One Wild Winter's Eve

by Anne Barton

  He chuckled. “You don’t give up on people, do you Rose?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean?”

  He adjusted his greatcoat so that it covered her like a blanket, from neck to toe. “You didn’t give up on your mother, and you didn’t give up on me. Any young lady in her right mind would have washed her hands of a man who was imprisoned and accused of theft.”

  “You were there only because you were trying to help me. It was my fault.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “Everything I did was my choice.”

  “What shall we do now?” She’d given her future some thought, but the decision was his as well.

  “Little has changed for me. I’ll still set out for America—just sooner than I’d planned.” He circled an arm around her waist and pulled her against the warm, solid wall of his chest. “What about you? What do you hope for?”

  “I suppose that, like you, I’m a fugitive now.” A thought that was both sobering and frightening. “Strange to think I was attending a ball earlier this evening. I can’t imagine I’ll be welcomed in many drawing rooms after the salacious gossip about us spreads.”

  “There is a difference in our situations, though, Rose.” He propped himself on an elbow and laced his fingers through hers. “You are a lady, gently born and raised. People will assume—and I’d encourage you to let them—that I forced you to come to my aid. If you go directly home to London and beg your brother to help you clear your name, he will. He adores you and would do anything in his power to protect you and restore your reputation. Truly, it’s the only real choice you have.”

  She frowned. “I disagree. There is another option…  I could go to America with you.”

  “And leave your family three thousand miles behind?” he asked skeptically. “You would never be happy. And I wouldn’t be happy knowing that you were unhappy.”

  “I will miss them.” Desperately. In fact, if she dwelled on it she might easily dissolve into a puddle of tears. “But if I stayed here, I’d miss you more.”

  “Jesus, Rose. I feel awful that it’s come to this. You belong in England, living in a stately mansion and dancing in elegant ballrooms.”

  “I belong with you.”

  “You don’t understand, damn it. The selfish part of me wants to pull you close and never let go. To make you my wife and never spend another night without you. But I don’t think that’s what’s best for you.”

  Though the sentiment was sweet, it still made her hackles rise. “I’m a grown woman. I can decide what’s best for me. And it’s not staying here, hoping my brother can keep me out of prison while the man I love sails to another continent. Owen has a great deal of influence; however, I’m not certain that even he can help me after I threatened a prison guard with a gun.”

  “You love me?” He blinked, as though awestruck by her confession.

  Nestling closer to him, she nodded. “Yes. I only run away with men I love.”

  “But this idea of going to America with me. Is it born out of love…  or fear?”

  “Love.”

  He blew out a long, slow breath. “Nothing about it would be easy for you. The journey across the Atlantic will be tedious—dangerous, even. Once we arrive in America, it will take me several months to build a home with basic comforts. It will be a hard life, at least in the beginning.”

  Rose smiled, because in spite of the concerns he listed, Charles almost sounded like he was envisioning a future with her in it. “I don’t need an easy life,” she said. “Just a happy one.” She gazed up at his handsome face, suddenly shy. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About marrying me?”

  He leaned in, touching his forehead to hers. “There is nothing—and I mean nothing,” he said slowly, “in this world that I want more than to marry you. And, God forgive me, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  With that, he brushed his lips over hers in a kiss filled with promise and passion—the kind of kiss that curled her toes and left her breathless with desire.

  There was no denying that her life was a complete and utter mess…  but for once, she didn’t mind in the slightest.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Charles let his lips linger on Rose’s. Hers were cold. The tip of her nose was an icicle, yet she hadn’t uttered a single complaint.

  He pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, tucking the loose, soft strands of her hair inside. Then he held her close, willing the heat from his body to seep into hers. Her thin silk ball gown didn’t provide much protection from the wintry temperatures, and even her velvet cloak was more stylish than warm.

  “Maybe you should put the gown in your bag over the one you’re wearing,” he suggested.

  “In the morning,” she murmured sleepily. “It’s cozy under your jacket, and I refuse to come out from under it until I absolutely must.”

  Chuckling, he touched his nose to hers. “Very well. Sweet dreams, love.”

  “Good night,” she sighed, and within minutes, her breathing slipped into the even, peaceful rhythm of sleep.

  But Charles remained awake and alert, awed by what she’d done for him and what she was willing to do.

  “I love you, Rose,” he whispered.

  As he watched the involuntary flutter of her long lashes and the perfect bow of her parted lips, he made a vow—to spend the rest of his days trying to give her the life she deserved and trying to be the man she deserved.

  Morning sunlight slipped through the crack between the barn’s large doors, and Rose stirred on her hay mattress. Charles left his post against the wall and went to her, smiling as she stretched contentedly. God, she was beautiful.

  “Good morning.” He nuzzled her neck and kissed her chilly lips.

  Circling her arms around him, she murmured, “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Yes,” he lied. “I woke just before you.”

  She raised a brow. “We should be going, shouldn’t we?”

  “Soon. But you must eat something first. I’m going to collect some snow in the pail I found and set it in the sun. We’ll have something to drink shortly.”

  She smiled bravely. “An excellent plan.”

  He scooped up the bucket and ventured outside into the gray dawn, scanning the horizon for any sign that they’d been followed. The crisp landscape looked still as a painting, save for the slight rustle of tree branches overhead. He walked around the barn till he found several patches of snow that hadn’t melted, then threw a few fistfuls of slush into the pail. He sloshed it around, dumped it, and wiped the inside clean with his sleeve before filling the bucket with fresh snow.

  He squinted in the direction of the highway. Before long, he and Rose would be pursued not only by the constables, but by her brother, Huntford, as well. Charles couldn’t imagine they’d receive much mercy from either party.

  Traveling on main roads was out of the question. They would stick to fields and smaller roads and hope to avoid detection. Rose didn’t deserve to live in the shadows, and yet they had little choice. At least for now.

  When he returned to the barn, he found Rose moving about in a dark blue, woolen dress. She smiled at him as she rolled the silver gown into a ball, stuffed it into her satchel, and then produced a loaf of bread. “Would you like some?”

  “You eat it,” he encouraged. “We have many miles to cover today. You’ll need your strength.”

  “I can eat while we ride. I’m ready. So is Pandora.”

  “Who?”

  “The mare. It’s an apt name, don’t you agree? Although I suppose I’m actually the one who’s unleashed all the trouble.”

  He set down the bucket and caressed the tops of her arms. “You did no such thing. And don’t forget the one thing Pandora kept in her box.”

  “Hope.” A tentative smile lit her face. “We still have that.”

  “Absolutely. Now eat a little, and drink, too. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

  As he pulled a jacket out of his bag and shrugged it on, he de
bated how to best broach the questions he had to ask her. “I am wondering,” he began, “if you still feel the same way you did last night.”

  “About going to America with you? Yes, of course.”

  “I would understand if you changed your mind,” he said. “After we left the prison, your emotions were riding high. Now, after a few hours’ sleep, you may see things differently. I wouldn’t blame you.” He barely breathed as he waited for her reply.

  “I’m going to America with you,” she repeated.

  Relief flooded his veins even as something in his gut niggled. “I’m glad. But know this. If you change your mind at any time on our way to London, I will understand. I could reunite you with your family before I leave.”

  At the mention of her family, her face fell, but she quickly recovered. “Thank you, but I’m confident in my decision.”

  “Are you prepared to leave for America without seeing them again?”

  She swallowed hard. “I won’t pretend that leaving them is easy for me. That’s the only hard part, really. But they have one another, and once we’re settled, I’ll write and let them know that I’m well.”

  “They’ll be looking for you long before then.”

  “I know. I hate the thought of them worrying about me.”

  “They’ll be beside themselves, Rose.”

  “It can’t be helped. Last night, before I went to the ball, I left a note on my bed for Lady Bonneville. I told her in the vaguest terms that I had to try to help you and that I was sorry for the scandal that would result. But I also told her that I was safe as long as I was with you, and that she shouldn’t worry about my welfare.”

  “If I were in her shoes, I would not be persuaded.”

  “She was planning to leave for London today. I am sure that she’ll send word ahead to Owen, and he’ll be looking for me.”

  “With good reason. He loves you.”

  “Yes.” Her voice cracked on the word. “And I love him as well. But if I were to take the opportunity to say good-bye to him and Olivia…  they’d never let me go. My future is not here—not if you’re in America. Once we’re there, no one will know what we’ve done. You can buy up all the land you want and we’ll start fresh, making a life together.”

  A future with Rose was something that he hadn’t even dared to dream of, and now she was offering him this priceless gift—a gift that would require her to turn her back on the family that she held dear.

  “You once told me something,” he said, “something that made a lot of sense. That in order to move forward with your future, you had to first make sense of your past.”

  She nodded. “My mother. I never told you what I learned about her.”

  “I’d like to know.”

  “She’s in a hospital in London, all alone, ill with consumption. In the letters she wrote to Lady Yardley, Mama begged her to visit. I think she wanted to get her affairs in order and…” She paused and swiped at her eyes, trying valiantly to compose herself. “I think she wanted to feel as though someone would care enough to mourn her passing.”

  Charles hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the clean scent of her hair. “You are the most generous person I know, Rose. Frankly, after the pain your mother has caused you, I’m not certain she deserves your compassion.” He thought about his own mother, bleeding to death while the duchess monopolized the doctor’s time.

  Rose looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “It’s not a matter of deserving. She is my mother, and she is suffering.” She shrugged helplessly. “I would ease her pain and loneliness if I could.”

  He swiped the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks, drying her tears. And he knew what they had to do. “We can visit her before we go. We’ll see that she’s getting the care she needs.”

  “Isn’t that risky?” she asked. “Don’t you want to board a ship as quickly as possible?”

  It was risky as hell. But it was important to her, and he didn’t want her mother’s desperate written pleas to haunt Rose for the rest of her life. “No one else knows where your mother is, right?”

  “As far as I’m aware, only Lady Yardley. I don’t believe Lady Bonneville knows the particulars. Mama has been shunned by her former friends, and she didn’t want Owen, Olivia, or me to be troubled by the sad news.”

  That was good. “Then no one will think to look for us in a hospital. We’ll slip in and slip out before anyone’s the wiser.”

  She brightened, and he knew he’d made the right decision. “Do you really think we could?” she asked.

  “I do. But we’ll have to move quickly, covering a lot of ground each day until we reach London.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” She said it like he’d given her the world, and her watery smile warmed him to the core.

  “Let’s go.”

  They rode all day, pausing only twice to stretch their legs and to allow Pandora to rest. The sun was dipping behind the fields now.

  Rose had never spent so many hours in a saddle. Her bottom tingled with numbness, her thighs ached, and her belly rumbled from hunger.

  As though he’d heard her thoughts—or perhaps her belly—Charles spoke in her ear. “We’ll stop for the night soon.”

  “Another barn?” At the moment, even a bed of straw sounded divine.

  “Maybe we can do a bit better.”

  He steered the mare toward a stone cottage with a thatched roof and plume of smoke rising from the chimney.

  “It’s charming,” she said. “Do you know who lives there?”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  They rode up the drive, dismounted several yards from the cheery red door, and tied Pandora’s lead to a fence post. “I’m nervous,” she whispered. “What if they’re angry with us for trespassing?”

  He squeezed her hand and gave her a knee-melting grin as he rapped on the door. “Just be your usual, charming self. And follow my lead.”

  A balding man, perhaps fifty years of age or so, opened the door a crack.

  “Good evening, sir,” Charles said.

  The man took in their rumpled clothes and tired faces. “What brings you young people here?”

  “Forgive us for interrupting your evening.” Charles swept off his cap and offered his hand. “I’m John, and this is my wife, Edna.”

  Wife? Edna?

  “We’re heading to Bristol to visit her sister—she has a newborn—and had a minor problem with our wagon, so we had to leave it on the side of the road. It should be easy for me to repair in the morning, but it’s gotten too dark for us to travel the rest of the way this evening.”

  The man’s eyes flicked from Rose to Charles and back again. Rose detected some sympathy in the wizened face.

  “We certainly don’t want to impose, but we’d be grateful if you could give us a place to spend the night. Perhaps a stable or barn loft? We would gladly pay for your hospitality.”

  “Who is it, dear?” A soft female voice called from inside the cottage. “It’s too cold for visitors to stand on the front stoop. Invite them in.”

  The man stepped aside and waved them into the cozy warmth of the cottage. Charles recounted his story for the woman’s sake, embellishing a bit.

  The woman clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Well, I’ll wager you two could use something to eat. We’ve just finished our supper and there’s some stew left. Warm bread, too. Sit and let me fill your bellies, while we figure out suitable accommodations for the night.”

  “You’re very kind.” Charles led Rose to the wooden table in front of the fire and pulled out the bench for her.

  “We could make a pallet here on the floor,” the man said. “Not the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements, but at least you’d be warm.”

  “That’s very generous,” Rose said. “Thank you.”

  But the woman frowned as she clunked bowls of hearty stew onto the table before them. “Surely we can do better than that, Neville. A young newlywed couple needs a bit of privacy
.” She turned to Rose. “You are newly wed, are you not?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She lowered her eyes and kept her left hand under the table as she ate a spoonful of the mouth-watering stew.

  “We don’t have a spare room, Matilda. What would you have me do? Give up my own damned bed?”

  The woman shot Neville a scolding, long-suffering grimace. “Heaven forbid.” More softly she added, “But you remember how it was when we were their age. What about the cabin you worked on during the summer?”

  The man tilted his head. “There’s not much there but a couple of chairs and a fireplace.”

  “I have plenty of quilts and some extra pillows.” She patted Rose’s shoulder. “How does that sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  “It’s an easy walk,” Matilda said. “Neville will take you down there right after your supper. You both look like you could use a good night’s sleep.”

  Half an hour later, Neville led the way to the cabin, holding a lantern at eye level to light the path. Loaded down with bedding and their bags, Charles followed behind the farmer, chatting amiably. Rose carried a small basket that Matilda had slipped onto her arm as they were about to leave. Rose wasn’t sure what was inside, but the delicious aromas of cinnamon and apple wafted from it.

  Nestled between three large trees, the cabin looked as though it might have been home to a band of woodland fairies or sprites.

  “It’s not much,” Neville apologized, but Rose couldn’t imagine anything more charming.

  “It’s lovely.”

  Neville crossed the tiny front porch, opened the door, and ushered them into the one-room cabin. Two rocking chairs sat in front of a dormant fireplace, and one small window looked out over a field. A narrow shelf on one wall held a lantern, matches, and several candles. Rose breathed in the faint scents of pine and lemon wax and sighed.

  “You built this?” Charles asked.

  “Aye,” said Neville. “We thought it would make a fun hideout for young ones, if were blessed with grandchildren. None so far,” he added sadly. “But we’re not giving up hope.”

  “We’re honored you’d let us stay here for the night,” Rose said.