Page 21 of A Winter’s Romance

W hen the carriage belonging to Peter Holydale, Viscount Windon, drew up in front of the Black Bull Inn at Wolsingham, county Durham, the snowy yard was a hive of activity. The stage had just arrived, having immediately disgorged its passengers, and trunks and parcels were being unloaded and carried about, passengers stamped in the cold and hallooed for their baggage, and grooms dashed here and there, their breath a fog in their faces, as the sweating horses were led away and six fresh ones put to.

Gazing distastefully through the window at this hubbub, Lord Windon knocked the head of his cane against the roof of the carriage and his coachman hurriedly descended from the box, tugging respectfully at the brim of his hat.

“Where the devil are we, Pratt?” inquired his lordship. “Oughtn’t we to be at Randley by now?”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lord,” said the grizzled retainer, rubbing his mittened hands together for warmth. “We arter be there—howsomever there’s no Ballam Road what I can find. Gripson’s gone to inquire the way. ”

Unable to share his precise feelings on the matter to so staid and venerable a retainer as Pratt, Windon merely sighed and nodded, pulling the rug off his shapely legs—which were encased in spotless buckskins and gleaming Hessians—to thrust open the door. He descended from the coach, exhaling as he rose to his full six-foot height to survey his surroundings, his many-caped greatcoat furling about him.

It was a respectable inn, with enough grooms to keep the business efficient—indeed, the stage was already preparing to depart—and an ostler that only now had glimpsed his lordship. The man hastened over on bandy legs, bowing as he halted before this latest estimable guest.

“Afternoon, yer honor! Might yer honor wish to step into the taproom? It’s as cold as hell froze over—”

Windon produced a shilling and waved him away. “No, no, thank you. Only stopped for directions. Won’t be a minute.”

The ostler thanked him and bowed himself away as his honorable guest took a few paces from the carriage to stretch his legs. They’d made good time today, but it was dashed tedious going. The cold hadn’t affected Windon much, thanks to a warm brick at his feet and the plush fur rug for his legs, but he’d still be devilish glad to arrive at his destination. He’d never been to Randley, and if he’d not the promise of Miss Tyndall’s lovely blue eyes at his arrival he would never have come to this godforsaken place, for it would not have taken his mother’s disapproval to keep him away.

“I do not know what I can have done,” Lady Dewsbury had declared upon hearing of his intended expedition, “to have been saddled with so addle-pated a son! You simply must go chasing after every pretty face that offers. When will you learn, I wonder? ”

“Suppose you’d have me make up to some hatchet-faced female,” he had muttered, grimacing.

“That is not my meaning, and you well know it,” rejoined his mother. “It is nothing to do with the young lady at all, but with you, Windon! Until you learn that young ladies are not mere adornments to one’s consequence, you will never desire to attach one.”

“Have attached her!” he had said indignantly. “Miss Tyndall’s fairly smitten, and assures me Lady Tyndall particularly wishes me to come to them at Christmas.”

His mother had favored him with her blandest gaze. “Certainly she does. I am only amazed her ladyship did not follow her daughter to Bath directly she learned of your appearance there. Althea Tyndall was ever a grasping female—but then, she did snare Lord Tyndall. But all that doesn’t signify in the least, for Miss Tyndall’s being smitten is nothing to the point. Anyone can be smitten, but few are able to excite a lasting passion—”

“Now there you’re out! Never felt for any other lady as I do for Miss Tyndall!”

“Oh?” she had inquired, brows rising. “What of Lady Veronica, or Miss Treanor? And need I mention Lady Serena?”

He had huffed and turned away, but she went on inexorably, “You said exactly the same thing of every one of them, and yet they have all gone on to marry someone else. Protestations are useless—you will never desire nor have the power to secure a lady’s true affections until you look for more than a pretty face.”

Lord Windon kicked at a stone as he recollected this very disagreeable dialog, resolving again that he would show his mother. Indeed, perhaps he would offer for Miss Tyndall—if not during the house party, sometime in the near future—for besides being angelically pretty, she was the most darling, the sweetest, most captivating—

His mental image of this paragon vanished away as his gaze fell upon one in the flesh, just emerging from the door to the inn. She wore a heavy, fur-lined cape over a blue woolen pelisse, but the countenance framed by the hood testified to the perfections hidden beneath the layers of her clothing. Her face had an elfin quality, the lips a cupid’s bow, the eyes a deep and trusting brown. Dusky curls peeped from the recesses of the hood, and the gloved hands that held a portmanteau before her were small and elegant.

Lord Windon’s view was obscured a moment as the stage lumbered out of the yard, but when it had passed, he saw that she was speaking with the ostler, who shook his head in answer to her inquiry. The lovely eyes were downcast a moment as the lips frowned, and when she again raised her eyes, her distress was evident, even from across the inn yard. Another inquiry was productive of still more consternation, and Windon knew his moment had come.

Closing the distance in a few strides, he swept off his hat and bowed. “Beg pardon, madam, but I perceive you’re in distress of some kind.” He returned the hat to his head and gazed fully upon the upturned face, his own a careful mix of concern and admiration. “Might I be of assistance?”

“Oh!” The lady colored deeply, one hand coming up to cover her sweet mouth. She dropped her gaze, stammering a little, “I did not perceive—forgive me—you are very kind, my lord—I am so very obliged—however, I cannot a ccept—”

Windon’s view of her charms being impaired by her refusal to look at him, he felt it imperative that he put her at ease. “Assure you, ma’am, I’ve nothing to do that cannot wait. Merely on the way to a house party, but plenty of daylight left to offer a trifling service.”

She at last rewarded him with a peep from her brown eyes, though they showed not trust but something else—embarrassment? He smiled reassuringly, angling to get a better view of that elusive countenance.

“Most humble servant, ma’am. Pray, allow me to know what’s distressed you.”

Another peep from those enchanting eyes, this time less anxious. “Do you not—that is, do you really mean to help me, sir?”

“Anything in my power,” was his immediate reply.

She inhaled, glancing about as though in search of confirmation. But as the ostler had returned to his duties and the grooms had all disappeared into the stables to see after the horses from the stage, there was no one else to whom she could turn. Letting out a breath that puffed in the cold air, she lifted her chin, gazing for the first time directly at Lord Windon.

“I thank you, sir. It is only that I was to have been met here by my aunt’s carriage, but it seems she has—” She hesitated, dropping her gaze again for a moment. “She has mistaken the day, to be sure. I might walk to the house, for it is only a matter of a few miles—”

“A few miles!” exclaimed Windon, who never walked when he could ride. “I’ll not hear of it! Pray allow me to take you up in my carriage. Catch your death walking all of a few miles in this weather. ”

She colored becomingly again, looking away. “It is very cold. But I do not wish to take you out of your way.”

“Don’t know the way, so can’t take me out of it,” he said blithely, tipping his head forward and smiling again in a coaxing manner.

“But surely you know where you are going,” she said, opening her eyes wide.

“Coachman assured me he did—however, seems he was mistaken. And not having been to this particular locality, I’m quite as lost as he. So, you see, I am at your disposal.” He gave another sweeping bow.

“But sir, you are being nonsensical!” chided his companion, a twinkle coming into her brown eyes. “You would not have me believe that you do not intend to inquire the direction!”

In his element, Windon replied airily, “Never fear, my man’s gone into the inn to do just that, but even should it prove to be opposite your own, I’ll still not allow you to walk, ma’am, depend upon it!”

She bit her lips, but could not keep them from turning up enchantingly, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “You are too kind. Very well, I shall accept your offer, with many thanks.”

Windon brushed away her gratitude with a wave of his hand, taking her portmanteau and handing it to Gripson, who had just at that moment exited the inn. The valet took it without comment, being inured to his master’s ways, and awaited his instructions.

His lordship turned again to the young lady and inquired, “Now where might we deliver you, ma’am?”

“As you are strangers here,” she said, raising an ironical eyebrow, “I am persuaded it will be best that I give my directions to the coachman. ”

This she did, while the valet strapped the portmanteau onto the back with the other luggage. Then Windon handed her into the carriage, settling himself on the back-facing seat and tapping the roof with his cane to signal his readiness to depart. The coachman gave his horses the office and the carriage set into motion.

She seemed disinclined to look at him, as though her maidenly modesty precluded such forwardness, but after a moment she favored him with a shy glance and inquired, “What was your destination, sir—if it is not impertinent to inquire?”

“Place called Randley,” he supplied readily. “Never been there—gracious, are you quite well?”

The young lady was staring wide-eyed at him, her face drained of color. At his inquiry, she blinked several times, swallowed, and looked away, stammering, “I—I am very—well, sir, thank you. A—a momentary dizziness—the movement of the coach, you understand. I am much better now. You—you have never been there?”

“Never. Met Miss Tyndall in the autumn in Bath, but not Lord and Lady Tyndall—weren’t with her. Know ‘em yourself?”

She cleared her throat. “I—I do. Quite well, in fact. Particularly Miss Tyndall.”

“Friend of yours? Well!” He blinked, recalling his undying love for Miss Tyndall. “Yes, incomparable, Miss Tyndall.”

“Quite incomparable, to be sure.”

Windon’s gaze flitted away, his mind attempting to reassert his now hopelessly fuzzy image of Miss Tyndall as the pinnacle of perfection. This was not terribly successful, as it somehow always resolved into the image of the lady sitting before him .

“Perhaps you’ve been invited to the house party?” he asked hopefully.

“No—that is, I had not heard. I have been away, you see.”

“Might be an invitation awaiting you at—your aunt’s?”

She looked out the window, her hands twisting together in her lap. “I do not anticipate it.” She flashed a smile at him. “It is a Christmas party, I collect?”

He nodded, his interest in the party gravely impaired by the likelihood of his enchanting companion’s not being there. “Do you remain in the neighborhood?”

“I—I do. I am—that is, I live with my aunt,” she said, her smile a trifle stiff.

“Perhaps I might see you, then—about the neighborhood.”

She turned her head away again, humming in a noncommittal way. “I expect you will be kept busy at Randley. How—how long do you anticipate your stay to be?”

Windon shrugged. “Invitation was for two weeks. Bound to be a boring moment I could sneak away.”

“Oh, it will not be a bore, sir—you may depend upon that!” she said with a wry little smile. “Lady Tyndall is nothing if not resourceful. She will have provided for every detail. Wait and see.”

He agreed politely with her, but inwardly cringed at the notion of every detail being provided for. Nothing was so tedious as the minute plans of an over-zealous hostess—except, perhaps, a party that did not include the most enchanting lady in the neighborhood. The divine Miss Tyndall’s memory was rapidly deteriorating, and he sighed contentedly as his gaze drank in the lovely countenance of the lady seated across from him, admiring the alabaster skin and the gentle curve of the cheek as she contemplated the passing landscape.

He cleared his throat to try if he could discover her name, but the carriage swung onto a lane and his companion jerked her head, bending closer to the window as though she had not seen anything through it all this time. She turned suddenly to him.

“Pray, stop the coach.”

“Why? Are you ill?”

“No, no—only I fear we have come too far.”

He peered out the window, glimpsing a stately Georgian mansion at the end of the drive. “Is not that your aunt’s house?”

“Yes—only—oh, pray, stop the coach! You may put me down here.”

He frowned at her. “But it’s twenty yards away. Couldn’t do so shabby a thing as set you down before we’ve reached the house.”

She bit her lip, wringing her hands, but did not pursue the matter. In minutes, they had reached the top of the drive and stopped at the foot of the steps. The door of the house opened instantly, emitting a butler and two footmen, who came quickly to open the door of the carriage.

The young lady practically leapt out, turning back only to say, “Thank you, sir!” before hastening up the steps and into the house. Windon, bewildered, bent forward to look after her, and saw her exchanging agitated words with a handsome but grim-faced woman in puce satin, who cast scandalized looks toward the coach.

His lordship drew back, wondering what the young lady could have said of him to induce such disapprobation, and thinking it might behoove him to get along to his house party. Cravenly, he pulled the door shut and knocked his cane on the roof, only to have his valet come up to the window. He let it down impatiently, seeing over Gripson’s shoulder that the grim-faced woman was descending the steps of the house with all the grandeur of a queen coming to pass a sentence of death.

“Dash it, man, let’s be off!” he hissed, watching the lady’s progress with growing anxiety.

“But sir, we are arrived.”

“What? Devil take you, Gripson! Of course we’ve arrived, and best be off before that gorgon comes to take off my head for some dashed silly scruple!”

His valet regarded him with patience. “You do not wish to stay, sir?”

“No!”

“Very well, sir. Allow me to make your excuses to Lady Tyndall—though, as she is just here, perhaps you should like to do so yourself.”