“Apparently Newhall Castle has some of the best hunting in all of England. The current earl’s father stocked up on game birds and deer over the years he held the estate. You two should find plenty to do outside of the normal party games,” she said.
“That could be fun; I am always up for some venison pie. We should try to get a spot of shooting practice in before we head to Scotland,” replied Francis.
James nodded. He was an expert deer stalker, considered even better than his father, Hugh, who had been family champion for many years. “If Newhall will let us hunt outside of season, that would be splendid. I could do with a good stomp over some muddy fields.”
“And me. I bagged a brace of grouse last time I went hunting on Strathmore Mountain. I think I have finally found my eye when it comes to shooting,” she said. Caroline loved being rugged up in a heavy overcoat and boots and wandering off into the wilds of Scotland. The bracing chill of the air cleared the cobwebs from her mind.
“You are supposed to be a potential bride for the host. I am not so sure that you will be considered for the manlier entertainments of the week,” replied Francis.
Caroline snorted in disgust. She was not going to be brushed aside that easily by her male relatives. Why should they have all the fun of gadding about the estate while she was left to keep company with other young ladies? While they were vying to win Lord Newhall’s affections, she just wanted to keep clear of him altogether.
She and Lord Newhall were not close. They were not even remotely friends. She was in no doubt that her name would be stone last on his list of potential brides. “I was invited to make up the numbers. His mother arranged the guest list, so I expect she felt obliged to invite me rather than risk offending our family.”
Francis growled at her. He clearly shared the same opinion about the trip that Will had. She was wasting an opportunity if she intended to keep her distance from their host and other guests.
“How about you and I make a bargain? I shall speak to Newhall about allowing you to join the hunting party, if you agree to make an attempt to be warm and amenable to him and the other guests,” replied Francis.
The low whistle of shock from James echoed in Caroline’s ears. She was being taken to task over her haughty demeanor.
The Caroline Saunders of only a few weeks earlier would have lashed out and given her brother a piece of her mind, but now she sat and quietly considered his words. Aside from her family members, she had few real friends. With her sister, Eve, living her own life, Caroline’s social circle had reduced to her small court of admirers. None of whom she considered to be friends.
“Am I really that horrid?” she asked.
James reached over and took her gently by the hand. “We are not saying you are a horrible person, but you could do better by being more tolerant of others. You do have a harsh way about you at times.”
She sniffed back the tears which threatened. It was difficult enough to think poorly of oneself, but having recently heard it from several members of her own family the realization that she was not a particularly nice person, cut to the bone. Somewhere she had lost herself, and finding her way back would not be easy.
While she had found herself becoming more reflective as of late, overcoming deeply ingrained habits would take a depth of character she feared she did not possess. So many times, she had promised herself to be kind to her court of suitors, but every time she had failed.
“Alright then. If you put in a good word for me with Lord Newhall, I shall make every endeavor to be pleasant and hospitable,” she replied. She let James keep hold of her hand, smiling when he gave it a friendly squeeze. She understood that their comments came from a place of affection for her, and that they were not seeking to reprimand her.
“Good. Though from the look of the weather, I am not so sure we will get to have much hunting time. It’s beginning to snow,” said Francis.
Caroline looked out the window and her mood brightened. She smiled. Winter was her favorite time of the year.
James chuckled. “I can’t wait to see the look on the faces of the other guests when they see you do your snow dance. The Ice Queen comes!”
Chapter Sixteen
They overnighted at Leicester. The following morning revealed a light snowfall in the streets, but within a mile or so of leaving the main city roads, they found themselves staring out at meadows covered in several inches of snow.
“How far is it to Newhall from here?” asked Caroline.
Francis looked up from his book and frowned. “Another twenty-odd-miles. Depending on the roads, it will be late before we arrive. The coachman told me this morning that there are several villages between here and Newhall Castle, so if we have to make an unplanned stop, we should be able to find suitable accommodation.”
“Good. I would hate to be caught out in the dark in the middle of a snowstorm,” replied Caroline. Her love for snow only went so far. No one wanted to find themselves on the road, in the dark, in the middle of a snow storm. They agreed to press on and try to make the castle before nightfall.
“So, who else is going to be at this party, do we know?” asked James.
Caroline began to wrack her brains, but couldn’t come up with anyone she was certain to be at Newhall Castle. “To be honest, I am not sure. From what the countess said, I expect it will be almost every girl in the upper levels of the haute ton who did not secure a husband this season, but who is still considered eligible. That makes a good dozen or so young ladies, and of course, me.” she replied.
Eligible meant being in possession of all of her teeth and a generous dowry. Men of title did not normally marry for foolish notions like love; they married women who could add to the estate coffers. Women who could be trusted to supply their husbands with an heir and turn a blind eye to any mistresses who may happen to pop up from time to time.
The thought stopped her for a moment. She had a good set of teeth, and due to her father’s excellent business brain, both she and Eve had been bestowed with sizeable dowries. But the notion of marrying someone for anything other than love was not something she was prepared to consider.
Lord Newhall would no doubt find a nice amenable girl in the house party group to marry, and Caroline would never have to worry about dancing with him again.
“You are one of the selected young ladies that Newhall put on his list of potential brides, dear cousin. Hmm. Caroline Palmer, Countess Newhall. It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think, Francis?” said James.
“I think Caro would make a fine countess. Pity she has been rude to poor Newhall on every occasion she has met him. A chap might find it hard to form a sense of affection for a girl who treats him poorly. The fact that he was prepared to let you fall into the Serpentine does not bode well for your chances of securing his heart,” replied Francis.
Caroline caught her brother’s grin, but decided not to take the bait. She had promised to be agreeable during the house party and she was going to start before they arrived. A deal was a deal.
“And what about you, James? Are you wishing to know who is coming so you can perhaps look the field over? See which of the starters might take your own fancy?” said Francis.
James huffed. “I am not the only one of our travelling party who is still unwed. Perhaps you should speak for yourself, Francis. Or if not, then holding your tongue might be the wiser option. I don’t wish to hear anyone’s opinion about my marital status thank you very much.”
There was a distinct angry edge to his words that caught Caroline off guard. Francis looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face.
Caroline resisted the temptation to respond. She had her suspicions as to the reason for James’s terse words. Something to do with his best friend Guy, getting married in a couple of weeks. It had not passed her notice that every time someone mentioned the forthcoming nuptials James would go quiet or suddenly leave the room. The week away at Newhall Castle would perhaps present her with the opportunity to speak with him
and get to the bottom of his uncharacteristically dour mood of late.
Francis went back to his book, leaving Caroline and James to play another hand of Piquet. When Caroline won for the fourth time in succession, James handed her his cards and refused to play again.
It was late in the afternoon when they passed the road marker at Midway and made the turn off the main road to Burton-on-Trent. It began to snow, and as the temperature dropped, the snow turned into rain. The rain eventually became icy sleet.
Caroline looked out the window at the fading light, and silently prayed they would make it to Newhall Castle before the weather completely closed in. She retrieved a thick woolen scarf from her travel bag and wrapped it around her neck. The air soon turned chilly.
The icy rain drove hard against the coach. She spared a thought for the coachman and his mate up on top. They would be bearing the brunt of the weather. Fortunately, they had a short distance left to cover before they could find the comfort of a warm fire and a stiff drop of whisky to take the chill from their bones.
The road they now travelled was little more than a narrow track, full of ruts and large holes. The coach bounced through several of these, one of which had James out of his seat and scrambling for the leather holding-strap to save himself from harm.
There was little to be seen out of the coach window. The glass box on the side of the coach which contained a lit candle threw the barest of light. They were travelling in near total darkness.
The coach slowed. The horses barely made a brisk walk along the wet, muddy road.
“Lights ahead!” came the cry from the top of the coach.
A sigh of relief came from all the passengers. Soon they would be at their journey’s end. Caroline packed away the cards and her small piece of needlework, and closed up her travel bag. She had just sat back in her seat when the coach dropped heavily and she heard the sickening sound of breaking wood.
The coach came to an immediate halt, then began to tilt to one side. She tumbled from her seat and crashed into James. Putting his arms around her, he managed to draw her safely back onto the bench. The coach remained tilted at a dangerous angle.
“Stay here. I will check on the driver and his assistant,” said Francis.
He opened the coach door and jumped down. The wild wind seized the door and slammed it hard behind him as he disappeared into the darkness.
A few minutes later, he poked his head inside. He was soaked through. “We have broken a wheel. The horses are in distress and we shall have to unhitch them. James, you will need to help us,” he shouted.
James grabbed his hat and shoved it over his ears. He climbed down from the coach and followed Francis. Above the howling wind, Caroline could hear the horses roaring in fear.
The door swung open once more. Francis appeared, holding a lantern. In the pale light, she could see the deep lines of worry on his face. “One of the horses has been injured. The others we are now struggling to free from the harness. We need to bring the coach upright, so you are going to have to come out. I’m sorry, but there is no other way.”
Caroline didn’t hesitate. Handling injured and frightened horses was a tough ask at the best of times. In the middle of a freezing storm, it would only take a slight slip for them to be dealing with a dead animal. Or worse.
She retrieved her heavy travel cloak from her bag and wrapped it around her, tying the laces tightly at her throat. Francis lifted her clear of the coach and stood her on her feet. He held the lantern up and Caroline got her first view of the situation they were in.
“Oh, dear lord,” she muttered.
On the side of the road, James and the head coachman were trying to hold the reins of a panicked horse while the driver’s mate attempted to cut through the reins which had become twisted about the horse’s head. To add to the already dire situation, she could see that the driver’s mate was badly injured. Blood poured from his nose and mouth.
Francis came quickly to their aid and pulled out his own knife, slashing at the tangled reins.
A second horse reared up on its hind legs. James only just ducked out of the way of the slashing hooves.
Caroline looked back down the hill to where she could see lights. Newhall Castle was a mere quarter mile away. In the maelstrom, it seemed a vast ocean.
“I will go for help,” she said.
Francis frowned, but there was no other option. They needed help to get the animals under control and if they stayed out in the storm for much longer, they stood the real chance of catching their deaths. “Take the lantern. It will give you some light. Be careful. The road is already turning slippery under the mud and ice.”
With the men left behind to try and settle the horses, Caroline started on the walk toward Newhall Castle and help.
Sleet lashed her face and stung her eyes. The hood of her cape billowing behind her did little to protect her as the wind continually tested the ties at her throat.
The road was wet and dangerous. Pockets of slippery ice made the going slow and treacherous. Every step held peril as she sought to find purchase in the dark. At one point, she put her foot down only to discover that there was a large rut in the road.
She crashed to her knees. The lantern flew out of her hand and into the black night. She heard it smash on the road, but it was lost from sight in the dark. Placing her hands out in front of her, she attempted to get to her feet.
Her boots slipped on the icy road, and she fell heavily once more. Pain shot through her left hand, leaving her gasping for air.
“Oh!” she cried as stars appeared before her eyes. She had found the broken glass from the lantern.
Pulling off her glove with her teeth, she tentatively touched her left hand. Another bolt of excruciating pain shot up her arm. The cut was deep.
“Come on, Caro, get up. You cannot stay here. People need help,” she muttered.
Struggling to her feet, she stood for a moment, sucking in air. Her heart was pounding. She peered into the night, grateful that the lights from the castle held firm. With slow, unsure steps, she continued toward them.
It took longer than it should have to finally reach the hard, ground of the castle forecourt. It wasn’t a typical castle with moat and drawbridge like her family’s in Scotland. Newhall Castle was more elegant and homely, it dated from a time long after castles needed heavy defenses from armed invaders.
Reaching the front door, she took hold of the giant brass knocker in the shape of a rose and banged it loudly. She took a step back, not bothering to look for shelter. She was soaked to the bone; it was impossible for her to get any wetter. Her injured hand hurt like the devil. Pain throbbed through it constantly.
The door opened and the kindly face of a servant appeared. He took one look at the bedraggled stranger on the doorstep and held out his hand. “Dear, sweet girl, what are you doing out there on a night like tonight?”
She was ushered inside and the door closed against the elements. Relief flooded her mind. She had made it.
“Please, our coach has broken a wheel at the top of the drive. One horse and a groom have been injured. Our coachman and my brother and cousin are attempting to free the horses from their tangled reins. It is a driving icy rain out there; they need help urgently,” she said.
The castle footman dashed over to one side of the door and picked up a bell. Holding it in both hands, he rang it loud and long. Within minutes, the front foyer of the castle was filled with servants.
Caroline quickly explained the rest of the story to the castle steward who organized a cart and a team of men to head to where the others were waiting. A maid brought her a towel.
Caroline attempted to untie the laces of her cloak, but her damaged left hand refused to work. Finally, she stood and waited while the maid worked to loosen the tight knots. With the ties finally open, the maid slipped the cloak from Caroline’s shoulders.
Julian appeared at the top of the stairs. There was a hive of activity about the front door with servants hurryi
ng to and fro. A stranger in a dark green gown stood in the midst of the action. He raced down.
“Go and find some dry clothes for this young lady,” he ordered the maid.
The next words he was about to speak died on his lips when he saw the face of the woman who stood dripping water all over his floor.
It was Caroline Saunders.
“Lord Newhall. I am so sorry we have arrived in such a manner. We thought the weather would hold out on the last part of the journey. The storm came out of nowhere.”
“Miss Saunders?” he stammered.
He had rarely been stuck for words in his life, but seeing Caroline standing in the front entrance of his home was not just unexpected, it was a hell of a shock. What was going on?
She looked down at her sodden gown, the hem of which was covered in thick, wet brown mire. Her skirts looked like she had fallen on her knees in the mud. Her boots had made an unsightly mess of the beautiful floor tiles of the front entrance. Spots of blood dripped from her fingertips.
When she looked back up at Julian, he saw tears shining in her eyes. “Do you have a physician or someone who is skilled in stitching skin?” she asked.
“Yes. Yes of course. Whatever injuries your servant has our castle steward should be able to attend to them. I myself am quite skilled at stitching wounds; I saw war service in Belgium, so I can also assist if needed,” he replied.
“Oh good,” she said, and held up her hand. The source of the dripping blood was now evident in the deep, ugly gash which crossed the palm of Caroline’s left hand.
She studied the wound for a moment before a look of incredulity appeared on her face, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she dropped like a stone.
Julian bolted across the floor. He knelt beside her and lifted her head, cradling it in his lap. “Miss Saunders?”
Chapter Seventeen
“Oh!” cried Caroline, as pain ripped through her.
The Ice Queen Page 6
