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December 21, 1810
North of Dronfield
Derbyshire, England
Will this trip ever end?
Miss Hope Atwater tamped on the urge to sigh. Again. She’d done much of that in the last hour and it hadn’t helped move the post chaise any faster toward her ultimate destination of Swanson Cottage near the town of Sheffield in Yorkshire. Besides, there were multiple stops between here and there, and at least another day of travel, perhaps more depending on the weather.
The sky was filling with swollen, angry gray clouds that portended more snow. The trip had already been delayed due to snow for three days, which meant the journey that should have taken only four had been extended into a week, and there was no way of knowing how much longer she would need to remain on the dreadful, rutted roads or in the horribly crowded post chaise.
Passengers were picked up or let out along the way, and one never knew who one would be seated next to them in the tight, cramped quarters. Currently, she was squashed between a portly man who had apparently decided bathing with any sort of regularity wasn’t for him and a matronly older woman who, each time she nodded off, laid her head—as well as her tilting wig fashionable during the last decade—on Hope’s shoulder. And that wig was an odiferous offense.
No amount of sniffing her handkerchief that had been dabbed with her favorite violet perfume could save her nose from the dual assaults.
Across the narrow aisle sat a middle-aged woman who held herself composed and aloof. Perhaps she was a spinster either traveling for a governess position or taking a holiday from the same. There were also two men of indeterminate age, both reading copies of The Times, no doubt in the hopes that the other passengers would not engage them in conversation. From the cut of their suits and the quality of the cloth and stitching, they were certainly in a class above the others, but not well-heeled enough that they could secure private transportation. Brothers? Cousins? Father and son? Lovers? Friends? The thoughts on their relationship were endless, and Hope would entertain herself for an hour or so in putting together stories for them. It was how she’d learned to fill her time whenever she was bored or frightened over her future prospects. Even now, there was a small notebook and pencil in her reticule so she could scribble down some words, which she would then transfer to a current manuscript at a later time.
Honestly, it was the only way she could be certain to give someone a happy ending. There were times when she envied the characters she wrote about.
Because there wasn’t a happy ending in the offing for her own life.
Which put her thoughts back on her own circumstances. Three years before, her whole life had been upended, for there had been a horrendous fire at her father’s manor house in Hertfordshire. Since it happened during the night somewhere in the kitchens, no one had been aware until it had been too late. The only reason Hope was alive today was due to the fact that a footman had burst into her bedchamber. He’d pulled her and her maid out of the house to safety, but when he’d gone back in to look for her parents, he’d perished due to the smoke. Her parents had never made it outside. Neither had most of the staff.
And that fire had left her scarred both mentally and physically. To say nothing of the fact that it had left her alone at two and twenty. She’d had no recourse but to take a post chaise down to London and throw herself onto her uncle’s doorstep, for with her father dead, his younger brother was the new Baronet Atwater.
He and his wife had taken her in, but they hadn’t been happy about it, for they already had two children a handful of years her junior. They’d granted her a Season—after her year of mourning had expired—in the hopes to marry her off. She hadn’t managed to attract a titled gentleman, but a lovely lieutenant in the military had asked for her hand. Of course, she’d been highly encouraged to accept the suit, for that meant she’d be off her uncle’s hands.
She had but directly following that momentous occasion, he’d received orders to return to his regiment. Because she’d assumed she’d been in love, she’d willingly followed him into scandal one night shortly before his departure. It had been her intention to grant her new fiancé the greatest intimacy, but once she’d pleasured his shaft and they’d undressed, the man had taken one look at her fire-ravaged and scarred skin and had claimed he needed to leave. That had been heartbreaking, but when he’d begged off the engagement in a letter after he’d left London, her confidence and trust had been shattered.
Obviously, she was too damaged and ugly to attract a man. It taken a long time to move past that incident, wherein she’d languished around London, neither wishing to move through society as much as she should nor making an effort to find friends. Her uncle hadn’t been pleased. Eventually, when she’d turned five and twenty in the spring of this year, he’d advised her to take a companion position for an elderly peeress, so her failure wouldn’t ruin his children’s chances.
With another sigh, this one of desolation, Hope tried to squirm into a more comfortable position between her seat mates, and once more moved the woman’s head off her shoulder. The letter of introduction as well as the one of acceptance from the dowager Lady Lesterfield rested in her reticule next to her notebook. That lady was the daughter of a duke and had married a marquess in her heyday, but she’d never had children, and from all accounts, she had aged into a crotchety, overly critical, sourpuss of a woman.
And now she needed a companion... or rather a new one, for there had already been an impressive string of women who had preceded Hope.
Only God knew how long her position would last before it was terminated, or she gave notice. For the time being, this is what her life had become. However, the dowager’s nephew had been scheduled to meet her and then escort her for the rest of the journey, but he hadn’t made an appearance, so she’d been forced to continue by herself.
She frowned out the window where the snow had finally begun to fly, and at a rather fast clip. Oh, please let us not become stranded. That would just add insult to injury. Will this trip ever end? The thought certainly bore repeating.
When she attempted to make eye contact with the woman across the narrow aisle, she was rebuffed. Neither did the men with the newspapers look her way. Even though the coach’s interior was crowded, it seemed an extremely lonely place.
And quite frankly, she had grown tired of being alone.
As the wind increased and began to howl, the hiss of snow against the window glass sent a shiver down her spine. Winter, in general, wasn’t one of her favorite seasons, but she would have gladly welcomed it if she wasn’t currently sitting in a coach slowly trundling northward, which would put her right in the center of more of the same. The northern climes always ran the risk of having more snow than the London area.
Another hour passed wherein her patience had all but evaporated, for being stuck between her bench mates had grown intolerable. Then the inevitable happened. The unmistakable snap of wood splintering echoed in the air, quickly followed by an ominous tilting of the vehicle. She was smashed against the body of the woman next to her and then given the ultimate indignity of being groped by the portly man as his body layered into hers by the situation.
This is outside of enough!
With a frustrated huff, Hope wriggled out from between the other two people and then unceremoniously tumbled to the tilting floor, slid down, and landed on her bottom against the door. At that moment, one of the drivers swung open that panel. She spilled out of the chaise in a tangle of limbs and skirting to land at his feet, staring up at the white-painted world around her.
“Begging your pardon, miss,” the man said as he put a gloved hand beneath her upper arm and hauled her into a standing position without ceremony. “Seems we’ve broken a wheel out here. Can’t see the ruts in the road with all this snow.”
Another shiver racked her shoulders as she regained her footing and moved a few steps away from the leaning chaise. “Is it repairable?” The other driver had jumped down from the box and came around to assess the situation.
He was the one who answered. “Sure, we can repair it, but it’ll take time. Folly to do so in this storm. Will only be able to travel another mile or so before we’re forced to stop anyway.”
As a few other people came out of the chaise, Hope rubbed her hands up and down her arms. The woolen pelisse in a maroon color she’d worn might have been lined with a thin layer of rabbit fur, but with the wind and the exuberant snow, the temperature was rapidly declining. Additionally, the woolen muslin skirts weren’t heavy enough to keep her legs warm.
Drat. I should have worn a second petticoat. Of course, how was she to know weather conditions would deteriorate?
“I assume you will repair the wheel so we can continue on, then?” the overweight man who’d sat beside her asked. His top hat kept lifting off his balding head due to the wind.
“We will change out the wheel, of course.” The second driver looked him up and down with narrowed eyes. “But we won’t continue unless you want to help guide the horses through the weather. It’s not going to improve anytime soon.”
Before the man could respond, the first driver nodded. “Don’t want to risk the animals or the wheels on a road we can’t see. Or run the risk of being stuck in a drift.”
One of the men who’d been reading the newspaper scoffed. “What are we to do, then? We’re nowhere close to where we should have stopped for the night, and we do have a schedule to keep.”
It took all of Hope’s willpower to not roll her eyes skyward.
But the second driver shook his head. “There is a posting inn about a half mile up the road called The Brown Hare. Can’t say if there are rooms available at this late date.”
The portly man shook his head. “You expect us to walk all that way? And what of our luggage?”
Hope bounced her gaze between the men as best she could with the flying snow. “It is only a half mile. Be grateful for that.”
One of the drivers nodded. “Mayhap some of the stable hands at the inn will help in hauling the luggage. Could be stranded a good while if the weather keeps up.”
“And pray brigands don’t come by to rifle through our trunks?”
This time, Hope did roll her eyes. “Do you truly think bandits and thieves will be about on the roads in this storm?”
While the overweight man stewed, the drivers snickered. “What do you know about it, miss?”
She blinked snowflakes from her lashes. “I know that if we continue to stand around, we’ll be covered in snow, and I would rather not freeze.” Already, the snow on the ground reached the ankles of her half boots. “And let us pray there are no drifts in our path.”
The second driver grinned. “You should listen to her. The storm will probably dig in for a while.” As he spoke, the remaining travelers came out of the coach. “Best get started.” He pointed north. “Follow the road as best you can. The inn rests a bit back from the thoroughfare, but you can’t miss it.”
“What if we do?” one of the gentlemen asked with a dubious expression.
The first driver shrugged, but there was an unrepentant grin on his face. “You’ll surely freeze.”
Hope grasped the strings of her reticule tighter. “Thank you both for ensuring we reached this far without incident. I look forward to resuming our travels.” And if the storm did indeed delay the trip, it meant a couple more days of free time before she took up the reins of companion.
“Truly our pleasure, miss.” The second driver winked. “Good fortune to you.”
“Thank you.” She swept her gaze around at her assembled fellow passengers. “You may stand about and continue debating, but I am heading out for the inn.” When no one made inroads into departing with her, she shrugged, waved to the drivers, bent her shoulders into the wind, and set out to follow the road while she could still see it. Teatime had come and gone, but with the wind, the rapidly falling snow, and the dark gray skies, it was rather darker earlier than it should have been.
By the time the outlines of the roof came into view, Hope’s feet were frozen. Snow had caked upon her shoulders as well as her bonnet. Her ears smarted from the cold. Flakes of snow stuck to her eyelashes and those eyes streamed from the chilly wind. To say nothing of how frigid her fingers were, for the thin kid did nothing to insulate her digits from the weather.
As she stumbled off what she assumed was still the road and toward the innyard, she realized the coins that rested at the bottom of her reticule were probably not enough to cover the expense of a bed, let alone a whole room. Even if she had to share. She was too cold to shiver with revulsion, for if she were forced to split a bed with people the likes of which she’d shared a post chaise with, she would vastly prefer to sleep on the floor.
Halfway across the innyard, two matched dappled gray mares bore down on her. Snow covered the driver’s hat and the muffler wrapped around his face, so she couldn’t blame him for not being able to see her. Regardless, she stood rooted to the snowy ground, too exhausted to dart away, and stared with her heart in her throat as the horses came ever closer.
At the last second, the driver pulled the animals under control, but not before she was knocked once more to her bottom, so close that the whites of the horses’ eyes were visible directly above her and the stream of their breath warmed the side of her face.
“Damn and blast!” Or at least that’s what she assumed the driver said, for she couldn’t see his lips. “You fool woman! Could have been killed!”
Hope blinked. Her chest was tight with shock as well as fright while the horses stamped with impatience. She crawled out from beneath the first one but didn’t have the strength to stand just yet. Instead, she stared at the snow-covered ground and tried to catch her breath. Then a pair of shiny black Hessians appeared in her line of vision. Obviously, their owner hadn’t had to tramp across the countryside for the last hour. Then she drew her gaze up, but the man’s legs were mostly hidden by a black greatcoat. Her perusal stopped, for he extended a hand that was encased in a brown kid glove.
“I apologize for the accident. It is rather treacherous out here just now.”
Well, at least the man had manners. It was more than she could say for her fellow passengers. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen such a winter.” She slipped her fingers into his palm, and easily he lifted her into a standing position. “Thank you.” As she peered upward into the man’s face, the amusement and concern dancing in his blue eyes held her captive. A glimpse of blond hair was visible beneath the brim of his beaver felt top hat.
“Think nothing of it.” He didn’t release her hand, and she rather liked the firm grip of his fingers. “Are you staying at The Brown Hare?”
“I am hoping to, if it is not too expensive for the coin in my possession.” Well, drat. She shouldn’t have told him that lest he now think her a beggar. A shiver raced down her spine; it was quite cold, made even more so by her snow-damp clothing. “The post chaise I’d traveled on broke a wheel and is stranded on the road due to the weather. It was an unforeseen misfortune.”
“That is largely why I am here. The snow has thwarted by own travel plans.” The well-modulated baritone voice sent a different sort of shiver through her insides.
She glanced past his broad shoulders to the front door of the charming and unassuming inn. The sign hanging above the door depicted a painting of a brown rabbit. “Do you think it’s full up?” To her chagrin, her teeth chattered.
“I would have no idea, but perhaps we should make our way inside. I can feel you shivering.” He half-turned back toward his coach. “Gerald, I’m going into the inn. Get yourself into the stables and dried out in the kitchens.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Then he focused his attention back on her. A frown tugged the corners of his mouth downward. “Standing here talking of nothing is not helping, Miss...?”
“Atwater. Miss Hope Atwater.” She would have shrugged but the gesture turned into a large shiver instead. “It’s only natural since I have been walking for an hour. At this point, I rather doubt I’ll ever feel warm again.” Once more she looked into his face. Though slight surprise had jumped into his eyes, he seemed slightly familiar.
He leaned his head toward hers while at the same time urging her through the snow toward the door. “I’m the Duke of Denton.”
Oh, dear heavens! “A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Your Grace.” She should curtsy, but honestly, she was too tired and cold, and she didn’t wish to disturb his hand tucked over hers that rested on his sleeve. “Your title sounded familiar to me, and I have seen you about London a few times.” The duke was considered one of the best catches of the ton, even if he was a widower a bit over two years.
“Indeed. Truth to tell, I’d rather be back in London instead of out here, but at least this trip has excused me from having to do the social circuit this Christmastide.” Then he ushered her inside, and blessed warmth immediately surrounded her. All thoughts racing through her head evaporated in her quest to seek out more of that warmth. “You must be near frozen.”
“I am.” It was all too lovely to have someone look after her well-being, and to be in the company of a duke, to boot! The situation would have tickled her, but she was much too cold to give into her sense of humor.
“Come.” The man escorted her into the large common room with its smoky beams across the ceiling and dark, heavy furniture. At a large hearth, he ushered her into a nearby straight-backed wooden chair. “Sit here and thaw. I shall see to procuring a couple of rooms for the night.”
Immediately, she shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t allow you to do that, Your Grace. I am perfectly capable of—”
“My driver nearly ran you over. I owe you at least this.” A tiny smile curved his mouth. “Warm yourself. I shall return shortly.”
With a sigh, Hope sank onto the chair and turned her body closer to the gloriously crackling fire. For the moment, she wouldn’t press her case. It wasn’t her lot to accept charity. Perhaps her spirit would rally once she had the full use of her frozen extremities.
