Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

December 1813

Guinevere Barrett had kept her good humor through getting the sack from her employer, being cheated of her wages, having to walk into town carrying her valise, getting slapped on the bottom by a drunk, and even being squeezed into the dampest corner of the stagecoach with Reginald squalling loudly in his basket on her lap for the entire journey. What broke her was the discovery that, due to the snow flurrying down around them, her stagecoach had been delayed and she had missed the last coach toward Blackthorpe that day.

She burst into tears.

The innkeeper’s wife, seeing this, hustled over with a handkerchief. “There, dear,” she consoled, tugging Gwen away from the door as it opened to admit another traveler. “What did you say to her, Ned?”

“Only the truth,” her husband protested. “The coach that runs through Blackthorpe left an hour ago, and the next one’s not due until tomorrow afternoon.” He turned away, already done with her. “Aye, sir? Wanting a new team, yes?”

“Oh, my,” said the woman with a sympathetic glance. “Rotten luck, that.”

Gwen nodded, blotting her eyes dry. “Like the rest of my luck this year.” She folded the handkerchief and held it out, done with pointless tears. “Thank you, ma’am. Is there a place I could stay, until the next coach?”

She asked hesitantly, conscious of how light her purse was. She hadn’t anticipated this journey, and so hadn’t saved as she might have done. She also hadn’t counted on her employer sacking her on the spot for requesting a fortnight’s absence, but in all truth she wasn’t terribly shocked when Sir Edmund followed that up by saying that he didn’t care to pay her wages due, either, not when she was deserting her post on short notice.

But her gran was ill—very ill—and Gran was the dearest person in the world to Gwen. She could accept finding another post, even without the reference Sir Edmund and Lady Bradford might have provided, but if something happened to Gran, and Gwen wasn’t even there to hold her hand… that, she could not bear.

The innkeeper pursed her lips. Her gaze flashed over Gwen’s clothing and face, no doubt leaping to very accurate conclusions. “There’s a pallet in the kitchen,” she said reluctantly. “It’s the scullery girl’s bed, but tomorrow’s her day free, and she’ll go home tonight. It’s none too private but I could let you have it for two shillings.”

Two shillings, plus meals. Gwen tried to hide her dismay and nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” The basket in her arms lurched, and she clutched it closer.

The landlady frowned. “Is that an animal in there?”

“My cat,” said Gwen. “I’ll take him outside,” she added quickly at the woman’s expression.

“Best do,” said the woman. “I can’t have a cat running around. Will you be wanting something to eat? Cup of tea?”

Not if she had to pay two shillings to sleep tonight, plus supper later and breakfast in the morning. “Thank you, no,” she said politely. “I’ll just take a turn outside for some fresh air.”

The landlady nodded as she bustled off. Gwen walked back outside and crossed the courtyard to the stables and released Reginald from his basket. The orange tabby cat leapt out and stretched so hard, his legs trembled. He gave her a disgruntled look before coming to wind around her ankles.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “You’ll have to fend for yourself now. There’s a stable right there, no doubt full of plump, tasty mice.”

He sat and looked at her expectantly. He was accustomed to her sneaking out after meals with some morsels saved from her own plate. She sighed as she crouched down to scratch his neck. “I can’t afford dinner,” she whispered. “Until we reach Gran’s, you must pretend you are a fearsome tiger, stalking your prey.”

Reginald stretched up, rubbing against her hand. Gwen smiled in spite of her situation. “Just don’t run off and forget me.”

It was too cold to linger outside, so she turned back toward the inn. A pair of traveling chaises had recently pulled in and the horses were being unhitched, the postilions blowing on their hands and heading for the taproom. She eyed those private carriages with envy. That was how the Bradfords traveled. They’d usually left their five children at home in Gwen’s care, but she’d seen their chariot when they went off to Bath or London. It was vastly more comfortable than the public stagecoach, that was certain.

As she slipped back into the warmth of the bustling taproom, it occurred to her that the Bradfords would suffer for dismissing her. They had planned to go to Bath after Epiphany in a few weeks, and now they had no governess to mind their children. Gwen had promised to return from Gran’s before then, but Sir Edmund had lost his temper and told her not to come back at all, if she left. Since she’d gone straight to her room and packed, she hadn’t been privy to Lady Bradford’s reaction to the news, but she could imagine it. Gwen wasn’t precisely gloating, but it did give her some satisfaction to think that dismissing her would rebound unpleasantly upon Sir Edmund.

Everyone was crowded near the fireplace on such a cold day. Gwen found a seat in the corner behind the door, where the icy wind caused the diamond-shaped panes of the window above her head to vibrate with a soft hum. She tucked her cloak around her, settled her valise and Reggie’s basket by her feet, and rested her head against the wall beside her, suddenly very tired. It had been a long day already, even though it was barely past noon. The room smelled of chicken soup and yeasty bread and ale, making her stomach rumble wistfully. Perhaps if she slept upright in this chair, she could spend some of her dwindling funds on dinner…

The landlady whisked over, setting down a tray with a steaming cup of tea in front of her. Gwen raised her head in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t?—”

“The gentleman over there bade me bring it,” said the woman as she collected empty cups and mugs from the neighboring table. She was gone with her tray before Gwen could ask any questions.

She leaned forward and peered in the direction the woman had indicated. There was a crowd over that way, just to the left of the roaring fire, but it must be the man eating alone. At least, he was the only person who seemed to sense her stare, and look up. She raised the cup and mouthed thank you . He gave a fleeting smile and nodded politely before turning back to his meal.

Gwen drank the tea. It was strong and hot, and she inhaled the steam rising from it, relishing the heat on her cheeks. Lady Bradford would scold her for accepting it from a strange man— Gwen stopped herself with a smile. It no longer mattered what Lady Bradford thought. There was the ray of sunshine she’d been seeking.

It only grew brighter when the landlady returned with a bowl of soup. “Also from the gent,” she said as she set it down on the table.

Gwen turned, open-mouthed, toward the gentleman. This time he wasn’t looking at her; he seemed to be reading a letter, his dark head bent over the papers in his hand.

I think I’m in love , she thought, unable to stop herself from scooping a bite into her mouth with clumsy haste. It was hot and delicious, even if it needed salt and contained more onions than chicken. She all but licked the bowl when it was gone.

When the man by the fireplace rose from his table, she was ready. As he made his way through the room, she saw he wore a scarlet army coat under the brown scarf slung around his neck. He paid his bill and headed for the door, which was where Gwen intercepted him.

“Please, sir, I must thank you,” she said, putting out a hand to stay him as he took a long cloak from a hook on the wall and swung it over his shoulders. “The landlady says you sent me the tea and soup, and I cannot tell you how much that kindness means to me.”

He gave a little half-smile. He was a handsome man, though tired and dirty. Up close she could see the dust in every fold of his coat, and the growth of a day’s beard on his jaw. Long dark hair fell across his forehead above warm brown eyes. “It was my pleasure, miss,” he said. “You seemed upset when I arrived.”

Gwen flushed. He must be the man who’d come in as she was sobbing into the landlady’s handkerchief. “A disappointment,” she acknowledged. “I’m over it now.”

His gaze turned piercing. “You’re going to Blackthorpe.”

Now she blinked and curled her hands in the folds of her pelisse. “Yes. But I arrived too late to catch the coach.”

He nodded. “That coach often leaves early. I’ve missed it a few times myself.”

“Oh?” She looked at him, then quickly away. “If only I’d known that,” she said, striving for lightness. “Not that it would have helped, but I wouldn’t have gone to pieces if I’d had warning it might happen.”

“To pieces!” He smiled quizzically. “Missing a coach and being marooned here overnight warrants some outrage and dismay. I hope your journey isn’t desperately urgent.”

She bit her lip. “I’m going to see my grandmother. A day’s delay is inconvenient, but…” She mustered another smile. “But you very graciously ameliorated that inconvenience. Thank you again, sir. I wish you safe travels.”

He bowed. “I wish you the same, ma’am.” He waited until she stepped back, then put on his hat, touched the brim briefly at her, and strode out the door.

Gwen retreated to her seat in the corner. It was more comfortable now that she wasn’t hungry, and she felt a warm glow inside from both the meal and the man’s kindness. He must have arrived in one of the traveling chariots she’d seen outside, since he hadn’t been on the coach with her. It was so unexpected that such a man would notice a poor governess sitting alone in the corner, let alone pay for her dinner. But Gran always believed in such people; ordinary heroes, she called them, doing a small kindness that was little to them but enormous to the recipient.

She sighed, clasping her arms around Reginald’s empty basket. Now she wasn’t hungry, but it would be a long day and night, waiting for the coach. She’d packed in such haste, she’d not had time to retrieve all her books from the Bradford schoolroom; she had her two favorite novels in her valise, but didn’t feel like rereading either right now. She doubted there were any others to read here. Perhaps someone would discard a newspaper.

The door opened again, sending a swirl of cold air around her ankles. Gwen flinched, then started upright.

It was the kind gentleman—an officer, she realized, spotting the gold braid under his cloak as he stopped in front of her.

“I am also going in the direction of Blackthorpe,” he said abruptly. “I have room in my chariot. Would you like to come with me?”