Snowbound With The Baronet (3 page)

Over the years, she’d often wondered if he had found a wife capable of returning his bountiful affection without reserve. In magnanimous moments, Cassandra had hoped he would wed a lady who could make him happy and give him the children he yearned for. It was quite another matter to confront the reality of a whining, nagging girl for whom he appeared to feel little more than fond tolerance. Yet how much worse it might have been to see him looking at another woman the way he had once looked at
her
.

Her relief upon learning that he was still unmarried had been so intense Cassandra feared she might humiliate herself by bursting into tears. Fortunately, she had been saved by her pride... and the sudden halt of the stagecoach.

While Sir Brandon went to investigate, she did her best to marshal her composure. She had almost managed when the carriage door opened again and he clambered back inside. Snow clung to his hat and the broad shoulders of his greatcoat. The sculpted planes of his face had been nipped by the winter wind. Somehow, it made the deep, steadfast blue of his eyes gleam all the brighter.

Though he had only been gone a few minutes and Cassandra was prepared for his return, the sight of him still ignited a powerful blaze of awareness within her. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as if a trickle of melting snow had slithered down her back. Her breath seemed stolen way, as if by a fierce gust of icy wind.

“The snow is too deep,” Sir Brandon announced in a ragged, breathless voice. “The horses cannot drag this coach another inch.”

“What can we do?” Imogene Calvert demanded in a terror-stricken squeak. “If we stay here, we will freeze to death!”

Her cousin did not try to pacify her with a comforting falsehood, as some men might have done. Instead he gave a grim nod. “That is why we must set out to find shelter before darkness falls. You ladies can ride my carriage horses. The other men and I will lead them on foot.”

Before the ladies could respond to his plan, a series of loud knocks thumped on the carriage door. Miss Calvert gave a half-strangled scream.

“The horses must be ready.” Sir Brandon inhaled a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Come now, we haven’t a moment to waste.”

Pushing the carriage door open again, he climbed out. Cassandra glimpsed the large, sturdy shape of a horse behind him, its chestnut coat glistening with melted snow.

“Come quickly, ladies!” Sir Brandon thrust a hand in.

His cousin cowered back in her seat. Mrs. Davis looked equally reluctant to abandon the dry carriage box for the cold, swirling whiteness outside.

In truth, Cassandra was no more anxious to venture out than they, but it must be done and delay would not make it easier. Perhaps if she set an example, the others would follow. Pulling the hood of her cloak up over her bonnet, she rose and moved to take Sir Brandon’s gloved hand.

The wind-driven snow struck her as she emerged from the carriage. An icy blast blew up her skirt, making her shiver and long to retreat back into the relative comfort of the carriage. Fortunately, pride came to her rescue, as it had so often. Whatever else Sir Brandon Calvert might think of her, she refused to appear a coward in his eyes.

So she gritted her teeth against the cold and squinted against the glare from the snow. She found it easier to ignore those discomforts when she concentrated on Sir Brandon’s firm, reliable grasp. Even with the layers of his gloves and hers between their hands, Cassandra sensed heartening warmth radiating from his touch. Dire as their situation might be, she trusted that he would do everything in his power to see her safely through it... in spite of his personal animosity toward her.

Before her feet sank into the snow that came up past his knees, Sir Brandon leaned toward her and raised his voice to carry over the keening wind, “Forgive me for taking this liberty. It cannot be helped.”

As she tried to puzzle out what he could mean, Sir Brandon released her hand and slid both of his beneath her cloak to grasp her around the waist. Though he did not squeeze hard, all the air rushed from Cassandra’s lungs, just the same. Somehow she retained the presence of mind to brace her hands against his broad shoulders.

The next thing she knew, she was swept upward as if she weighed no more than one of the wafting snowflakes, and deposited on the broad back of a carriage horse. The beast shifted uneasily, not accustomed to bearing a rider. Acting on instinct, Cassandra reached out and gave it a reassuring pat on the neck.

“Are you securely seated?” Sir Brandon inquired. His voice seemed to come from a long distance, even though he still held her around the waist.

“As secure as I can be without a saddle,” she called back.

Before her family’s fortunes had fallen, she’d been a skilled and intrepid rider. One of the hardest things she’d been obliged to do after her father’s death was sell her beautiful thoroughbred mare.

“I’m certain you will manage.” In contrast to the warmth and care his touch conveyed, the baronet’s voice sounded as fierce and icy as the gusts sweeping over the Wiltshire Downs.

He wrenched his hands away from her and turned back to the stagecoach. A whimper broke from Cassandra’s lips. It felt as if his fingers had been frozen to her flesh and ripped away bits of it when he removed them. Fortunately the high-pitched howl of the wind whipped the sound away before anyone else could hear.

Ordering herself not to be so foolish, she threaded the gloved fingers of one hand through the coarse hair of the horse’s mane. With the other, she tugged her cloak closed as best she could against the elements. Through the fast-falling snow, she could make out the shapes of the other passengers being helped down from the coach.

Then she heard voices raised loud enough to pierce the shriek of the storm. “Don’t be ridiculous, Imogene! You
must
come. The driver assures me we are no more than a mile from shelter.”

“Then go find it and come back to fetch me.” Miss Calvert cried in a voice sharp with panic.

“Who knows if we
could
find you again in this?” Her cousin seemed to be fast losing patience. “We must stay together! It is our best hope. We cannot afford to delay!”

“But it’s cold out there.” The lady continued to resist. “What if we get lost?”

“Do come, Miss Calvert!” Cassandra called during a lull in their argument. “You can ride with me. It will be an adventure!”

She was not certain her appeal would work but it was all she could think of at the moment. Sir Brandon was right—they could not afford to wait any longer. But neither could they leave his stubbornly terrified cousin behind to freeze.

Perhaps her coaxing worked or perhaps Sir Brandon took advantage of the momentary distraction to seize his cousin and hoist her up behind Cassandra. Miss Calvert gave a terrified scream which Cassandra feared might spook the horse. Luckily, the creature was too tired or too miserable to care.

“What if I fall off?” she squeaked.

“It will be a soft landing in the snow,” her cousin snapped. “Then you shall have to walk. So I suggest you make an effort to keep your seat.”

“Hold on to me,” Cassandra urged the girl. “I have a good grip on the horse’s mane.”

Not good enough to keep them both from sliding off the beast’s back if it moved at anything faster than a sedate walk. But she had no intention of betraying her doubts to Imogene Calvert.

The lady’s fear overcame any reservations about being too familiar. Miss Calvert threw her arms around Cassandra’s waist and locked them there by stuffing her hands into either end of her fur muff.

When the horse took a lurching step forward, Imogene Calvert emitted a choked cry and plastered herself tight against Cassandra’s back. At least it provided a little warmth, as did the body of the horse beneath her. She would have given anything for a hot brick under her icy feet, however.

The driving snow stung her face like an endless series of pin pricks. Her nose began to run but she did not dare relax her hold on the horse’s mane to wipe it. Instead, she sniffed as quietly as she could, hoping Sir Brandon would not hear and assume she was weeping.

As the snow swirled around them and darkness descended, Cassandra prayed they would not stray from the road. If they did, their party might wander in the empty downland until they all perished. Though she could no longer make out the shape of Sir Brandon leading the horse, she heard him now and then address an encouraging word to the creature. Even when he did not speak, she sensed his presence and took courage from it.

They could not have met again under worse circumstances. Relations between them could never be anything but strained and awkward. Yet part of her still warmed with gratitude to have seen and spoken to him again after all this time. Even if she dared not tell him any of the things that were in her heart.

Was Lady Cassandra Whitney as brave as she seemed?

Brandon mulled over that question as he trudged through the deep snow in the fast-fading light. Or was she simply too proud to show her fear?

If the latter, then her behavior was a form of deception—something he had long abhorred. He’d grown up in a family where appearance was all that signified no matter what corruption festered beneath the carefully cultivated surface.

He would never have blamed the lady for rejecting his proposal. That was her prerogative after all and the dukes of Norland were considerably above a mere baronet, no matter how great his fortune. What offended him was that Lady Cassandra had misled him about her feelings, giving him false hope of winning her.

Fuelled by the heat of righteous indignation, Brandon’s pace sped up and he became far less conscious of the biting cold.

“How much farther must we go?” Imogene wailed. “Are you sure we are still on the road?”

His cousin’s questions jolted Brandon back to their present predicament with jarring abruptness. Could he answer either one truthfully without reducing Imogene to a state of frenzied panic?

Before he could contrive a way to satisfy both his compulsive honesty and the practical demands of the situation, Lady Cassandra answered his cousin in a soothing tone. “We must be a good deal nearer to some place of shelter than we were when we set out. I am certain we are still on the road. I can just make out a hedgerow to our right. Can you?”

After an uncertain pause, Imogene replied, “I believe I can. Yes I can. Oh, thank heaven!”

Silently Brandon echoed that sentiment. As long as they followed the hedgerow, it would keep them on the road which would eventually lead to some habitation, even at their present plodding pace.

For a moment he forgot the anguish he had suffered at the hands of Lady Cassandra Whitney. Instead he could have kissed her for calming his cousin and reviving his spirits. Even if she acted braver than she truly felt, perhaps that was not such an inexcusable deception under the circumstances. Hadn’t he done the same in Spain before a battle to keep up the morale of his men?

The spark of hope Lady Cassandra had kindled burst into full flame a short while later when Brandon heard the distant bark of a dog over the howling wind. He squinted in the direction of the sound and glimpsed a faint, diffuse light through the thick curtain of blowing snow.

“Lights!” he cried. “Call back to the others!”

Imogene and Lady Cassandra were eager to oblige. Behind him, Brandon heard the echo of his words as they were passed down the column.

“Come on, old fellow,” he urged the horse, tugging it toward the light and the barking dog, “only a little farther, then you will be able to rest somewhere warm and dry.”

Whatever this place was, they would seek shelter for the night and he would pay handsomely for their hospitality. Tomorrow, after the storm passed, he would dispatch a blacksmith to repair his carriage. Then he and Imogene would continue on their journey while Lady Cassandra went her own way. With luck, he would not lay eyes on her again for a great many more years. Perhaps by then he might master the skill of being near her while remaining unaffected.

The horse blew out its breath in what sounded like a sigh of relief. Its steps hastened as if it understood that it would soon be able to rest and eat.

The dog continued to bark, for which Brandon blessed it. The nearer they drew to the sound, the better he could make out the light thrown by candles in the windows of a house. Though it was difficult to judge the size of the place in the gathering darkness, through the blur of snow, he sensed it was not large. It must be a farmhouse or laborer’s cottage. As long as the place had a roof, four walls and a hearth, it would suffice for the night.

Just then another light appeared, bobbing toward them in the darkness. Brandon heard a deep voice boom out. “Hush, Podger! Go lay down you daft whelp, before you wake the dead.”

“Hullo?” Brandon called when the dog quieted as its master bid. “I beg your pardon for the disturbance.”

“Don’t bother about that,” replied a well-muffled man, who approached them bearing a lantern. “I reckon you didn’t have much choice. Caught on the road by the storm, were you?”

“We were, indeed.” Brandon continued moving toward the man, for he feared it might be impossible to budge the horse again if they stopped. “If it would not be too great an imposition, might our party seek shelter here for the night? We shall be happy to pay you for your trouble.”

“Don’t bother about that either.” The man beckoned them forward with a wide sweep of his arm. “Never let it be said Tobias Martin turned away folk who needed his hospitality. How many in your party?”

Brandon did a quick mental count.

“Eight,” he replied in an apologetic tone, “and six horses. If that is more than you can accommodate perhaps you would be kind enough to tell us how far it is to the next village.”

“More than half a mile to Cherhill,” Mr. Martin replied. “Not but a step in fair weather. Heaven knows how long it would take on a night like this. I hardly trust myself not to go astray betwixt my house and barn. It’ll be a squeeze, I reckon, but you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need.”

“We shall be very much obliged to you, Mr. Martin.” Brandon could tell he would like this bluff, honest countryman who had offered them hospitality without even knowing their names. “I hope we shall not have to impose upon you more than one night.”