“Here then,” he said gently, opening the lap rug like two wings. “We must share, Lady Summer, else we’ll both take an ague before morning.” He reached to envelope Summer with his blanketed arms, her back to his front. The lap robe’s two ends overlapped before them with not much to spare—robbing Genevieve of a chance of crowding in and making it a threesome. She watched as Summer settled back into his chest, at first shivering more, but soon giving into the warmth their mutual shelter generated. She noted how the blonde head fit nicely, as though quite meant to fit there, under Xavier’s chin.
Genevieve turned her eyes away, regretting that the night’s dark wasn’t deep enough to miss observing the little scene enacted before her. Curiously, it wasn’t Xavier’s consideration that twisted something in her belly, it was his gentleness as he cradled Summer.
Which brought forth a gentle feeling of her own, a stirring of admiration: how gallant Xavier was. He saw to their comforts before he saw to his own. He tried to reassure them all. He’d found them this shelter, where other “gentlemen” would not have thought to try…
Still, it was Summer who was cradled in his arms.
Genevieve huddled and shivered under her shawls, and was glad he couldn’t much see her face in the night, because it was undoubtedly red with the wrong kind of warmth.
Chapter 11
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
—Shakespeare,
Macbeth
“Damnation!” Xavier swore not quite under his breath.
None of the ladies chided him, although they were all so close they could scarcely miss the exclamation. If the truth were told, each echoed his sentiment exactly as the rain poured down on their bonneted heads.
Despite a bounty of mixed feelings, Genevieve reached up with her one free hand, almost losing her shawl in the process, to use the side of her hand to wipe the large drop of rain from the bridge of Xavier’s nose. The course of the large droplet, from his forehead down his nose, had finally been one too many and had caused him to utter his oath aloud.
“You’re soaked through,” she said miserably.
“The price I pay for refusing to don my hat earlier today,” he spoke, not bothering to try and sound at all cheerful. The hat had been taken away with Kenneth and the second coach.
Summer had again attempted to return his jacket to him, but he’d refused it once more. Summer no longer shivered, but it was because Xavier was taking the worst of the rain for her.
“It’s not going to let up, is it?” Laura sniffled.
Xavier sighed. “I fear it won’t be soon, ladies. I’d hoped it was a passing squall, but it seems the pattern for the night,” he amended, and then he made a sudden decision. “We’re beyond wet. We must have a drier place. It’s back to the coach, ladies.”
“Is it safe?” Genevieve’s question was small, half carried away by wind and rain.
“I’ll stand guard. At least the rain will keep any other carriages from coursing the road too swiftly, I pray.”
Summer sneezed, and that seemed a signal for them to begin. Xavier dropped his arms, settling his soaked lap robe over her head and shoulders, for whatever good the sodden fabric might do to protect her, even as he cried, “Right then. On our way.”
Laura squealed as the full force of the rain dashed at her, but she led the way as they all fast-walked back the way they’d come, trying to watch for tangling roots or grasping branches. Genevieve was belatedly glad she’d left off her stockings and would have some kind of dry footwear, however inadequate, awaiting her in the carriage.
It didn’t take them long to arrive at the tilted carriage, but if any part of them hadn’t been soaked and chilled, it was now. Their penciled note was stuck flat to the windowpane, unreadable in the dark. Laura pulled open the coach door as soon as she touched the handle, and despite the upward slant, scampered inside at once. Xavier stepped forward, placing his hands on his sister’s waist, lifting Penelope upward even as she gripped the sides of the opening and pulled up. As soon as she was inside, Summer was lifted up by the waist as well, sodden lap robe and all.
There was a commotion in the carriage’s interior as the three ladies vied for handles or grips, so that Genevieve was forced to wait in the rain for several long beats before Laura called, “Oh, hurry! We must get that door closed.”
There were hands, large hands, at Genevieve’s waist, waiting to assist her upward.
She slowly turned her head, the rain slanting down into her face, causing her to blink as she gazed up at the dark head above her own, at the barely visible face of the man who possessed those large hands. His hair was even more inky black than the night, hanging around his face in unruly waves. His eye patch was a dark oval on his face, and his shirtsleeves were plastered to the skin of his arms.
He must have noted that she’d gone still under his touch, and brought his vision down to meet hers. Genevieve forgot to listen to the assorted “oofs” and “ughhs” coming from inside the carriage, forgot that the two of them were cold and wet and miserable. His gray eye looked at her as if she’d asked a question, and she shivered beneath his hands because some part of her wished to hear what he would say.
His lips parted as they stood thus, still and unspeaking in the rain.
“Xavier!” Penelope’s sharp tone came from the carriage. “The door! Please.”
His head pivoted at the sound, and his shoulders jerked back as though someone had poked him with a particularly sharp stick to the shoulder blades. “Of course,” he murmured. His hands started to pull away, but then remembered their task, tightening again on her waist as he prepared to lift Genevieve to the tilted step.
“Come inside with us,” she blurted out.
He shook his head. “I would never forgive myself if something should happen.”
“It’s so wet—”
“Go on, Genny,” he urged softy, making a motion with his chin in the direction of the door. “I’ll be just fine.”
He’d robbed her of breath, calling her by that pet name. She couldn’t help herself; another shiver ran through her, a shiver assuredly felt by those encircling hands, and she found her mind spinning to think that it might not be the cold and wet that caused this latest shudder. She reached with strengthless arms for the door frame, and tried to pull herself up as he lifted her and said, “Out of the rain then.” Thanks to his strength, she found herself inside the carriage, standing stooped and trying not to slide back out the door, which was promptly closed behind her, plunging them into a deeper darkness. She scrambled to the open seat next to Summer, grasping a leather strap to help hold herself up from utterly squashing the other lady.
Laura, on the bottom of the tilt like Summer, was wringing out all their garments, and Summer belatedly joined her. Genevieve abandoned the idea of finding her stockings, they’d only get drenched by the water puddling beneath them all, if they weren’t already. “Summer,” Genevieve said into the blackness.
“Yes?” Summer answered.
“The lap robe. You may keep his coat, but I think Xavier ought to have the lap robe. It will not keep him dry, but it might help to keep him warm.”
“Oh, assuredly,” Summer cried at once, untangling the rug from where she half sat on it. Genevieve leaned forward, placing her foot for balance while she pulled the handle to the door. With a struggle, the little door swung outward, striking Xavier on the elbow so that he turned at once.
“Cover yourself,” Genevieve cried through the rainfall, thrusting the lap robe at him.
“Thank you!” he shouted back, taking the offering in his hands and draping it around his shoulders at once, grimacing at the cold touch of the fabric. He went to pull it up over his head, but Genevieve cried, “Wait,” and dragged the silk shawl from her shoulders. “Take this. Put it over your head, and the lap robe over that. Papa always tells us you’ll stay warmer out-of-doors if you keep your head as warm as you can.”
“Your papa is right,” he said, and she saw
a grateful smile flash at her through the gloom. She waited until he’d donned the shawl, ignoring Laura’s pointed comment that the rain was slanting in, only then reaching for the door handle. Just as she pulled it shut, she caught a glimpse of Xavier securing the lap robe firmly around himself as he leaned back against the carriage, only a portion of his face now visible in the cowl-like overhang of the covering, as he took advantage of whatever shelter the tilted vehicle provided.
She sighed, some part of her annoyed at him for refusing to come within—they could have made room for him—and part of her glad for the dimness inside the carriage, that none may see the appreciation no doubt shining from her eyes.
* * *
Silence had invaded the interior of the carriage. The ladies had stopped shivering, but were not exactly drowsing, for who could sleep aslant and half crushed, or while struggling not to crush the one below, yet all of them startled as though wakened when there was a rap on the door. Genevieve moved first, reaching for the handle just as the door was pulled open, letting in fresh, cold, wet air anew. The ladies mewled in protest.
Xavier stood there, still encased in the lap robe except for where he’d put out his hand. “They’ve come,” he said. “We’ve the second carriage back, so you ladies may proceed on to our inn for the evening.”
“Thank heaven!” Penelope said, and Laura nodded emphatic agreement.
“Leave your wet things here. There are dry rugs in the other coach.”
Laura was the first one out, making a face at being back in the rain, however temporarily. Michael greeted each as he handed them up into the second carriage, for once not telling them they looked like drowned rats. They gave little cries of delight to find not only the lap rugs but dry linens and warmed bricks inside, and swiftly shut the door against the elements.
Genevieve looked out the window, the rain splatter making the scene difficult to decipher, but she could see that several men had come back with Haddy and Michael. It was obvious from their actions they intended to assist in repairing the first carriage, the robed Xavier in their midst.
She pulled down the window and called out. Michael was just handing to Haddy the leading strings of the horses which would pull the first carriage once it was repaired when he heard her call. He moved to the carriage window, and inquired, “Yes?”
“Michael, how many men will it take to repair the wheel? Have you enough?”
“Yes.”
“More than enough?”
He glanced over his shoulder, assessing. “I suppose,” was his answer.
“I’m concerned for Xavier. He has been drenched for well over an hour. Ought he to ride with us back to the inn?”
“Ought he, yes. Shall he allow himself that privilege, I cannot say.” Michael shrugged, his right ear almost touching his shoulder. “You know how he gets. But, sister dearest, I will inquire if that is his pleasure.”
“Please.”
“Pull up that window while I ask.”
He returned in a minute, pulling open the carriage door. “It seems your suggestion met with the fellow’s standard for good sense, if modified.”
“Is he not coming in?” Her brow wrinkled with a frown.
“He’s going to drive the carriage. Claims he’s already soaked through, so what difference a couple miles’ drive or so? He says he’ll be slow and careful about it,” he said, pointing to his left eye, indicating Xavier was aware his handicap must be compensated for by a lack of speed or light. Genevieve shook her head, dismissing any concern about that, for, like his shooting, Xavier had long practiced his driving, even if he seldom did so in town. Michael followed this news with a dramatic moue. “Which means, you see, that I am to stay behind and assist with the repairs.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Genevieve said, but in truth, better he than Xavier, who needed a fire and a cup of something warm.
“Whatever this fools journey next presents as a difficulty, I’ll remember I’ve already had my share of the torture, and I’ll cry off accepting more,” he warned his sister as he closed the door.
It was a moment longer as the men exchanged unintelligible words, but then the carriage lurched forward.
It wasn’t a long drive to the next village, which turned out to be Long Itchington. Just as they pulled up before an inn boasting a hanging sign that read The King’s Head, Genevieve realized the rain had stopped.
“Can you fathom that?” she exclaimed, pointing out the fact to the others.
“And can you believe it’s actually warmish, once one is out of the direct wet and the breeze,” Summer said.
“Humid,” Laura agreed. “Most unpleasant. I can scarce wait to remove these clothes.”
Now that they had the promise of dry clothes just moments away, Penelope remarked, “I confess that, now that I’m no longer shivering, I’m rather remarkably famished.”
Penelope was the first through the door of the inn, announcing to the waiting innkeeper’s wife that food and hot water were promptly needed, “In that order, if you please.” They were hustled up the stairs to a large room with two large beds in it and an area that was meant to serve as a kind of sitting room, where their bags were already waiting for them. The innkeeper’s wife introduced herself as one Mrs. Denny, and obviously had a few years’ experience at her trade, for she brought a large basket into which she requested they deposit all their wet things while she fetched them some supper.
Mrs. Denny found four bedraggled but dry females when she and a servant brought up two large trays of food. The ladies immediately moved to sit themselves in the various chairs in the sitting area, eyeing the roast beef on thick-sliced bread topped with rich gravy, accompanied by roasted potatoes and honeyed carrots, with an avarice that in years gone by would have set their nannies to scolding. “Do serve,” Laura encouraged the servant who had come up with Mrs. Denny.
As the girl began to fill the plates, Mrs. Denny inquired if the ladies would care for either tea or chocolate. Both were promptly requested, but before the woman could leave to fulfill this request, Genevieve caught her arm.
“The gentleman? Is he being served as well?”
“O’course, my lady, and fair famished he were, too.”
“That’s well.” Genevieve settled back with a sigh, accepting a plate with willing hands.
* * *
In a room downstairs, Xavier, now dressed in dry clothes, with his dark hair still wet yet once again neatly combed, a dry eye patch in place, motioned to the boy who had brought him a bottle of port. “Can you tell me, are the ladies being seen to? Have they received a meal as of yet?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
He flipped the boy a small coin extracted from his vest pocket, which the lad was quick to catch.
He ought to call on them, check for himself… But perhaps he’d leave that duty to one of the other gentlemen of their party once they arrived with the repaired coach. He didn’t want to be near Genevieve, not when he yet felt so acutely unsure what had happened in those few long moments in the rain when she’d… She’d what? Really looked at him? With consideration? She’d looked at him a thousand times in their lives—but he wanted to believe there had been a moment…
He shook his head, told himself to cast aside fancies, and reached again for the port.
Chapter 12
I know my life’s a pain and but a span,
I know my sense is mock’d in every thing;
And to conclude, I know myself a man,
Which is a proud and yet a wretched thing.
—Sir John Davies,
Nosce Teipsum
“My eye?” Xavier cried, coming to his feet, not two hours later. “By gum, yes, I’ll tell you how I lost my eye.”
The stable boy before him half cringed, his eyes wide, but as much with eagerness as fear, for it was obvious the gentlemen before him and the others in the inn’s main room was playacting. The toff’s motions were oversized, his one good eye rolled dramatically as he took in his audience,
and he propped one foot on a chair in the classic storyteller’s pose.
Kenneth leaned forward, though his expression said he was not truly hopeful of finally hearing the true tale. Haddy passed Michael a pouch of tobacco, and the two proceeded to stuff and light their pipes. All the men were washed and wearing clean clothes, having arrived soaked and filthy.
“It was a dark night, like tonight, but cold, bitter cold,” Xavier continued, his hands curling into fists as he pretended to shudder. “The land was gripped in a terrible, lasting ice storm. No man nor beast ventured out on this night, for the wail of the wind was like the cry of the dead. Women closed their shutters to that wind, hearing it sigh promises of a frozen death for any of the foolhardy who thought to step out from the safety of their homes.” Xavier moved his head, looking from face to face. “All the farmers, they feared their cattle would be frozen by morning, but even so none dared to brave winter’s icy touch. None, that is,” Xavier paused for a beat, “save my brother.”
A murmur ran through the crowd, and someone was heard to say they remembered the year of the ice storms.
“Even so, good sir,” Xavier nodded his way.
Kenneth sat back then. “He has no brother, nor ever did,” he said under his breath to Haddy, who merely nodded.
“He was a big lad,” Xavier spread his hands vertically, “and promised to be bigger yet when he’d grown to full manhood. And prodigious strong. He’d never been bested in a wrestling match. He was the one they called when an animal or a man needed to be held down for doctoring. He could lift fourteen stone, and he only fifteen years of age. He’d never been ill a day in his life, and had never had reason to know fear.”
Xavier straightened and shook his head as though at a terrible memory. “When he saw that one of our horses—a favorite of his, as not many of the horses could carry such a big, strapping lad as he—had been left in pasture, he was determined to bring the animal in. Mama begged him not to go. Papa told him he was being foolish, but there was no stopping him once he’d made up his mind.” Xavier paused again, then said in a lowered voice, “I cannot swear to it, but when he opened the door to leave us the wind blew in the storm, and I thought I saw icy tendrils shaped as arms reach out and pull him forth.”
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