“Then let me think how I can help you.” Nicholas rubbed at his chin. “Perhaps the innkeeper knows of a local girl who could be hired to accompany you.”
“I—I had not thought of that.” She paused a fraction. “What about you, sir? You seemed to imply your presence in Town was of great importance.”
“It is, but that isn’t your concern. I shall figure out something.” Wishing to wipe the pinched look from her face, he essayed a note of humor. “If you would make me one of your snowballs, mayhap I could roll my way to the next coaching stop.”
Her lips twitched upward for an instant before her expression once again turned serious. “Perhaps there is another alternative.”
“Yes?” encouraged Nicholas.
“That we keep to our original plan. It is not as if any gossip is going to reach Town from here. And if we employ a modicum of discretion, we ought to be able to drop you at the first coaching inn with no one being the wiser.” Anna forced a smile. “It would be in keeping with the spirit of the holidays. Surely no harm can come of offering kindness to a stranger.”
“The risk does seem small,” he mused. “But still, it’s not something either of us ought to take lightly.”
His note of caution rekindled the fire in her eyes. “Don’t you ever wish to shake free of the rules, if only for a fleeting interlude, Lord Killingworth?” she demanded.
“Sorry to disappoint you. If you are looking to encounter a dashing hero on this journey, read Byron’s poetry.” He had thought himself long past caring about such snide comments about his lack of color. Yet for some reason, her criticism hurt more than he cared to admit.
“With all that expensive education, I would have thought you smart enough to realize that this predicament is nothing to make light of. Surely your instructors taught you that Society does not forgive or forget a mistake, however innocent.”
“To hell with Society and all its strictures,” she muttered, the angle of her chin defying him to remark on her unladylike language. “If you are afraid of risking your own reputation, I will go on alone. Even if there were a local girl willing to leave her family at Christmas, it would take too long to make arrangements.”
“You appear to enjoy courting disaster,” he said through gritted teeth. “I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue on your own. But let us pray this lapse in protocol doesn’t come back to haunt us.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic.”
“I prefer to think of it as being realistic. In my line of work, I have learned that one can’t allow emotion to cloud reason.”
“I shudder to think what it is you do,” she countered. “Hopefully it does not involve dealing with people.”
Stung by her note of scorn, he reacted with equal heat. “For your information, Lady Anna, I am accorded to be very skillful in settling quarrels and bringing about a meeting of minds.”
“Is that so? Well, it seems you will get a great deal of practice in honing your abilities during the next few hours.”
Chapter 3
The sun was still shining, but the trip was certainly starting out on a stormy note. Tugging at the cords of her reticule, Anna leaned back against the squabs and listened to the creak of her coachman loading the boot of the coach. Somehow her mood was proving more difficult to untangle. Why could she not simply put Lord Killingworth out of her head?
It was where he belonged—far, far from her most private thoughts and feelings.
He was an oddly infuriating gentleman, arrogant and overbearing one moment, only to show an intriguing glimmer of sensitivity the next.
Don’t be a goose, she chided herself. Just because he showed a flash of wit and an attractive smile was no reason to imagine he actually possessed some real depth of character. His own words had warned her not to expect anything out of the ordinary from him.
Several minutes later, His Lordship climbed into the coach. Without a word, he settled himself in the opposite comer and cracked a book. A surreptitious glance showed it was not Byron, but a thick tome on the history of the Byzantine Empire. No wonder he looked so glum if that was the sort of reading he chose for relaxation.
Anna returned to her own book, the latest work by Miss Austen. Her teachers had frowned on such novels for young ladies. And it was no wonder, for with a sharp eye and dry wit, the author masterfully exposed the frailties and foibles of Society. Which was, of course, exactly why Anna found them highly entertaining, even though her laughter was often tempered by a twinge of pain as the observations cut close to home.
The truth hurt at times. She was not so vain as to think her uncle and her acquaintances were the only ones with faults. Like Elizabeth Bennett, she had her own prejudices, and a tendency to be headstrong and highly opinionated. Still, Anna took heart in knowing that she wasn’t alone in seeing the absurdities and unfairness in life.
At least with her nose buried in the pages, she felt she was in the presence of a kindred soul.
Until Lord Killingworth’s grumble reminded her of another, more unwelcome presence. “Now what is the delay?” he muttered.
“John Coachman is quite thorough in checking that all is in order before setting out,” she replied, not looking up from her book. “I imagine he has found some buckle or bolt that needs attending to.”
Her amusement over a particularly pithy observation on the page was interrupted by a low snort of air. One that sounded suspiciously like a word that should not have been uttered in front of a lady.
“Really, sir, you have a devil of a temper,” she observed without shifting her gaze.
“Me?” His response bristled with indignation. “Ha! I am known for my even disposition.”
“Right,” she shot back. “You are always horribly irritable.”
Nicholas drew in a sharp breath. “What makes you say that?”
“To begin with, from the moment you stormed into the inn last night, you have been loud, rude and overbearing, expecting everyone in your path to bow to your needs.”
Leather crackled as he shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “I was not aware you overheard my arrival,” he said. “I. . . I cannot blame you for thinking me an oaf. The truth is, I haven’t been at my best lately.”
Surprised at the unexpected frankness, Anna found herself curious. “Is there a reason?”
She half expected him to tell her to mind her own business, but after a stretch of silence, he cleared his throat. “If you must know, I would rather be spending Christmas in the country with my friends, so I am not particularly pleased at having been summoned back to Town.”
A sidelong glance showed that his grip on his book was in danger of splitting the spine.
“However,” he went on tightly. “When duty calls, I have no choice but to come running like an obedient hound.”
“I thought only females were on such a tight leash.”
“There is much about the real world that they don’t teach you at Mrs. Franklin’s Academy for Select Young Ladies.” The note of mockery was directed more at himself than at her. “Gentlemen may appear to have the freedom to roam at will, but trust me, the collar, however subtle, can be just as choking. I—” Nicholas abruptly snapped his book shut. “I shall just have a look at what is holding us up.”
Between the jangle of the harness and the whisper of her own conflicted thoughts, Anna could not make out the muffled exchange between Lord Killingworth and her driver. Whatever it was, the discussion did not last long. The arrival of hot bricks and extra blankets finally signaled that they were ready to leave.
“I brought along the last of the meat pie, along with some bread and cheese, in case it takes longer than expected to reach the main road.” Nicholas added several oilskin packets to the items the innkeeper had brought out. “It’s hardly the sort of fare for a refined young lady, but it will have to do.”
“I am not one of those sheltered misses who has never had a taste of life outside of the schoolroom,” replied Anna tartly. While she did not want to
be thought of as a wild savage, neither did she wish him to view her as just another pampered aristocrat. “I have traveled extensively through Europe and Russia, in far harsher conditions than these, sir, so there is no need to be. . . condescending.”
“My apologies.” He did not sound overly contrite, and wasted little time in raising his book as a barrier to any further conversation.
She stared at the tooled leather, silently mouthing a rather unladylike word. Lord Killingworth was one of the rare gentlemen she had ever met who had shown a hint of introspection, yet just when the discussion had been taking an interesting direction, he had retreated behind the stiff confines of convention.
Her disappointment was hard to swallow. How she longed to talk about real feelings with a gentleman rather than engage in banal exchanges about the latest fashionable color, or the state of the weather.
Which was, she noticed, threatening to turn as dark as her mood. An ominous line of leaden clouds hovered on the horizon, their gathering force a warning that another storm might be headed their way.
“The sky is now the color of pewter,” she pointed out a short while later, unable to concentrate on her reading.
“Do you wish to turn back?” asked Nicholas.
Anna stared out at the fairytale forest, then looked away as her sigh fogged the windowglass. Feeling hemmed in on all sides, she blurted out, “If I had my wish, a Baba Yaga would appear to turn the horses into reindeer and fly the coach to the North Pole.”
“Surely it can’t be that bad.” His scowl softened to a rueful smile. “It would be awfully cold atop the world, not to speak of awfully lonely. There wouldn’t be another person around for thousands of miles.”
“So much the better,” she muttered. “But I doubt you know what it is like to be bound by duty and convention, always at the beck and call of others, with no freedom to make up your own mind. Parents, teachers, guardians—Lud, at times it feels as if even the gardener and the groom may fling orders at me.”
Her breath had turned to ice on the window. Slipping off her mitten, Anna traced random patterns through the crystals with her bare finger. “I assure you, there is little difference between me and a mare put up for auction. Neither of us is ever given free rein. Instead, we are expected to submit docilely to spur or whip.”
“Gentlemen are not quite as free as you might imagine to run neck and leather through life.”
“No?” A bitter note crept into her voice. “Judging from the gossip that flows as freely as champagne at the balls and soirees, I find that hard to believe.”
Nicholas did not answer right away, his attention seemingly caught up by his own view out the window. “If it’s any consolation, not all English lords are gentlemen of indolent indulgence.”
The fact that he did not respond with a lie or a platitude gave her the heart to continue speaking honestly. “No doubt you are once again thinking me childish, Lord Killingworth. Here I am bemoaning what I do not have, rather than counting my blessings.” Anna fingered the thick sable trim of her cloak. “Believe me, I am not such a selfish creature as to be unaware of how fortunate I am in life. I have every comfort imaginable. And yet. . .”
Nicholas waited a moment and then murmured, “And yet, not all happiness can be measured in terms of material possessions.”
“You. . . you understand.” It came out as half question, half statement.
He gave a small smile. “Lady Anna, I have a feeling we are more alike than you think.”
The coach was gliding smoothly through the powdery snow, and yet her insides were giving the oddest little lurches, as if they were spinning cartwheels inside her ribcage. Confused, she braced herself against the squabs and sought to shift the conversation to a more even ground.
“I have no parents or siblings with whom to spend Christmas. But you, sir—surely you have a family who shall miss having you there with them to share the joy of opening presents and feasting on roast goose and plum pudding.”
“I, too, am an only child,” answered Nicolas. “And while my parents are alive and well, there is little these days that draws us together as a family. My mother is quite happy to potter around the family estate in Devonshire, raising her exotic hothouse roses. Indeed, there are times when I wonder whether she cares more about pistils and stamens than she does about flesh and blood.” It was said with a smile, but the humor did not quite reach his eyes.
“As for my father. . .” Nicholas exaggerated a wry shrug. “My father does not allow either heavenly or earthly concerns to distract him from his work. Indeed, if the Savior were to be born today in his stables, he would react to the news with a vague frown, then go back to his papers, after admonishing the servants not to disturb him unless something truly important had happened.”
Anna laughed in spite of everything. “He ought to meet my uncle. It sounds as if the two of them would get along quite well.”
“That—or murder each other.” Nicholas’s chuckle sounded a rich counterpoint to their amusement. “In my experience, two strong personalities either love or hate each other.”
“I have noticed that as well.”
“Does your guardian live in London?”
“No. He is just visiting for several months.” Hoping to forestall any further personal questions, Anna began thumbing through her book to find where she had left off. “For business.”
Nicholas proved to be as persistent as he was perceptive.
“And what sort of business is that?”
“I-I am sorry, but I really can’t discuss his affairs,” she replied. “They are highly confidential.”
“What about the reason he summoned you back to Town?”
“I would rather not discuss that either, if you please. It is. . . very personal.”
“And obviously very painful.” Nicholas accepted the rebuff without argument. “You have my sympathy.” He paused. “Seeing as I, too, am traveling under duress, perhaps the less said about the subject the better. Shall we make a pact not to press each other on our respective reasons for the duration of the journey?”
Grateful for the suggestion, Anna was quick to reply. “You will not find your skills at negotiating tested in this case. I gladly agree.”
“Then I will return to the world of Byzantine politics,” he said, holding up his book. “Whatever your uncle is involved in, it could not possibly rival the Greeks and the Turks for cunning or intrigue.”
Ha! Anna almost laughed aloud, but managed to clear her throat with a cough instead. “Before you do, I have yet another apology to make. I was not only very rude earlier with my remarks on your temper and your skills at dealing with people, but also very wrong. You are very good at putting a person at ease.”
“It is already forgotten,” he murmured. “As you witnessed last night, I am all too aware of how easy it is to suffer a lapse in judgment when one is upset.” He glanced at her book before turning a page of his own volume. “I take a bit of solace from the fact that some of Miss Austen’s characters behave even more foolishly than we have.”
They settled into a companionable silence. Cozy beneath the soft folds of her thick merino blanket Anna picked up the thread of the story, and noted that on paper, closer scrutiny of the individuals involved did not always magnify their foibles.
The sound was deceptively mild, a soft flutter, something akin to the beating of a moth’s wings against the glass windowpanes. Nicholas pulled back the drapery only to find the view was of naught but vague shapes obscured by swirling snow. A gust of wind rattled the door.
“It looks to be getting worse,” he said.
Anna yawned and stretched her legs. “I wonder how much farther we have to go. It feels as if we have been travelling for hours.”
“I fear the miles have not rolled by as quickly as the minutes. If we—”
A cracking lurch cut off his words and sent Nicholas skidding across the smooth leather. As the sound of splintering wood exploded in his ears, the coach rocked back, f
linging him up into the air where he hovered for an instant before landing in Anna’s lap.
“Hell’s Bells!” His curse echoed the cacophony of confusion outside. As he struggled to untangle his limbs from the twist of blankets and clothing, the wind whipped pellets of ice against the windows and the horses set up another chorus of frightened whinnies. From his box, the coachman cried for help.
To her credit, Anna did not panic. She wriggled out from under him and set to freeing his boot from her knotted skirts.
Brave girl, he noted, though aloud he snapped only a brusque “Stay here” as he dove for the door and wrenched it open. Fighting his way through the driving snow, Nicholas caught the driver as he fell from his icy perch.
“T-T-Tree fell across the way.” Blue with cold, the man’s lips were having difficulty forming distinct words. “M-Managed to steer the team clear b-but I fear the w-wheel. . .”
Nicholas saw that the wheel was trapped by the broken branches of a large spruce. He took hold of one of the shattered stumps, but abandoned the effort after several heaves proved there was no way he was going to dislodge it on his own.
“If we back the coach up,” he yelled above the howl of the storm, “I think we can manage to pull the wreckage free.”
“Aye, sir.” The coachman made a game try at returning to his seat, but his awkward fumblings quickly made it clear that his wrist had been injured in the accident.
“I had better take charge,” said Nicolas. “It will take two good hands to control the team.”
The man winced. “Aye, but it will also take at least that to clear the branches.”
Nicholas took a moment to assess the options—which, he decided, were extremely limited. “We will have to make a try at it. There is no other choice—”
“Actually there is, sir.” Anna materialized out of the wind-whipped flakes, a muffler wound up to the tip of her nose, its ends tied over her hat to snug it in place. “Let me handle the ribbons, while you help John.”
Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas Page 3