoon. And as they attempted to dodge a hair wash. 

More often than not, there was the sound of laughter which was the forewarning of Davenport mischief. Tommy and Delilah still had the knack for getting into more trouble than you would expect but it was never anything malicious. Unless you were their grandmother, who had taken the whoopee cushion far too personally.

Betsy snorted as, mug in in hand, she drifted from the kitchen into the lounge. There was a chill in the air, the autumn weather quickly evolving into the chill winter mornings. A wave of nostalgia floated through her. These mornings always reminded her of being at home with her parents. Of those chill morning walks down the road to the school, her hands stuffed into the hand made knitted mittens. Her big sister Claire walking two paces in front with her best friends.

"You're going mad," Betsy muttered, lifting a free hand to push back her hair only to get snagged into the knotted curls.

Knock.

In the stillness of the cottage, the sound was loud enough for Betsy to jolt. Hot tea jumped over the rim of the cup and over the exposed skin of her hand. Hissing as the sudden sting, she transferred the cup to her free hand so that she could wipe away the moisture. Then, cautiously, she edged her way towards the window.

The curtain moved aside with ease, and as she peered through the sparkling clean glass, she was pleased to see only the retreating back of the paper boy. He quickly climbed on his bike, his luminous yellow satchel slung low across his back His eyes lifted as he passed, offering her a small wave before he was obscured by the neighbor's hedges.

Opening the door, Betsy quickly opened the post box attached beside her front door, removing the newspaper and junk mail swiftly. The door slammed shut a moment later. Chucking the envelopes onto the table, Betsy then folded down onto the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her for extra warmth. She drew in a breath and unfolded the paper.

It took longer than it should have to spot the smaller by-line. For a moment she breathed a sigh of relief that for once she had escaped public scrutiny. For a moment, the world had bigger concerns than what she wore and who she spoke to. But the stomach churning dread followed swiftly after.

'Nicholas Davenport and Elizabeth Jones engaged? The loved up couple sparked engagement rumours during their recent family outing. A source close to the couple hinted at a summer wedding. See Page 4 for more details.'

Betsy snorted and shook her head. Her eyes drifted to her empty ring finger. Nick had definitely not popped any question. Unless it was to ask her on dates. And he had asked her out a lot and she had always said yes. They were taking things slow. It had taken time for her injuries to mend but her mind was another matter. At times she felt like she had found herself again. And, on other days, she felt like she was still searching for who she was following the incident.

Even if there was no truth the words, the constant rumours and speculation about their lives were just draining. Betsy's fingers trembled around the newspaper before curling into fists, the pages scrunching under her tightening grip. It wasn't enough. She carried on crumpling and twisting until the newspaper was reduced to a ball. Tossing it aside, Betsy stared down at her empty hands. Black ink from the print stained her finger tips.

The story wasn't old. This was the third engagement rumour since she had started dating Nick. And yet, despite how often they were proved false, it didn't stop the press from obsessing over their lives and spreading lies.