Snowbound With The Baronet (5 page)

The stagecoach driver took a deep swig of his cider then nodded toward the window. “That is the worst snow I’ve seen this far south in all my years driving this route.”

Mr. Martin nodded. “The winters are growing colder than when I were a lad.”

The two men began recalling previous snowy winters, sometimes arguing good-naturedly about the precise year, with Brandon’s coachman acting as a sort of referee. The others listened, sipping their cider. Now and then one would venture a remark. Imogene sat by the fire with a stiff posture and an expression that proclaimed her desire to be somewhere else.

Brandon could sympathize with her feelings to a point. Given a choice, he would rather not have been cooped up in a small house with the woman who’d once broken his heart. However, as with many events in life, he had not been given a choice. All he could do was remind himself how much worse the situation might have been. What could not be avoided must be endured with as much grace as one could muster.

Perhaps the years had taught Lady Cassandra that same lesson. He could not help but contrast her behavior with his cousin’s. Though he was certain she had only offered to assist their hostess in order to get away from him, he could not help but approve her obliging manner.

Now she returned to the parlor, following Mrs. Martin. Brandon schooled his expression to one of cool indifference. He pretended not to notice the brisk grace of her movements or the quiet, capable way she helped out their hostess as if she were accustomed to such domestic tasks.

Carrying a stack of plates and cutlery, Mrs. Martin made a circuit of the room, dispensing them to the guests. Lady Cassandra went behind her with a tray of cold meats.

“Help yourselves, everyone,” their hostess urged. “There is plenty in the larder, so don’t be delicate.”

Brandon had no intention of being delicate. Breakfast had been many hours ago and trudging through the deep snow had sharpened his appetite further. But when Lady Cassandra held the tray out to him, he struggled to ignore her as resolutely as she did him.

He did not bother surveying the contents of the plate for the largest or choicest pieces but took the first one he could spear with a fork. He did not want Lady Cassandra lingering near him where he might be drawn to notice her elegant long-fingered hands or experience a foolish rush of relief that she wore no rings on any of them.

The moment he murmured a stiff “thank you” she moved on, with a palpable air of relief, to serve Mrs. Davis.

Brandon took a bite of his meat and discovered it was cold roast pork. He could not imagine any of the dainty refreshments at Everleigh tasting so good. He only wished he had not let Lady Cassandra distract him from taking a larger helping.

Now that she was no longer standing in front of him, he did not feel obliged to keep his eyes off her. He permitted his gaze to followed her as she moved around the room with her tray. She looked taller than he remembered, or perhaps she only seemed that way compared to their diminutive hostess. Her figure still retained its youthful slenderness. The firelight brought out rich chestnut glints in her dark hair, which the damp air had teased into curls.

Once she moved away from him, her bearing seemed to relax. She exchanged a few words with each of the other men as she served them. Brandon dismissed a pang which was most definitely not envy.

Later, when Lady Cassandra came around with a platter of cheese, he took more time making his selection so she would have an opportunity to speak to him if she chose. Instead, she stood frozen like a statue of ice until he finished. When he tried to meet her gaze, he found it fixed on a point above his head. Had he only imagined her regretful murmur when he’d helped her down from the horse? Or had her relief over their narrow escape from disaster made her forget herself?

He did not care how she behaved toward him or why! Brandon snatched up several pieces of cheese with fierce abruptness which made Lady Cassandra flinch. All that mattered was getting through their stay at the Martin farm until they could go their separate ways. The situation could not be avoided, but surely they could endure it with more grace.

Just then Lady Cassandra glanced down and caught him staring at her. Brandon started as if he’s been discovered committing a crime, while she turned and hurried back to the kitchen without serving his cousin.

Most of the others were busy eating with brief pauses to praise Mrs. Martin’s cooking. Brandon set down his plate on the window seat and slipped away to the kitchen. He found Cassandra staring out the window, so lost in thought that she did not seem to hear him enter.

“It cannot keep on like this you know.” He meant to reassure her, but instead his words came out in a gruff mutter.

She spun around to face him with the defensive air of one who had been ambushed. “We cannot keep on like
what
?”

Brandon shook his head. “That was not what I said. I was referring to the weather. The snow will likely stop during the night, or else change to rain and melt much of what has fallen already. Then we shall be able to rescue our stranded vehicles and be on our way.”

That was what he wanted—to get away as soon as possible from Lady Cassandra Whitney and the memories their meeting had revived. Then he and Imogene would join the house party at Everleigh where he would seek an opportunity to propose to Miss Reynolds, a lady he had decided would make him a good, loyal wife. With luck, by this time next winter they might be expecting the birth of an heir to keep the family title in the hands of true Calvert descendants.

“I must have misheard you.” Lady Cassandra’s tone dared him to question her mistake. “No doubt you are correct about the weather.”

Brandon could not allow such an opportunity to pass without taking advantage of it. “Perhaps
we
should not go on as we have been either. This house is altogether too small to let us each behave as if the other is invisible. What were you thinking just now—that you would rather be snowbound with any man in the world other than me?”

“I was thinking no such thing!” Like Hamlet’s Ophelia, she protested too much for Brandon to believe.

He arched one eyebrow and fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “The truth, if you please. The past four years have not made me any more inclined to abide deception.”

“There is a difference between deception and discretion you know.” Lady Cassandra scowled—an expression that would have looked unattractive on any other woman. Somehow she contrived to make it appear charming.

“Very well!” she admitted. “It was rather a shock to see you again after all this time and more than a little awkward considering how we parted. I am certain it cannot have been an agreeable experience for you either.”

How could he deny it after insisting on the truth from her? Perhaps Lady Cassandra had a point about deception and discretion. Brandon did not care to admit that meeting her again dismayed him, for that would suggest feelings of hurt and betrayal he should have put behind him long ago.

But he would far rather own to such feelings than to the perverse flashes of pleasure their inconvenient reunion provoked in him. “Of course our meeting was a surprise for me as well. And being thrown together like this in such close quarters is, as you say, rather... awkward.”

The lady’s defensive scowl eased.

“But it does not need to be,” Brandon ventured. “Whatever else we may think of one another, surely we can agree we are both sensible people.”

Somehow, he did not feel as sensible as before he’d laid eyes on her again.

Lady Cassandra gave a cautious nod.

Heartened, Brandon continued, “Two sensible people should be capable of putting the past behind them and getting on together for a little while, don’t you agree?”

She did not avoid his gaze now but met it directly, as if it were a challenge. “I can if you can.”

A chill trickled down Brandon’s spine, unsettling yet strangely stimulating. “I am not proposing a contest, but a truce. For as long as we are forced to remain in this house, let us endeavor to treat each other as brand new acquaintances.”

Lady Cassandra squared her shoulders and tilted her chin. “Agreed. As you say, we will likely go our separate ways in the morning.”

Though that was precisely what Brandon hoped, her reminder troubled him. He brushed such feelings aside and swept a glance around the kitchen, with its dark wooden floor, beam and plaster walls and massive cooking hearth. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Her plucky assistance to Mrs. Martin made him feel idle by comparison, even though he knew she had only been trying to get away from him. Besides, he needed some excuse for following her to the kitchen, in case anyone noticed.

“You could take in that plate of cake.” Lady Cassandra nodded toward the table where it sat.

Without another word, Brandon picked up the well-laden plate and headed back to the parlor. He told himself he might be better off for having to spend time with Cassandra Whitney again. Their encounter might finally allow him to close that chapter of his life and begin a new one with Isabella Reynolds.

N
O DOUBT
S
IR
Brandon was right. Cassandra gazed after him as he headed back to the parlor bearing the plate of cake. The weather would clear by morning and they would go their separate ways. Until then, they should make every effort to forget the past and treat each other with as much civility as possible.

It surprised her a little and relieved her mind a great deal that he had suggested they behave in such a rational manner. She had feared he might still hate her for the way she’d treated him. She had worried he might raise the painful subject of their past or inquire too closely about her present circumstances.

An oppressive weight seemed to slip from her shoulders as she realized she had been anxious for no reason. She should have known Sir Brandon Calvert would not hold her refusal against her all this time. Perhaps he had never cared for her as much as she’d once believed. Or perhaps, with time and experience, he had come to realize they might not have made a compatible match after all.

Those thoughts should have brought her more comfort than they did.

Cassandra seized the tray of cheese she had set on the sideboard and followed Sir Brandon back to the parlor. Activity and company were what she needed to divert her from such fruitless speculation.

She entered the parlor just in time to hear Mrs. Martin ask, “Where were you bound for, before the storm stranded you here?”

Miss Calvert was quick to reply, though Cassandra was not certain the question had been addressed to her. “My cousin and I are on our way to a house party at Everleigh, the estate of Lord and Lady Norrington, just beyond Bath. My maid went on ahead of us, with most of my luggage. What shall I do without her? Where will I sleep?”

If Mrs. Martin resented Miss Calvert’s tone, she was too good-natured to let it show. “You ladies are welcome to the room where our daughters used to sleep. The chore girl uses it now, but the bed is big enough for three in a pinch. It is fortunate you are all so slender.”

Miss Calvert’s grimace made it clear she was not accustomed to sharing a bed.

“Imogene,” her cousin murmured in a low, warning tone, “we are blessed to be warm and dry with a roof over our heads. I shall be content to sleep in a chair or on the floor. Either would be infinitely preferable to a freezing coachbox.”

“That is true,” Miss Calvert acknowledged with a sigh. “But how am I to manage without Williams to look after me? After this, I shall always keep her with me when I travel.”

Cassandra caught Mrs. Davis’s eye. She sensed they were both thinking the same thing. Clearly Miss Calvert did not appreciate how fortunate she was to
have
a lady’s maid. It was a luxury Cassandra and her sisters had long since learned to do without. Though the others missed such service, Cassandra had learned to value her hard-won self-reliance.

“Whatever assistance you require,” she assured the young lady, “I shall be happy to provide it.”

Miss Calvert looked rather shocked by her offer. “That is kind of you, Lady Cassandra, but I could not impose upon the daughter of a duke!”

Did the young lady realize how little that distinction signified without the fortune that usually accompanied it? “My late father’s title did not prevent me from acquiring a few useful skills which come in handy at times like these. I should be pleased to place them at your disposal.”

Cassandra tried not to notice the look of gratitude Sir Brandon directed her way. He must think she was being gracious by offering to assist his cousin. Her conscience protested that she did not deserve him to think well of her.

“Were you ladies on your way to that house party as well?” asked Mrs. Martin.

Cassandra shook her head. “Mrs. Davis and I were headed to visit my great-aunt who lives near Bath.”

“The Viscountess of Moresby,” Miss Calvert informed their hosts who looked suitably impressed.

Their reaction brought Cassandra’s conscience another pang. If Sir Brandon knew the true circumstances of her visit to Noughtly Hall, he might accuse her of deception, but she did not see it that way. After tomorrow, it was unlikely she would encounter any of these people again. Why should they know the particulars of her situation? Were she and her family not entitled to a little privacy?

Once the travelers had thawed out and eaten their fill, they began to converse in groups around the parlor. Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Martin discovered they had some mutual acquaintances from their youth, which gave them plenty to talk about. The men seemed to share a particular interest in horses. They were soon exchanging stories about the fastest, strongest and worst-tempered beasts they had known.

Imogene Calvert cornered Cassandra on the window seat and proceeded to regale her with every detail of her Season in London the previous spring. Cassandra tried to appear interested in the subject as she strove to prevent her gaze from wandering in the direction of Sir Brandon.

That was not an easy task. From the moment they had been first introduced at a ball hosted by the Countess of Penryn, she’d found her attention continually drawn to him whenever they were together. It was not only his stature, lithe build and striking features that attracted her, though she could not deny their appeal. Sir Brandon also possessed an air of integrity she could not help but admire. She had sensed he valued her for more than her looks or family connections. He clearly approved of her strong will and independent spirit in a way few other men did. Each of them had challenged the other and relished that challenge.