‘I hope...’ The words dried on her tongue. No, she would offer no comfort to this loathsome man, dying or not. She marched to the door.
Outside, the door firmly shut again, Harriet leaned against the wall, dragging in deep, shuddering breaths. Janet fumbled in her pocket and offered smelling salts. She had been with Harriet since the very early days of Harriet’s marriage to Brierley, and had proved herself a loyal and protective friend to the young, bewildered bride. Harriet had long blessed the day the older woman had been appointed as her maid.
She waved the salts away. ‘No. I will not faint, I promise you. I am trying to calm my anger,’ she said, forcing a smile to set Janet’s mind at rest.
She glanced back at the closed bedchamber door. How could such a man have lived with himself all these years? She pushed upright and shook out her skirts, smoothing them.
‘Come. Let us go. We must get back to the Rose as soon as we can in case the snow begins to drift.’
She had reserved accommodation at the Rose Inn at Sittingbourne, a bare four miles from Tenterfield Court, on their way through from London. The plan was to stay there the night and return to London the following day, when Harriet would tell Felicity what she had discovered. She must hope the news would not prove too upsetting for her friend, who was now with child herself. Harriet ruthlessly quashed her ripple of envy that Felicity would soon be a mother.
She was thankful there was no sign of Benedict as they descended the stairs and went through the door to the panelled Great Hall with its ancient blackened stone hearths at either end. The butler sent word to the stables for their hired chaise and four to be brought round to the front door, and a maid ran to fetch their travelling cloaks, muffs and hats. It was cold outside and they had prepared well for the journey from London, with blankets and furs piled in the carriage.
‘The chaise is outside now, milady,’ the butler said. ‘Take care, it might be slippery. Cooper here will help you.’
A footman, well wrapped up, stepped forward and Harriet took one arm whilst Janet took the other. They emerged into a world transformed. The air swirled white and she could barely make out the trees that lined the sweeping carriageway that led from the house to the road. The easterly wind had picked up, gusting at times, and blowing the snow horizontal, stinging Harriet’s cheeks. The waiting horses stamped their feet and tossed their heads, blowing cloudy breaths down their nostrils as the hapless post boys hunched on their backs. Harriet hoped they had been given a warming drink in the kitchen; she did not doubt they, like her, would be glad to reach the inn where they were to spend the night.
Harriet clung tightly to the footman’s arm, feeling her half boots slide on the stone steps as they descended warily to the waiting chaise. She looked across at Janet at the very same moment the maid released Cooper’s arm to hurry down the last few steps, presumably to open the door ready for Harriet.
‘Janet! No!’
It was too late. A shriek rose above the howl of the wind as Janet missed her footing on the second to last step. Her feet shot from under her and she fell back onto the steps, one leg bent beneath her.
‘Oh, no!’ Harriet hurried as best she could to where the maid lay. ‘Janet? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, milady. I—’ Janet screamed as she tried to rise, a high-pitched, sobbing scream. ‘Oh, milady! My back! It—aargh! My leg! I can’t move it!’
‘Oh, good heavens!’ What if it is broken? Harriet remembered only too well the pain of broken bones, a pain that, in her case, had been numbed by a far greater agony. She thrust those memories back down where they belonged. In the past. ‘Can you carry her to the chaise, Cooper?’
The footman bent to lift Janet, but the maid batted him away. ‘No! Don’t touch me. It hurts!’
Harriet crouched down next to Janet, taking her gloved hand. ‘We cannot just leave you here in the snow. You’ll freeze to death.’
‘I can’t bear to move, milady. I can’t bear it. And I can’t go in that yellow bounder, not the way they drive. I cannot.’ Her words ended in a wail.
Now what was she to do? Harriet stared through the driving snow to where the chaise and four still waited. It was barely visible now. The weather was worsening. She must move Janet somehow.
‘Allow me.’ A hand gripped her shoulder as the deep voice interrupted her inner panic.
Benedict.
Her instinctive urge to shrink from his touch battled against her relief that help was at hand. She glanced round, taking in his hard eyes and tight-lipped mouth, and she clenched her jaw. Janet must be her only concern.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Copyright © 2016 by Janice Preston
ISBN-13: 9781488004025
Western Spring Weddings
Copyright © 2016 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
The City Girl and the Rancher
Copyright © 2016 by The Woolston Family Trust
His Springtime Bride
Copyright © 2016 by Kathryn Leigh Albright
When a Cowboy Says I Do
Copyright © 2016 by Lauri Robinson
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