This week I skimmed through my Georgian era romance novella and jumped a few chapters ahead for my snippet. It's the snippet where the MC, Oliver, realizes he shouldn't have left and returns to the little Northern England farm.
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Snowflakes caught on the bay’s short mane creating a delicate, lacelike net on the dark hair as Oliver halted next to the Hawthorne tree and dismounted.
He glanced at the sky, measuring the position of the sun’s glow in the otherwise gray sky. Mid-afternoon. He still had a few hours before the sun set.
He’d stay for a few moments, maybe have a cup of tea, and ensure himself all was well at the little farm before finding a room at the inn.
He’d worry about explaining his appearance at her door when the she asked; right now he needed to make sure she was safe. He hoped seeing her would ease the gnawing ache which had been growing gradually stronger with each step his mount took away from the Wickham farm.