Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Adrian had a bad feeling.

Thankfully it wasn’t the same foreboding he’d had in Spain, as he made his way to the coast and the English navy, wary of guerrillas or stray French soldiers around every turn. But the speed of the carriage, never very lively to begin with, had dropped precipitously.

He’d spoken to the postilion about his desire for haste. He’d paid a premium for fresh horses at every change. And now they were proceeding at roughly the pace of a nervous bride mincing down the aisle at her wedding.

He pushed open the window, admitting a blast of swirling snow. Beside him Miss Barrett recoiled and huddled into her cloak. He leaned out and saw with unease how the snow had thickened. The horses’ rumps were white with it, and the postilion wasn’t much better.

In fact, as he watched, one of the horses took a stumble, his left side dipping, and the postilion reined them to a halt. He twisted in his saddle and looked back. “It’s rough going,” he called back. “We’ll not make Blackthorpe at this rate.”

Damn. “What can we make?”

The postilion raised a hand and looked from side to side. The light had gone gray and flat, and it was impossible to determine distances in the falling snow. It had been four years since Adrian had come this way, and he realized he had little idea where they were.

“Haughley,” said the postilion at last. “The Black Hart.”

“Very well.” He knew that name, though it had been years since he ventured there. He sat back and closed the window. “We have to stop.”

She inhaled anxiously. “Is the snow too deep?”

The carriage lurched back into motion, slow and halting. “I think the road is icy, or perhaps too rutted,” Adrian said, trying to fight off the stab of wild frustration. Only ten miles to go, when he had covered many times that much in the last week. How dare a snowstorm thwart him now?

Miss Barrett bit her lip. “Of course we mustn’t risk it. The horses do not deserve it.”

He was inordinately pleased she thought of the horses rather than her own desire to reach Blackthorpe. “He says we’ll stop at the Black Hart,” he told her. “If we must be delayed, at least we shall be warm and well-fed.”

She nodded, but looked worried.

Adrian remembered the depleted state of her purse. He started to reassure her, then decided he’d simply pay the bill when the time came. If not for him, she wouldn’t be here. “It appears our acquaintance is not to be as brief as originally expected. I’m sorry for the delay.”

“Oh no!” Again she touched his sleeve, lightly and briefly. Adrian noticed how she did it without thinking. Miss Barrett was an affectionate woman, it seemed. He wondered if it came of being a governess. She’d spoken fondly of the children in her care. “You’ve nothing to apologize for! If anything, I should apologize for accepting your kind invitation. It would have been far more comfortable for you to travel without me.”

“But not as enjoyable,” he said at once. “I’ve missing having the leisure to converse with someone.”

“And I’ve told you all about how I stole a cat.”

“A remarkable tale of courage and daring,” he said. “I was on the edge of my seat.”

She laughed. Adrian realized he really liked the sound. It had been a long time since he’d laughed, let alone with a pretty woman

Actually, now that he’d had good look at her from close quarters, he was thinking she was remarkably lovely, especially when her eyes were shining at him…

Then he ruined the moment by sneezing. And again.

He recovered to see her holding out a handkerchief. He shook his head, patting his own pockets, but in the end had to accept hers. “Thank you,” he said thickly as he mopped his streaming eyes after a third sneeze.

“It’s not Reggie, is it?” she asked hesitantly.

Adrian shook his head even as he sneezed again. “No, no. An old cricket injury, nothing more. It acts up from time to time in the strangest ways.”

From the way she pressed her lips together, she didn’t believe a word of that rubbish—but Adrian was very taken by the shape of her lips. She didn’t argue, but she did shift the cat’s basket to the floor and spread the blanket over it. “Are you familiar with the Black Hart?”

“Er… Not really. I’ve been away a long time.” He dimly remembered the time he’d been there, with some mates from university who had accompanied him home to Highvale one holiday. A blond barmaid and a shockingly large bill were the only things he recalled with any clarity. His friend Jeremy Hanson had declared they would flirt and drink their way up the coast, and they had.

Jeremy Hanson, who had bought his commission the same year Adrian had bought his, and who had died in the disastrous retreat to Corunna in Spain.

Miss Barrett seemed to sense his lowering mood. She pulled aside the curtain beside her and peeked out the window. “The snow is lessening,” she reported. “Perhaps we will be able to go on after all.”

“Perhaps,” he said, trying to shake off his thoughts. “The postilion will stop for fresh horses, and we shall be able to decide then.”

“Of course.” She sank back in her seat, subdued.

“Tell me about your grandmother,” Adrian said, breathing shallowly to fend off another sneeze. He didn’t want to think of Hanson, nor any of the other mates he’d lost. He strongly suspected they would be stuck at the Black Hart overnight, and he especially didn’t want to think that his grandfather might die at Highvale while he was delayed.

Her expression softened. “She’s wonderful, my gran. She makes the best sherry biscuits I’ve ever tasted. Every year for my birthday she makes me a new dress, and she’s quite cunning about working out which color or style I might like. One year she asked me endless questions about birds, and from all that she worked out that I would like a blue dress with green ribbons.”

“Did you like it?” he asked, caught by the fond light in her eyes.

Miss Barrett burst out laughing. “ Yes! It was exactly to my taste and I wore it to rags. But how she knew that from birds ...”

“Perhaps she knew all along what you would like, and simply spoke of birds to divert your attention,” he said.

Her smile was wistful. “I daresay she did, but she refused to admit it! No, she declared she knew I wanted blue because I like the cooing of mourning doves, and that she knew how to embroider the hem because I disliked crows, and the green ribbons were born, apparently, from my marveling at the flight of a flock of swallows.”

“A gulp,” he said.

“What?”

“A flock of swallows is called a gulp.” He shrugged sheepishly as she blinked at him. “I had a tutor who was a passionate ornithologist.”

“Oh my! I never knew that.”

“A governess can never know too many odd facts,” he said.

Her smile flickered, then returned but shakier, as if she was hiding her feelings. “Of course! Yet another good turn you’ve done me.”

Good God. Perhaps she didn’t want to be a governess. Perhaps she did, but worried about finding another post; she’d said she’d been sacked from her last one. That implied she would have no reference, which would make it more difficult to find a good post, which could be ruinous. And here he’d gone and brought it up.

He felt terrible to have upset her. Adrian leaned forward and twitched aside the curtain on his side. To his immense relief, he saw the sign of the Black Hart, with the silhouette of a black stag. “Ah, we’ve arrived.”

She said nothing, and the carriage creaked as it turned into the yard. Adrian busied himself pulling on his gloves and leaped down the instant the vehicle stopped. He turned to see Miss Barrett, face averted, carefully folding the blanket. The basket at her feet rocked wildly.

“Do go on, sir,” she said. “I just need a moment to tidy myself.”

It was too dim to see her face clearly, but Adrian instantly feared she might be wiping away tears. He nodded and turned. He told the postilion he was going ahead to reserve rooms, and asked the man to help his companion when she was ready. He strode toward the inn, swirling his cloak around him and cursing his tongue.

It had been a long time since he’d talked to a beautiful woman. Now it was clear why.