Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 3

Three

C harlene was exhausted. Most definitely more tired than she'd ever been in her life, as she sat inside the coach and let it jostle her along the rutted road. They had stopped the night before at an inn, but despite being tucked behind a locked door and John insisting on sleeping in front of her door in the hallway, she had jumped at every scrape of a foot, every opening and closing of a door, every burst of raucous laughter from down in the taproom. It was unnerving.

And to think, she had thought to make this trip alone! That had been her impulsive side getting her into trouble once more.

Getting into true trouble happened less frequently as she had grown older, but there was no question it still plagued her now and again. Just last week, she had crept off to attend a controversial salon she knew her parents would not approve of. The group was reading and discussing the merits of Marie Elizabeth Zakrzewska’s, A Practical Illustration of ‘Women’s Right to Labor’ . Some ideas the women had were shocking. Some were intriguing. Charlene thought that many aligned with her own perspective; the very perspective that had informed her decision to run rather than marry Lord Fenwick.

The coach hit another pothole in the road, and she was nearly bounced off the bench. Charlene peeked outside the coach window, because John had insisted she keep the shades closed so no one would see she was a woman alone. She bit her lip in dismay at the snow that was falling.

Opening the hatch under the driver's bench, she called out to John. “Perhaps we should find another inn and stop. I don't want you freezing to death out there, not to mention the horses.”

“Me and the horses are fine. Besides, there are no more inns until we get to Brookhaven Village. I'm afraid we have to push through, but we should be there by nightfall.”

She sighed softly, once again regretting her impulsivity. “Very well, thank you, John. I am very sorry I dragged you out in this weather.”

“Tosh, girly. I wasn't going to let you run off alone. And you clearly couldn't stay, since that bastard laid hands on you,” John muttered.

A warmth suffused her chest, quickly followed by a pang of sorrow. In many ways, John was more of a father to her than her own. That was the response she had yearned to hear come from her father, rather than the insistence that she marry Fenwick. But it was not to be, and she hadn't really expected him to respond any differently. “Thank you, all the same.”

Charlene closed the hatch and sat back, preferring not to distract him from what seemed to be a challenging stretch of road to navigate. As the day wore on, the snow started falling harder and faster. The closer they got to home, the slower the going became. The temperature continued to lower with each passing hour, and she pulled the blanket tightly around herself. As the light faded outside, she grew more and more worried.

The wind was howling and from what she could see out her window, it was almost impossible to see very far ahead. Perhaps a few feet? She shivered inside the coach under a heavy fur lap robe which she had pulled out from under the seat when she could no longer bear the cold. She could only imagine how John was faring. She was about to suggest they look for a house to seek sanctuary in when the coach suddenly lurched to the right and she was tossed up against the side of the vehicle. The sound of wood snapping cracked loudly in the late afternoon quiet as the horses whinnied wildly, mingled with John’s violent curses. The man never cursed.

Everything settled into an eerie, unmoving silence.

Charlene sat up and tried to open the door she'd been thrown against. The door opened an inch, but wouldn't budge further. Her arm was sore, but she didn't think it was so weak that she could not move it. Looking around her more carefully in the semi-darkness, it became clear why: the coach was tipped on an angle. A wheel or axle must have broken when they slid off the road.

She would have to climb out to escape.

Charlene stood in the space and stretched up to reach the other door. Taking a deep breath, she refused to panic. She twisted the handle and tried to push the door open, but it was too heavy and she wasn't quite tall enough to make it easy to push it open. Hell and damnation.

She'd never felt particularly short until this moment. Frustration pushed her fear aside. Fear for John and fear for herself. But fear wasn’t going to get her out of the bloody coach. Harnessing her frustration, she looked up at the door above once more and allowed determination to settle in. Ignoring her fear and frustration, she grabbed the fur lap robe, tossed it over her shoulder, then hiked up her skirts and placed one foot on the bench to her left and the other against the other bench on her right. She paused, balancing there as she caught her breath and thanked the fates she was wearing her old men’s boots her mother hated. Her legs shook, and she knew she had little time before her legs gave out under her weight. That or the fur robe draped over her shoulder suffocated her.

She had to do this. She had to get out.

Charlene reached up and tried to push the door open again. It moved a little more this time, but still not enough. Bloody hell!

Leaning her weight on her left foot, she shifted over to the right and did the same with the left. She did this a few more times until she was bent nearly in half, but she was close enough to the door to open it—she hoped. Then she tried to push it open once more.

Success! The door flopped open, slamming against the side of the coach. Charlene grabbed the fur robe that was smothering her and tossed it outside. Now she just had to pull herself out of the door. Ugh! Perhaps she should have skipped a few scones here and there. It might have saved her a little effort in this particular situation. She snorted at her own ridiculous thoughts in a moment like this, then focused on what needed to be done.

The cold air clarified her mind. John hadn't come to rescue her from the coach, so he must need her help. She shoved her arms through the doorway and got her elbows positioned on the outside of the coach as her head rose out. The snow was falling in a heavy blanket and she instantly started shivering as flakes fell onto her head and shoulders now that they were free of the coach’s protection.

When Charlene could finally get her bottom out, she sat on the side of the coach for a moment and looked around her. She would have to jump down from where she was, there was no other choice. Grateful for her men's boots that she used for gardening, Charlene edged as close as she could to the edge of the coach and pushed off the side to avoid anything that might clutch at her skirts.

Her feet hit the ground and her legs gave out, causing her to tumble and roll to the ground. Lying there for a moment in a pile of cold, wet snow, Charlene tried to catch her breath. Only when she ceased moving did she hear the low moan from the other side of the carriage, along with the stomping and pawing of restless hooves. John.

Charlene struggled up and circled around the coach that was nearly on its side in a ditch, one wheel completely snapped off. John lay off to the side and she crouched down next to him. “John? John? Can you hear me?”

His eyes fluttered open as she touched his face. “I hear you just fine, girly. Nothing wrong with my hearing.”

She smiled. At least his grumpiness had not been affected. “Are you injured anywhere?”

“My leg is hurt and I'm feeling a might dizzy.” He reached up and rubbed his head.

“Right, let me take a look at your leg.” Not that she would have the first clue what to do about it, but it seemed like the thing to do.

Charlene moved to his legs and ran her hands down each of his limbs. It felt rather intimate, but it would be useful to know if he had broken one of them. She pushed past any discomfort and got it done. It was cold here, and every moment brought them closer to danger.

John groaned when Charlene brushed a thumb over his knee on his right leg and then again at his ankle.

“I don't think anything is broken, at least not that I can feel. Perhaps you've twisted your knee and ankle? Either way, I don't suspect you are going to be walking very far, or riding with that dizziness.” She sighed, swamped by worry for John, she couldn’t let him freeze to death on the side of the road. There was no other choice, she would have to leave him here and go for help. Realistically, no one in their right mind would be out in this weather, so there was no hope for a random passerby. Not on this lonely road.

John sighed. “You'll have to go for help with this weather, being what it is.”

“That was my thought as well. Let me unhitch the horses and see if I can get you settled in a better spot out of the direct blow of the snow.”

There was not a moment to lose. Charlene quickly unhitched the horses and tethered them to one unbroken wheel before stepping around to the back of the coach to find her portmanteau. She pulled out her other woolen gown she'd brought along, and grabbed the fur lap robe draped over the side of the coach where she'd tossed it before returning to where John lay.

Biting her lip, Charlene looked at the coach and the angle of the snow. The best spot for him was at the front, near the driver's bench. It hung open, and she could see his mackintosh half spilled free of the under-chair storage. Brilliant!

She grabbed the waterproof jacket and laid it over the snow. Then she draped her wool dress over it for warmth and then the lap robe to keep everything dry for the moment since the snow hadn't given up. She went back to where John lay.

“Can you sit up?”

He grunted and slowly rolled to a sitting position with her help.

“Any chance you can stand?” Charlene asked hopefully. The man weighed a ton!

“No, girly, I'm too dizzy as it is,” he mumbled, his words starting to blur into each other.

“Right.” Damn. “I'll need you to help me as best you can—I'm going to drag you over to where I have a spot laid out for you. If you can just use your hands to help push you along, I think I can do the rest.”

It wasn’t as though she had much of a choice. The night was only going to get colder, after all.

Charlene grabbed the back of his heavy woolen coat and fisted her hands in it. She counted off under her breath and heaved. Together they slid him two inches.

She wanted to cry. He was so heavy, in such pain, and they had at least five feet to go.

Taking in a deep breath, Charlene counted off again, and they tried once more. They got a little farther this time, relief pouring through her chest. She could do this. She would do this. For John! The man was like a father to her, she wouldn’t let him down. They kept doing it over and over again until they finally reached the spot she'd set up for him.

By the time she had him settled and covered with the fur lap robe besides the blankets he'd been using while driving, Charlene was spent. She sat down next to him for a few minutes to catch her breath and muster up some energy. There was still much to do.

If she had thought she was tired earlier, she was done in entirely now, and she still had to go for help—and soon, or the horses would be in awful shape.

Right thing’s first. “John, do you have any idea where we are?”

“What's that, girly?” he asked drowsily.

“Do you know where we are?” She let hope rise as he seemed to rouse, his eyes blinking.

“I…I think we're close to Glenn Ivy Manor.” He pointed off to her left and up what she assumed was the road. “We were nearly home. I'm sorry I failed you, girly.”

“Fail me? You saved me, John.” Charlene tucked an arm over his stomach and hugged him gently. “Now it's my turn to return the favor. Stay here, and keep warm—that’s it, keep the blanket right over you. I'll be back with help soon.”

Charlene rose to where the horses stood stomping their feet. She tethered one animal to the other and headed in the direction he'd pointed, walking until her feet throbbed with a cold, numbing sensation punctuated by sharp spikes of pain.

Surely it couldn’t be much further…

Finally she spotted a tree stump and led the horses over. Without a saddle, she'd had no way to mount the horse. With a sigh of relief, she stood on the stump, throwing a leg over one of the horses’ backs. She could do this .

A short while later, she was trotting up the long, winding drive to the home of her childhood nemesis. She had read the obituary of his father, and her mother had sent the expected flowers and letter of condolence, but Charlene had not seen the boy in years.

Drew.

Andrew Wentworth was now the owner of Glenn Ivy Manor. With any luck, he wouldn't be home. At least, that was what Charlene told herself as she slid from the horse's back and stumbled up to the front door. As she stood there waiting for someone to answer her frantic knocking, her knees shook and pins and needles danced up her legs, causing a fiery pain.

Maybe she should just sit down and wait? Maybe her legs wouldn’t give her a choice, and she would just collapse here…