Charlotte’s gaze dropped to the ground as she attempted to muster her courage in order to ask the question that had been on her mind all morning.
“And Mr. Worthington,” she began, wringing her gloved hands together, “he is…busy at the present?”
Her eyes darted up to see Mrs. Worthington’s brows raised with compassion. “I am so sorry,” she said softly, “but I do not know where he is. Mr. Harding mentioned he left early this morning, but no one knows where he rode, nor when he will return.”
Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. “I see,” she said. “In that case, will you tell him that I…I wish him all the best?”
“Might you stay here until he returns so you may tell him yourself?”
“No,” she said, blinking away the moisture in her eyes, “I feel it best if I depart now.”
“Of course. I understand.”
Just then, the team of horses pulling her carriage came to a stop in front of them, and Charlotte’s eyes were taken by a beautiful, white horse tied behind the carriage.
“Horatio?” she questioned with a puckered brow, her confusion distracting her from her sorrow.
She looked to Mrs. Worthington for an explanation, but the woman shrugged before looking to the coachman.
“Mr. Daw,” she said, “why have you tied Mr. Worthington’s horse to the carriage?”
“Ma’am,” Mr. Daw said, bowing, his dark sideburns thick across his jaw, “we have been told the horse belongs to Miss Rosebury.”
“What?” Charlotte asked in surprise before turning to Mrs. Worthington. “I could not accept such a gift. It is far too generous.”
But Mrs. Worthington shook her head. “Not, I daresay, after all you have done for my son during your stay here.”
Charlotte glanced away with embarrassment. “I have not done so very much, I am sure.”
Mrs. Worthington pulled her into her arms and whispered into her ear, “Yes, you have,” and Charlotte’s heart ached once more with the sadness she had been fighting so hard to forget.
She returned the woman’s embrace, her tears then running freely.
“I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to stay with you,” Charlotte said as they pulled back. “I shall miss you greatly.”
“And I, you, my dear,” Mrs. Worthington responded, wiping away Charlotte’s tears before her own. “Greyston Hall will become bleak, indeed, without your smile to brighten it.”
They shared a tearful smile and another embrace before Charlotte entered the carriage, and the door closed firmly behind her.
“Goodbye,” she said as she waved to Mrs. Worthington through the window, the woman returning her wave before bringing a handkerchief to her mouth.
The carriage lurched forward, the horses’ hooves clip-clopping against the ground, and Charlotte bit her trembling lip until she was out of sight, and only then did she allow the waves of emotions to rush over her, silent sobs causing her shoulders to tremble from the grief of leaving behind Greyston Hall, Mrs. Worthington, and above all, Gabriel.
Do I mean so little to him he cannot even bear to see me before we part forever? she thought as her tears continued to stream down her cheeks.
The chilled air closed in upon her as her body began to shake with sorrow, so Charlotte pulled the heavy blankets, provided by Mrs. Worthington, upon her lap and leaned into the folds of the fabric before continuing to cry bitter tears.
Before long, she forced herself to think of her family instead of the man she loved, the man who did not love her in return, and though his blue eyes refused to escape her memory, her tears slowed and her breathing calmed, and she stared out of the window at the cold earth before her.
Snow fell steadily from the clouds above, landing upon the thick set of trees lining one side of the road and the vast fields covered in white on the opposite, and Charlotte’s brow furrowed.
I am certain it will not worsen, she thought, however, when the flakes seemed to increase and the wind sent high-pitched howls throughout the cold, carriage walls, her stomach tossed nervously.
“I am all right,” she whispered aloud, focusing on the blankets upon her lap rather than the storm around her, “and my family is, as well.”
However, when the carriage suddenly stopped, Charlotte’s heart pounded until the door opened, and Simon, the footman with red hair, stood before her, red-faced and covered in snow.
“I apologize for the delay, Miss,” he began, his Yorkshire accent thick, “but we must return to Greyston Hall.”
Charlotte’s mind swirled. “Are we not closer to another town?”
“No, Miss,” the boy said, pulling his collar closer around his neck. “We’ve only been traveling for half an hour. Mr. Daw says returning is our best chance.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, though still reluctant. “I suppose we had better proceed, then, before—”
A sudden gust of wind blew against the carriage, and Charlotte’s words ended abruptly as she warily eyed the walls rattling in protest.
“Hold!”
Her eyes widened as she heard Mr. Daw shout at the horses pulling the carriage, and she looked to Simon with alarm.
“I am sure it is nothing, Miss,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Excuse me, I must help Mr. Daw.”
Even with the door closed, the horses’ stomping feet and nervous whinnying reached Charlotte’s ears, and she peered out of the window, though she could see nothing beyond the falling snow.
“Hold!” Mr. Daw shouted again. “Simon, get your—”
Another blast of wind and horses’ whinnying prevented her from hearing the rest of his words, and Charlotte glanced through the back window to see Horatio pulling at his lead, eyes wide with fear.
She opened her mouth to call for Simon to help the horse, but rather than words, a yelp escaped her lips, for the carriage lurched forward with a jerk, and she was thrown back against her seat.
Her eyes flew to the window, and she barely managed a glimpse of Simon lying face down in the snow before the carriage soared past.
“Stop!” she screamed. “You have left him behind!”
But as the carriage raced on at speeds she had never before felt, her head bounced from side to side, and her heart dropped, for she knew Mr. Daw had lost control of the horses.
“Please, please, stop,” she cried, stretching her arms out to steady herself against the carriage walls.
She heard Mr. Daw’s muffled shouting, and she mumbled another prayer before she felt the wheels slipping against the slick snow beneath them, and soon, they slid down a small embankment off the side of the road.
Holding her breath, she watched as they drew closer and closer to the trees until, finally, the carriage teetered on its wheels, and a loud snap sounded.
They hurtled through the air, and Charlotte’s screams nearly prevented her from hearing the horses squealing and Mr. Daw loudly grunting. However, all fell into an eerie silence when the carriage finally landed, and Charlotte’s shoulder and head bounced against the hard wall beneath her.
She struggled to sit, the pain from her shoulder shooting through her arm, and when she moved her opposite hand to brush aside her loosened hair, she felt blood upon her brow.
Wincing, she dabbed at the wound with a clean corner of her dress, relieved to discover the bleeding had already slowed, and only then did she look to the carriage door above her.
“Mr. Daw?” she called out hesitantly, shifting in her place as glass crunched underneath the blankets she sat upon.
When no response came, Charlotte shouted louder, though her voice quivered.
“Mr. Daw, are you there?”
Silence continued. Charlotte stood to her full height before heaving the broken door open with a grunt.
Snow instantly fell upon her, the cold rushing in around her, but she immediately went to work tossing the clean blankets out of the carriage before managing to scramble her way through the door.
She sat upon the
carriage to catch her breath, and her eyes took in her surroundings. They had slid down a fair distance into the trees, the road then level with her viewpoint, and Charlotte could see broken branches along the path from which they had fallen.
She could not see any of the horses from her vantage point, and she prayed for the safety of Horatio as her eyes caught on to the sight of a dark mound in the snow not too far away. Her heart sank, however, when she realized the mound was Mr. Daw lying face down in the snow.
“Oh, no,” she said as she scrambled down from the carriage. “Mr. Daw!”
She made her way through the snow until she reached him, kneeling down by his side and noting the blood running from his ear to his thick sideburns. She sighed with relief, however, when she saw his back moving as he breathed.
“Please, Mr. Daw,” she said, “you must wake up!”
She pressed upon his shoulder before shaking his arm, but when the man would not be roused, Charlotte laid a blanket upon him and shook her head.
What am I to do now? she thought.
She looked to the front of the carriage to see where the team of horses had broken loose, and only then did she notice the hoofmarks in the snow leading toward the road, and her heart raced.
“Horatio,” she said, returning to the carriage. “Where are you?”
Her eyes scanned the snow beneath her before she finally caught sight of the horse’s prints heading in the direction of the trees, and hope finally grew within her heart.
“Please, please, help me to find him,” she prayed aloud, moving at once to follow the horse’s tracks, her boots slipping and sliding as she glanced continually over her shoulder to ensure she could still see the carriage and the road behind her.
Before long, as her cheeks stung from the wind, and her legs began to protest from the cold, Charlotte finally heard a whinny in the trees ahead of her, and she paused immediately.
“Horatio,” she called softly, praying he would not spook. “Come here, my friend.”
Her eyes scanned the trees until a brief movement behind the dark limbs allowed her see his white coat move amongst the foliage.
“There you are,” she said, and the horse nodded his head up and down, his breath coming out in blasts of white air. “Come here, Horatio.”
She could sense his nerves, but after a moment, he moved slowly toward her, and she removed her glove from her hand to let him smell her fingers.
“There you are,” she said, smiling as tears brimmed in her eyes. “We shall be just fine now, so long as you stay by my side.”
She replaced her glove before slowly reaching for the horse’s lead that hung halfway down his legs, the ends frayed from where he had broken loose from the carriage.
“Let us return, shall we?” she said softly, and she led the horse back to the carriage and Mr. Daw before tying him to a nearby tree. “Yes, we shall be just fine. I am certain the storm will lighten soon.”
She threw the extra blanket over her shoulders before moving around the horse to run her fingers along his legs, and relief filled her to discover no inflammation or apparent pain.
“I am rather concerned with this storm, Horatio,” she said as she straightened next to him and stroked his neck, “so let us speak of something else, yes? Would you like to hear about my family? I will be most pleased to introduce them to you.”
Charlotte’s brow lowered, however, at the thought of her parents and sister, and she prayed they had not been so foolish as to venture forth during the storm, as well.
She looked over her shoulder to where Mr. Daw still lay, and she shook her head.
Should I wait until the storm has passed, she thought, or am I to somehow heave Mr. Daw and myself upon Horatio and make for Greyston Hall?
She shook her head at the absurd notion, but as time passed, and she weighed her options further, she merely became acutely aware of just how cold she had already become.
Finally deciding to warm herself in the carriage for a moment, Charlotte placed her own blanket upon Mr. Daw before returning to Horatio.
“I shall return in just a moment, my friend,” she whispered, resting her head against the horse’s neck and ignoring the wave of grief as she recalled Gabriel’s sweet gift to her, “as soon as the feeling has returned to my limbs.”
She reached forth to rub the horse’s forelock, but when she noted his ears pointed in the direction of the trees, she paused.
“What is it?” she asked, an unsettling feeling arising within her stomach as the horse twitched beneath her hand. “What is it you see?”
She strained to see through the thick, snow-covered branches before hearing a horse’s soft whinny in the distance, and her heart leapt.
“We are to be rescued, Horatio,” she said, “I am certain of it.”
She smiled, though her lips protested with the cold, and she waited impatiently until a stocky rider astride his chestnut horse emerged from the trees, and the blood drained from her face.
“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”
She attempted to calm her breathing, but as Mr. Cropp slowly approached her, her head swirled with fear. She scrambled to untie the horse from the tree, but her fingers refused to cooperate.
Horatio pawed the ground next to her, his head rearing up and down, and she took a step away from him, sensing his unease.
“Please, please, stay calm, Horatio,” she whispered. “I need you now.”
The horse seemed to relax for a moment, but when Charlotte again attempted to untie him, her nerves increased, and the animal pawed at the ground next to her, so she took a step back in fear.
She scanned the area around her, knowing there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, and her chances of escape slimmed with each passing moment.
Then face the man, Charlotte, she thought, as you have done before.
Ignoring her churning stomach and racing heart as best she could, Charlotte squared her shoulders and raised her chin when Mr. Cropp, at last, reined in his horse.
“Miss Rosebury,” he said, smiling, “what a pleasant surprise.”
“You must leave!” she shouted before another word could be spoken, and Horatio stomped his feet next to her.
“But, my dear,” Mr. Cropp said, his mouth hanging open with offense, “I have come to rescue you.”
“I do not need rescuing.”
His small eyes slowly moved the length of her body. “I disagree,” he said before dismounting his horse. “It seems fate has brought me here to you.”
“Fate had nothing to do with it,” she said, her teeth clenched together.
“Again, I am inclined to disagree,” he said, dropping his horse’s reins as he took a step toward her, the gelding immediately skittering away. “May I tell you why?”
Charlotte shook her head, but he continued nonetheless.
“You see, I had only just shared my final farewells with the Bosvilles this morning, as I am to return to home, when the storm began. Naturally, I took refuge in the trees, but when I heard another horse’s call, I knew I needed to see who else had been so unfortunate to have been caught in such a storm.”
He paused when he finally seemed to notice Mr. Daw lying behind Charlotte in the snow.
“Please, he needs help,” Charlotte said, noting the flicker of uncertainty in Mr. Cropp’s eyes and praying her appeal for help might save them both.
“Yes,” Mr. Cropp said with a frown, “and he shall receive it, as soon as you and I are finished.”
He lunged for her, and she gasped in surprise as he moved to place his lips upon her own, but she pulled back just in time to scream.
“Quiet!” he growled, turning her around to clamp his hand over her mouth.
Charlotte continued her muffled screaming, hearing Horatio snorting behind them, and when she felt Mr. Cropp dragging her through the snow, she dug her heels into the ground and thrashed until they reached the carriage where he attempted to push her up toward the door.
She managed to bre
ak free for just a moment until he tripped her, and she fell upon her hands and knees in the snow.
He reached forth, wrapping his arms around her stomach to pull her up, saying, “Cease your struggling. There is no one to save you here, Miss Rosebury.”
But Charlotte would not, and as she swiftly removed the glove from her right hand, she said through clenched teeth, “If you recall, I did not require the help of another last time you tormented me.”
Mr. Cropp moved to turn her to face him, and as he did so, Charlotte took one look at the rage within his eyes before reaching forth to claw his cheek, her nails leaving angry marks across his skin.
He reared back in pain, and Charlotte fell to the snow.
“You will regret that!” he shouted, his face turning a deep shade of red.
Charlotte watched him rear his hand back, so she raised her arms and screamed as loudly as she could.
However, the blow did not occur, for the distant sound of horse hooves riding toward them reached their ears, and tears of hope sprang to Charlotte’s eyes.
“Help me!” she screamed before Mr. Cropp clamped his hand over her mouth, dragging her backward into the trees.
Her heavy skirts laden with snow prevented her from kicking her legs, but as Mr. Cropp pulled her to a standing position, his breathing labored against her ear, she flung her head back as hard as she could before making contact with his nose, and a loud crack sounded.
Mr. Cropp released her in an instant, and Charlotte scrambled away from him, screaming for help once again.
She looked over her shoulder, saw the man clutching his nose, his hands dripping with blood, and a look of insanity filled his eyes before he ran toward her.
“You miserable wretch!” he screamed.
She did not look behind her again, merely raised her skirts to run toward the road, and when she caught sight of a rider upon his black horse, relief flushed throughout her.
“Mr. Worthington?” she said, a sob escaping her chapped lips as she could hardly believe her eyes. “Mr. Worthington, help me!”
To Warm A Wintered Heart (Regency Romance) Page 22
