Tom was much more concerned than he had allowed the two women to see. He knew exactly how distressed Nell had been, how deep her wounds were. He knew because her pain was his pain. This distance between them, this coldness, division, was simply intolerable. He truly feared for her welfare.
The door closed behind him. Pausing for a moment, he lifted his lantern to search for any footprints that might give him some indication of her direction. Nothing. The snow was still falling thickly. He could see no trace of her.
Closing his eyes, as if his internal vision of her would somehow help him divine which way she had gone, he wilfully calmed his mind. Almost instantly the thought came to him. The copse lane! The place where they had first met and kissed. The place where she and her papa had loved to walk.
If you are wrong, an inner voice cautioned, you might miss the opportunity to find her.
What else could he do? His reasoning was no better nor worse than the alternatives. So he set off, trudging heavily down the frozen lane.
After ten minutes he realised he had set himself an impossible task. She could be anywhere! At each gate he passed he had to wonder if she had gone into that field. Although dawn would surely come soon, this darkness that surrounded him now was his enemy.
‘Hell, damn and blast it!’ He turned back, acknowledging what he should have admitted in the first place—he needed his horse.
He wasted quite ten minutes returning to the stables, and another five searching thoroughly in case Nell was there.
She was not.
Finally, he saddled his stallion, which was clearly confused by this unexpectedly early start. Dousing the lantern, Tom set it on the floor. Dawn was finally breaking—another reason why he had been better to turn back, even against the instinct that urged him to find her as quickly as he could. His pocket watch told him it was eight o’clock.
Thankfully, the snow began to ease as he rode down the lane, and it had stopped altogether by the time he reached the copse. There were still no footprints in the lane, but there had been no side roads since he had left Wyatt House.
Dismounting, he searched the copse, calling for her as he did so.
Nothing.
On he went, his heart sore with concern. The sun slowly crept above the horizon, illuminating an endless blue-white carpet with diamond-sharp clarity. On another day Tom might have stopped to savour the beauty of the landscape around him. Today, knowing that his Nell was out here somewhere, under threat from the freezing temperature and holding the belief that he felt nothing for her, he barely noticed the charming winter scene.
Finally he saw what he had been hoping for. He slowed, then leaned down to be sure. Yes! There was the merest trace of dainty footprints in the snow.
This, then, is where she was when the snow ceased.
His heart pounding with hope, he urged his stallion on, following the footprints.
It took another twenty minutes, but as he rounded a bend he saw up ahead a crumpled heap in the centre of the road.
No!
His heart pounding with fear, he urged the stallion to a breakneck gallop, snow or no snow.
‘Whoa!’ Barely had the horse slowed to a trot than Tom was sliding off, running the final few yards towards her. ‘Nell? Nell?’
She was on her back, her face relaxed as if she was asleep. Her skin was deathly white and her lips slightly blue. She did not move.
‘Nell!’
He reached for her, hauling her unresponsive body into his arms.
‘Nell!’
His voice cracked as the enormity of losing her began to sink in. Finally he had found a woman who had brought meaning to his life, and he might have killed her with his selfish cruelty.
Enough!
The need to save Nell was more important than succumbing to his own distress. He forced himself to look at her properly and, leaning right down to her, he was relieved to sense a slight breath coming from her nose.
She is alive, then. For now.
Of course he had no way of knowing if she could yet be saved. The same snow that had created the beautiful scene all around them had cruelly taken her life’s warmth. Her clothes were drenched and sodden, the skin of her hands and beautiful face icy cold.
He had no time to waste. In this empty landscape, the nearest dwelling was Wyatt House. He must return with her as soon as possible.
Only a couple of minutes later, with the aid of a nearby tree-stump, he remounted the stallion. He had already placed Nell’s recumbent form across the horse’s withers, and now he was seated behind her. Gently, he shifted her into a vaguely upright position, with her back to him. He took the reins into his left hand while his right arm encircled Nell, holding her close. The cold from her damp clothes began to seep into him almost immediately.
Good, he told himself, trying to find reassurance somehow. That means some of my heat is being given to her.
The journey back was the longest of his life. Riding as quickly as he could, given his precious burden, he had not had the luxury of being able to check on her properly. He had, though, succeeded in warming up the parts of her that were pressed against him.
He himself was shivering a little now, and his arms and shoulders were aching, but there was definitely some warmth along his chest and torso and her back. He glanced at her again. Her head lay back against the hollow of his shoulder. Her eyes remained shut. Was that a hint of colour in her cheeks? He could not be sure.
They were almost at Wyatt House when he heard her moan slightly. He had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. She moved a little, and he tightened the grip of his right arm around her.
‘Please live, Nell,’ he told her. ‘Please.’ His throat tightened and he could say no more.
The end of the lane was in sight. He risked going a little faster. Every moment mattered.
Someone was watching for him, for as he pulled up the front door opened. One of the footmen came running out, swiftly followed by Lady Cecily.
‘Oh, thank goodness you have found her!’ She looked decidedly pale. ‘I have been sick with worry! Bring her inside, quickly! She must be taken to her own chamber.’
She directed the footman, who took Nell as Tom carefully lowered her from the horse. Nell moaned again, and put a hand to her head. A groom had appeared from around the side of the building, so Tom simply abandoned his horse, his attention centred entirely on the woman he loved.
Reclaiming her from the footman, he carried her so that her head was once again resting in the hollow of his right shoulder.
Mrs Hussey, the housekeeper, was waiting inside, along with the butler. Both looked distressed.
‘I shall carry her upstairs,’ Tom said firmly, shifting his grip to ensure he would not drop her.
As he mounted the stairs she stirred and moaned again. Her eyes flickered open briefly.
‘All is well,’ he told her. ‘You are safe.’
Her eyelids closed again.
Nell!
The footman jumped in front of him to open the door to his chamber. Nell’s chamber. Tom laid her on the bed, then stood helplessly by as Sally, Lady Cecily and Mrs Hussey bustled into the room. They began rubbing Nell gently with warm towels and covering her in soft blankets. A bath had been placed before the fireplace, and a fire was burning brightly in the grate. Tom felt the warmth in the air and was glad of it.
‘Now, you men—out!’ Mrs Hussey flapped at Tom and the footman like a giant bird. ‘James, go and start bringing up the bath water. Not too hot, mind! We need her to warm slowly, otherwise it will be chilblains, frostnip, or worse! Go!’
The footman went.
‘And you too, sir!’ This was directed at Tom. ‘We need to get her out of these wet clothes.’
‘Of course!’ Talk of chilblains was reassuring. ‘You think she will—? I mean...’
Mrs Hussey’s face softened. ‘Time will tell. She’s bad, but at least we have her home. Now, you go downstairs and wait.’