It was morning. The harsh light of a new day streamed through the single, grimy window of the small inn room, illuminating the chaos within. A man's formal coat was thrown carelessly on top a small table, a shirt was tossed over a chair, a woman's silk gown was a puddle of lavender on the floor, and the bedsheets were a tangled, rumpled mess.
Knock…
Knock..
Knock.
A series of sharp knocks came on the door. "It is past the hour of nine, my lord. It is time for you to leave, please," a voice called from the outside.
The sound from the knock finally woke him up. George's eyes opened slowly, blinking against the bright, unforgiving light. For a moment, he was disoriented. Then, he looked to his side. The space beside him on the lumpy mattress was empty. " Where's she?" He asked himself, his voice a low whisper.
"Anne?" he said in a soft, hopeful whisper.
