Snow fell
in thick white flakes while the carriage sloshed through the barely passable
roads. The sky, blanketed in a gray mass of clouds, grew darker as the sun
descended. Melora Merriweather held tight to her seat as she swayed with the
movement of the carriage. At any moment she expected the driver to pull into an
inn and declare his refusal to continue. She wouldn't blame him. It was madness
to drive on in weather such as this.
Her gloved
fingers tightened around the letter she had clutched throughout the wearisome
ride. She had re-read it several times, memorizing each line in an effort to
decipher the mysterious content. The dreams she'd suffered since finding this
letter had not given her a single night's reprieve, and a mixture of relief and
trepidation overcame her when she imagined at the end of this journey the
answers to her many questions might finally be revealed.
Melora
yearned for an end to this journey. She glanced out the window, but saw only
snow-covered trees.
Without
warning, the carriage pitched forward.
Despite
her grip, she flew from her seat. In the next moment, she slid toward the door
as the carriage tipped to its side. A resounding crack thundered, and she
feared her skull might have shattered. But, no, the door collapsed on impact,
and while the carriage continued to slide forward, the snow piled in through
the opening, filling the space, burying her in an icy mixture of snow and
slush.
At last,
it came to a stop.
Melora
heard the frightened whinny of the horses and the shouts of the driver. She
struggled to sit up and brush the snow away. Shivering, she tucked her precious
letter into a pocket in her cloak.
She tried
to stand, but with her sudden movement the carriage began to slide. She fell
back.
"Oy!"
the driver shouted, but she couldn't make out the rest of his muffled words.
She
remained still in hopes that by doing so the carriage wouldn't move any farther
and the driver would come to her rescue. What were they to do after that? How
far were they from her destination?
Better to
think on that once she escaped the confines of her icy prison.
She
waited.
She
listened.
The
muffled sound of movement and voices could be heard nearby. It irritated her
that her driver talked to the horses but not to her. What was happening out
there?
"Hello?"
she called. He couldn't have forgotten her. Could he?
Melora
tried to remain patient, knowing the hired driver's responsibilities were to
the horses, but it frightened her to be kept alone in the cold darkness. She
did not like the dark. Could he not yell a word of reassurance to her? At the
very least, check on her condition? She might have broken her neck in the
crash, for all he knew.
Suddenly,
a sound from outside drew her attention upward to the only available exit. The
door swung open, and more snow fell on her face. She sputtered, wiping it from
her eyes.
"Are
you injured?" A deep and cultured voice inquired. These were not the
cockney tones of her driver. Melora looked up in alarm to see the outline of a
man peering in at her.
Where had
he come from?
She failed
to see his features, due to the limited light, but his voice reverberated
through her. Melora shivered at the sound.
"Miss?"
"I'm
fine," she said, her voice cracking. She cringed and coughed. "I'm
fine," she repeated. "Just cold and wet."
"Are
you certain? I smell…" He paused, and Melora wondered at his hesitation.
He appeared to battle with himself over something, perhaps his choice of words.
What did
he smell?
Snow?
Fear?
And what
was a gentleman doing on a country road during the middle of a snowstorm?
Although, perhaps he wondered the same of her.
Melora
fidgeted, aware that his voice alone caused heat to rise beneath her collar.
"Easy
now," the man said. "No sudden movements. The carriage is situated
precariously on the edge of a small hill."
She
stilled.
"We'll
proceed slowly, and you shall be fine. Here, can you reach my hand?"
He lowered
his hand to her. She could reach it. If she could stop the paralyzing fear
coursing through her veins.
"How
precarious?"
"You'll
do fine," the man said, surely hearing the fright in her voice.
"Reach up and give me your hand."
Melora
lifted her arm, reaching her fingers toward the stranger. He grasped her hand,
his large gloved fingers encasing her slender ones. She felt the strength in
him as he lifted her effortlessly into the air and pulled her to the top of the
carriage. Or what was now the top since it had turned on its side. She
scrambled to find purchase on the slippery edge. With his help, she steadied
herself, and then she dared to take a peek over her shoulder.
Her eyes
widened when she looked down…and down farther still.
"Oh,
good Heavens," she murmured. She tightened her hand on his, clinging to
his fingers with a frightened desperation. "A small hill?"
"Have
no fear."
"Get
me down!"
She could
not tear her gaze from the drop. A small hill, he had said. Bah! More like a
steep cliff with snow-covered rocks scattered along the bottom.
Certain
death to any who fell.
The man
moved, slowly sliding off the carriage. He kept hold of her hand. He hadn't
much choice in the matter, since she refused to release him. Her terrified
clutch fastened them together.
"Come
to me," he said and gently pulled.
She gasped
and stiffened as the carriage rocked.
She dared
not move.
"Look
at me."
Her gaze
remained locked on the scene below.
"What
is your name miss?"
"M-Melora."
"Look
at me, Melora."
Again, he
tugged on her arm. The carriage remained motionless, and she took a deep breath
and turned her head.
"I
won't allow you to fall," he said.
In the
fading light and with the snow swirling around them, she got her first glimpse
of her rescuer. Suddenly, the carriage and cliff pushed to the back of her
thoughts as she lost herself into eyes as blue as ice. His gaze was so
piercing, it felt as if he looked straight into her soul. His pale skin was
smooth, and his cheekbones were chiseled to perfection. She glimpsed raven-dark
hair beneath the accumulating snowflakes.
Melora
found him incredibly handsome.
He lifted
his arms and, with her hands grasping his shoulders, he pulled her down from
the carriage. Her booted feet landed with a crunch on the newly fallen snow.
The
feeling of solid ground beneath her should have eased her anxiety, but she
continued to cling to him, feeling as though she still stood on a precipice. He
did not release her. His hands gripped her waist. He took a deep breath as he
leaned toward her.
She didn't
pull away. Instead, they stood for a moment holding each other. She couldn't
look away from his eyes. His gaze, however penetrating, never connected
directly with hers. Instead, he seemed to avoid it.
Melora had
seen this man before. Every night since she found that letter in her uncle's
library. She had dreamed of this man. Was it a coincidence?
He removed
one glove and slipped his hand into her hair. She jumped at the sudden
movement, but when he pulled back, his fingers were stained red.
"You're
bleeding."
He
stiffened and a look of pain flashed across his face. He took a step back,
taking another deep breath as he did so. She watched him, her arms sliding from
his shoulders to his chest and then to emptiness. Her fingers curled into fists
as she fought the urge to reach for him. She blinked as the snowflakes flurried
over her eyes, not because she tried to stop the sudden rush of tears at the
absence she now felt.
"The
horses," he said, turning away from her to face the driver. "Are they
injured?"
She turned
to see another carriage on the road. Her driver was speaking to the driver of
that carriage as he handled his horses. At the sound of the gentleman's query,
they turned their attention to him.
"No,
sir," her driver said. "Nothin' noticeable, at the least, though
they're mighty skittish now."
"I'd
imagine so," the gentleman said. "There's an inn not far from here
where I believe you might find shelter."
"Indeed,
sir." He nodded in her direction. "What of the lady, sir?"
Yes, what
of the lady? Was she to be stranded on the snow-covered road?
The
gentleman tilted his head toward her but didn't face her. "She needs
immediate medical attention. I'll escort her to the inn. Thomas, unhitch
Goliath. It'll be faster if I take her to the inn myself."
Melora
stepped forward. The inn was not her destination. And though her head pounded
like the devil, she did not believe a mere scratch on her forehead was cause
enough to abandon her quest.
"Are
we far from Caldwell House?"
The
gentleman spun around at her question, his gaze flashing to her face.
"No,
miss," her driver said. "'Tis just past the inn. Not far, at
all."
Melora
looked at her rescuer. "Would it be an inconvenience to you, if you
dropped me there?"
"Caldwell
House?" the gentleman said, astonishment lacing his words. "Whyever
are you going there?"
His abrupt
questioning stung her, and she stiffened her back and raised her chin.
"Sir, the reason for my destination is no concern of yours. I simply wish
to know if it's possible for you to take me."
After she
spoke those last words, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. She tried not to
imagine him taking her…into his arms again. She opened her mouth to correct her
blunder, then paused, snapping her mouth shut and hoping he hadn't noticed any
other meaning behind those words except the one she intended.
He moved
closer to her. She feared he was about to refuse when instead he nodded.
"Yes,"
he said. "I'll take you."
The heat
in her cheeks flared at the double meaning in his words. Surely, he didn't
mean…
"Come,
it will be dark soon. We must leave straightaway."
She hadn't
understood until that moment how much she had feared his refusal. She
desperately needed to get to Caldwell House. Relief flooded her, making her
knees wobble, and she stumbled.
He was
there, his hand on her elbow, assisting her. He leaned close to her, inhaling
deeply.
"You're
hurt worse than I thought."
She
couldn't respond. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his handsome, scowling face.
He turned
his head but kept his hand on her elbow, still supporting her.
"Thomas!
Hurry with that horse!"
Even with
the treacherous snow hindering them, it was not long before Melora and her
rescuer came upon Caldwell House. The ride had been swift. Much faster than the
struggling carriage. As he pulled the horse to the entrance of the house, she
looked up to catch her first glimpse of the massive stone and brick structure.
In the dim light, the house appeared to lean forward to stare back, wary and
suspicious of her purpose.
She tried
to suppress a shiver of dread.
He felt
her tremble and mistook it for another reason. He grabbed the arm she had
wrapped around his waist and squeezed in reassurance as he helped her slide off
the back of the horse.
"You'll
be warm and dry in a few moments, never fear. Go inside and summon Harrison.
Explain what happened. He'll know what to do. I'll join you shortly."
"But,
should I not…" Melora began to protest, but he clicked his heels to the
horse's flanks and disappeared in the swirling snow, headed toward the stable.
She
frowned. She couldn't very well admit herself without Mr. Collins' consent. So
she did what any proper Englishwoman would do and knocked at the door.
When the
butler answered, his eyes widened at the sight of her. Melora considered her
bedraggled appearance. Her cloak was crumpled and wet. The hat she wore pinned
on her head sat askew on a mass of uncombed golden tendrils.
She swiped
the stray strands of her hair from her face so he might glimpse the desperation
in her blue eyes, lest he turn her away.
"I'm
here to see Mr. and Mrs. Collins."
The butler
frowned. "I'm sorry, miss. Mr. Collins is not at home."
Her
shoulders sagged at the news. She so wanted to escape these wet clothes and
warm herself in a nice bath. She glanced over her shoulder, looking to the
stables. She turned back with new determination.
"Are
you Mr. Harrison?"
"Yes."
"I
was told to ask for you. My carriage overturned about a mile or two down the
road. I had hoped the Collinses would offer me refuge from the storm."
Harrison
opened the door further. "Come in, miss."
Melora
breathed a sigh of relief as she followed him.
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