Snowed in for Christmas

by Isabella Hargreaves

  Miss Carlisle stood before the fireplace, wooden spoon in hand, reaching forward from time to time to stir what looked like a simmering broth of diced potatoes and other root vegetables.

  His heart flooded with gratitude at her practicality. Her calm sense in the crisis had been invaluable. If she hadn’t been here, he didn’t know how he would have coped with his highly emotional fiancée. Augusta certainly would not have started a fire and commenced cooking!

  He took a step closer to Eleanor. “Thank you, Miss Carlisle.”

  She glanced up from her task in surprise. “For what, my lord?”

  He took her free hand in his.

  She looked at him, frowning in confusion, and tugged her hand from his. “My, your hands are cold!”

  What a fool he was. He had offended her with his clumsiness. “My apologies.” Red-faced, Robert held his numb hands out towards the fire.

  “Thank you for all you have done to calm Augusta and this....” He waved toward the bubbling dinner. “And please call me Robert. After all, we are to be family soon.”

  She gave a brief duck of her chin in acknowledgment of his words. “I’m used to Augusta’s flights of fancy. You will be soon, also,” she replied, loud enough for his ears only.

  “Yes, you’re right.” That thought didn’t stir any wave of longing in his heart. Instead, he felt like Atlas holding up the world that relentlessly pushed him toward the ground.

  Eleanor gave a quick smile, like a flash of sunlight during the northern winter, and said, “I’ve settled Augusta into her room. She’s resting on the bed until your father’s carriage arrives. I thought it best not to wait for that eventuality. I’ll get her when the stew is ready.”

  “You did right.”

  They both turned toward the small side window. Snow clouded the view of the woods and night was falling quickly.

  “I doubt whether the carriage will reach us today,” Robert observed.

  “No, I suspect not.” Eleanor lit a candle already set in a holder. It gave off a feeble light. “I’ll take this to Augusta so she isn’t sitting in the darkness. The fire should give us enough light here.”

  Robert found bowls and cutlery in the dresser and placed them on the table ready for their meal. This reminded him of the many times on the Peninsula when he and the other officers had taken over simple farmhouses for billets after a day’s march.

  He was seated before the fire, trying to read a small book of verse he had brought in his saddle pack, when Eleanor returned. The habits of his life campaigning with Wellington were deeply ingrained.

  He looked up from the page to find Eleanor tending the stew. She soon sat opposite him. Her hair glowed in the firelight. The flickering flames highlighted her soft, pale skin.

  She really was the most lovely looking woman.

  He chastised himself. That was disloyal to Augusta. Perhaps small talk would kill any stray thoughts. “If the weather doesn’t improve overnight, we may be here longer than we assumed.”

  “There is food enough for a day or two but not for longer.”

  “I can always take my pistol and try for a rabbit early tomorrow.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Good. I’ll fetch Augusta to dinner.”

  Half an hour later, Augusta trailed into the room, her fur-lined cloak tightly wrapped around her slight form.

  Eleanor hurried to the simmering pot of stew and ladled a generous serve into a bowl, which she placed on the table before her cousin.

  Augusta looked at the offering and her mouth curled in disgust, as though she were being asked to eat boiled rats’ droppings. “I don’t think I could eat that—whatever it is.” She pushed the bowl away.

  “You must try to eat, Augusta. You will be very hungry otherwise,” Robert said, keeping his tone encouraging rather than issuing an order.

  “I couldn’t eat that!”

  A surge of annoyance bit into Robert. “Please at least try the meal that your cousin has prepared.”

  “I won’t and you can’t make me. If you think you will be able to bully me in this way when we’re married....” Augusta’s hand sliced through the air before she dashed back to her room, slamming the door behind her.

  The unuttered, impending threat lingered in the room.

  My God, she sounds like my shrewish stepmother. Spare me that fate. Robert sucked in a breath and turned toward Eleanor. “Come, Miss Carlisle, let us eat, then we’ll see if Augusta is in a better mood afterward.”

  “Yes,” Eleanor agreed, a frown of concern crinkling the smooth paleness of her forehead.

  “I had no idea Augusta could be so difficult. She was charming and lighthearted on every occasion I was in her company during the Season.”

  “We all have our foibles,” Eleanor said in a conciliatory manner, downplaying her cousin’s behavior.

  This woman should receive a commendation for her long-suffering forgiveness of her cousin’s behavior.

  Eleanor reached for the cheap china set before him. “Let me fill your plate. You must be hungrier than a stag in the middle of winter.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her analogy. “Perhaps as much as a bear after hibernation.”

  “Good, because I can’t compete with Augusta’s French cook. Or even an English one.”

  Robert laughed at her banter. The atmosphere in the room immediately felt lighter. He took up his spoon to attack the stew. It was warm and filling, which was all any member of Wellington’s army wanted. “It’s delicious.”

  She chuckled.

  The rich sound wrapped itself around him like the warm embrace of a lover’s arms.

  “I suspect you’re gilding that lily, Lord Landers.”

  As there was only one course to their dinner, followed by tea, the meal was soon over, but at least he and Eleanor were in harmony with each other.

  Afterward, Eleanor made a cup of tea for Augusta and took it to her. The door was open so Robert could hear that Augusta would not be drawn out of her pet. She remained coldly silent in spite of her cousin’s good cheer and affectionate tone.

  With a shrug, Eleanor slowly eased the bedroom door closed, ready to retire for the night. As the gap inched smaller, Robert glimpsed Eleanor’s face.

  Was that soft look of yearning for him or just for peace between him and Augusta?

  Christmas Day

  Robert woke early, stiff and chilled from lying on the flagstone floor of the gamekeeper’s hut. He shrugged off his blanket. The fire had long since burned down to dusty ashes, leaving only a few burning embers glinting feebly. Cold seeped across the room, neutralizing any warmth the dying fire gave off.

  He raked out the ashes and relaid kindling. With long-handled tongs he deposited the burning embers back into the fireplace and rekindled the flames. When it had caught soundly, he donned his greatcoat and took his pistols out into the continuing snowstorm.

  He suspected there was little likelihood of his finding any rabbit, but he was determined to try.

  He surprised himself, and also the rabbit, by bringing back one for their Christmas dinner. All those years on campaign, foraging for himself at times, hadn’t been wasted.

  And now he was as frozen as an ice at Gunter’s Tea Shop, despite his four-caped greatcoat. He checked on his horse, then lifted some firewood into his arms on the way to the door of the hut.

  All was quiet inside.

  He opened the door, and a wave of warmth seared his numb face.

  Eleanor stood before a roaring fire. The kettle hissed quietly with water on the boil. Another pot hung over the blaze.

  She glowed like a welcoming beacon in the gloom of the kitchen. The heat had flushed her cheeks to an attractive warmth and her coppery hair, caught loosely in a clasp at the back of her head, looked like a halo of glowing embers. It was a heartwarming sight.

  Of Augusta, there was no sign.

  “The weather hasn’t improved, has it?” she inquired in her mellow voice.

  “They won’t be able to get
through today. There’s a large snowdrift in the valley a short way from here, on the road to Linville House. I walked that way and couldn’t get through.”

  Her eyes widened, and her words tumbled out in a rush of surprise. “Then we really are snowed in for Christmas!”

  “We are.” But he couldn’t be sorry because he was enjoying this time with Eleanor Carlisle.

  She nodded toward his catch and said, “I see you’ve been very successful in your quest. Well done!”

  “I have. It’s cleaned and ready for the pot.” He was more proud of his achievement for receiving Eleanor’s praise.

  “There’s porridge for your breakfast,” Eleanor said, ladling it from another, smaller pot on the hob.

  Robert deposited his skinned and cleaned catch at one end of the table, took a bucket outside, and returned with clean, aching hands from “washing” them in snow, and a full pail to melt into water.

  With a smile of thanks, he then took up his spoon and filled his growling stomach.

  Eleanor’s eager voice stopped his enthusiastic eating. “I would like to decorate this room, if you agree. I think it would cheer Augusta from her melancholy.” Eleanor looked at him expectantly.

  “I’ll collect some holly for you. I saw some this morning. Or would you like to accompany me?”

  Eleanor’s face lit up at his suggestions. “I would like that very much. The fresh air would be welcome.”

  “You shall choose the holly sprigs and I’ll remove them. Just not too large specimens, or I’ll still be hacking at them New Year’s Day.” He pulled a short-bladed knife from inside his boot to show why.

  Eleanor gave a light laugh. “Understood.”

  For the next half hour or so, Eleanor was fully occupied serving her cousin, who ate her breakfast in bed, and from the imperious tone Robert heard through the open doorway, wasn’t in the least grateful for Eleanor’s efforts.

  Eleanor pulled the bedroom door closed behind her and faced Robert.

  “She is very unkind to you,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Eleanor shrugged. “She is very young. Just eighteen.”

  “And you’re not so much older, are you?” he asked with a lifted eyebrow meant to elicit her response.

  Eleanor nodded. “I’m older.”

  “Certainly, you are,’ he said smoothly. “All of a couple of years, I’d estimate.”

  “No, three years, and that’s a vast amount of time when one is young. Augusta will be far more mature once you’re married.”

  “Hmmm.” He wasn’t so sure. He turned away rather than answer. He hoped Eleanor was right. Dynastic marriages were fraught with so many difficulties. Her immaturity would be one more.

  He’d been a younger son, the spare allowed to go to war because his older brother, George, was hale and hearty and at home managing the estate with their father. George breaking his neck on the hunting field while sober as a judge had not been foreseen.

  In the aftermath, Robert had been ordered home. He would have sold his commission anyway, without being asked. His duty was obvious, and he had never been one to shirk duties.

  Marriage to his brother’s fiancée after the usual period of mourning, was one of them it seemed. Both sets of parents had suggested it, and Augusta had been willing. From her behavior since their stranding, it was apparent that it was just his rank and title she’d fallen in love with, and she had decided to overlook his failings in comparison with his brother.

  Robert shrugged himself into his heavy coat. What a pity he hadn’t met Augusta’s cousin before committing himself to marrying Augusta. He had no confidence that Augusta would end her sulk after they were rescued. However, she was sure to continue with their engagement—she had too much to lose. And he had no honorable way out of his commitment.

  “Shall we venture into the snow and look for the holly now?” Eleanor’s calm, gentle voice broke into his troubled thoughts.

  He gave a brief smile and held out Eleanor’s cloak for her to put on. “Let’s.”

  An hour later, Eleanor’s reddened cheeks matched her glowing hair, and Robert thought he had never seen anyone so beautifully alive.

  At this outer extremity of his father’s very large estate, an ornamental drive of holly trees grew close to the boundary wall, a strangely sited addition that one of his ancestors had ordered planted. It lay in the damp shade of the estate wall, altogether too far from the manor house to be used regularly. Now, it had come into its own, as the perfect source of Christmas decorations.

  ***

  Eleanor watched the snow continue to tumble from the sky. Behind them, their footprints filled with the new fall. In front of them two rows of holly bushes, laden with red berries amid thick, glossy green leaves, beckoned.

  Robert’s black coat slapped against his top boots with each stride and swirled in unison with her own dark woolen cloak, caressing her legs through layers of clothing.

  Robert’s multiple-caped shoulder unconsciously brushed her own. He stood above her tall form like a great bear of a man—solid, safe, magnetic. She swayed toward him, drawn into a closer orbit by his force.

  Robert’s deep voice rumbled from within his layered bulk, sending slivers of awareness chasing through her. “Where shall we begin? Is any particular tree better than another, to your experienced eye?”

  Eleanor couldn’t help but smile at his courtesy. Augusta would have directed her every move, dictated every branch snipped, as she often did when they collected flowers from her family’s garden.

  “Here will do,” she replied. “Each bush is equally covered with berries.” She began snapping the smallest branches from their source, while Robert sawed away with his camp knife.

  Eleanor pointed to another stem she wished sawn and Robert grasped it in his gloved hand. Their fingers enmeshed on the stem, and for one breathless moment, Eleanor thought he might continue to hold her hand. But no. He allowed her to retrieve her fingers when she tugged them away. The breath she held escaped in a long, ragged sigh.

  “Beg pardon,” he said in his deep voice, as rich as caramelized toffee.

  She dared a peek at his face and saw not the frown of annoyance she expected, but an uplifting of the corners of his mouth and a thoughtful look on his face.

  Eleanor hurried around to the other side of the holly tree and collected smaller twigs full of berries.

  Robert hacked away at the branch and dropped it onto the worsted wool cloak they had laid on the ground for the purpose of carrying the greenery back to the hut.

  Very quickly a pile grew on the cloak.

  “Shall I show you a potential Yule log for the fire, which I found this morning?” Robert asked.

  “Yes! Surely Augusta will be heartened by such a sight.”

  Eleanor folded the cloak around the prickly mass. Robert eased it over his shoulder as though carrying a sack.

  They turned in the direction of home, but instead of going directly there, Robert led Eleanor to a copse of trees now bare and decorated with frozen snow. On the ground in the center lay a felled tree, which had been cut into logs ready for removal in good weather.

  “I think we have a choice of logs. Which takes your fancy?”

  “I defer to your better judgment and your understanding of your own strength, as you will have to carry it. For myself, I think the smallest log would be sufficient and would fit our modest fireplace.”

  “I quite agree.” He put down his sack of greenery and tested the weight of a few logs.

  Eleanor moved away, watching him from the encircling stand of trees.

  He took his time, and Eleanor began to look around her. Snow lay in deep mounds around the tree trunks. She leaned down and firmed a snowball.

  His back was to her as he tested yet another log.

  Her snowball hit him squarely on his head, knocking his beaver hat to the ground. He let out a roar of shock as the frozen missile slid down his neck.

  He straightened, turned to face her, and with a roguish l
ook upon his face, scooped snow into his large hands.

  Within seconds he had formed a ball, ready to launch at her. “Run, Miss Carlisle, or you will be sorry!”

  Eleanor screeched and ducked behind a tree.

  The snowball hit the trunk, splattering around her.

  She bobbed down to collect more ammunition, but wasn’t quick enough. His aim was too good. Snow hit her face, her torso, her legs; spreading chilled dampness. He continued firing a constant stream of snowballs at her position.

  Eleanor sent an unsteady stream back at him with a moderate strike rate. Each hit released a bellow of indignation, followed by a bark of ominous laughter as he redoubled his efforts to pelt her.

  Eleanor found it increasingly hard to respond as she screeched with laughter at his mock outrage, like a schoolgirl playing in the first snow of winter with her best friends. She sagged against a tree trunk with exhaustion, and Robert drew steadily nearer under cover of his rapid missile fire, until he grasped her by the arms. Laughter lines bracketed his mouth and eyes, lighting his face, relieving his usually serious look.

  “Why, Miss Carlisle, I believe I have won the battle. Do you submit?”

  Oh, in every way, Robert. “Indeed I do. I accede to your greater force.” She giggled up into his face like a giddy debutante.

  Suddenly he was no longer chuckling, but looking at her in his grave way. His eyes searched her face.

  Eleanor stared right back. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her breath caught in her throat.

  His face lowered toward hers, and she instinctively raised herself on tiptoes to meet his firm lips with her own.

  They touched. Chilled at first, they warmed each other with every stroke and caress.

  Bliss!

  He tasted and felt better than she had dreamed in the months since she had first encountered him in the drawing room of Augusta’s London home.

  Tall, tanned, and dashing in his uniform, just returned from Spain after his brother’s death, Augusta had looked him over and simpered up at him as if the sun shone from his person. But later she had confided to Eleanor that she thought Robert was the second son in every way. Second in birth, looks, and manner.