Miss Rothwell was ready, her brown pelisse matched with a bonnet with brown ribbons. Callum’s heart soared. Her cheeks were flushed with the cold where she waited on the step, her eyes dancing with excitement.
The other guests were waiting as their own equipages were harnessed up. The big Landau was ready, and he watched as Mother clambered in, casting him a frosty glance. Next were Lord and Lady Bronham, followed by Lady Millicent and a young lord whose name escaped him, though he was the brother of Millicent’s friend, Lady Amelia. Both of them clambered in as well.
The barouche rolled out next, led by his favourite team, two pure black coach-horses. The hood was down, which was what he had requested. He helped Miss Rothwell up, then took the reins and set off at a slow walk down the drive.
The snow was falling fast, the grass already covered with a thin layer of white. The air smelled crisp and cool, and the snow fluttered down like feathers as they rode.
They moved through the front gate and then on down the road. He guided the horses left to where the road led through the estate parkland. Snow dusted the bushes and trees, flurrying down onto them. He turned to glance at Miss Rothwell. She was gazing, wide-eyed, at the woodlands, her cheeks pink and hereyes bright with wonder. Snow fluttered down onto her bonnet, and a light dusting of it settled on her pelisse. She looked so beautiful.
He was not sure where the Landau was—it had probably followed the other road that curved to the right. They were alone in a wondrous white landscape. The only sound was the shush-shush of the coach wheels on the snowy surface and the muffled tread of the horses. The world was a silent winter land, full of magic and silvery snow.
“It’s quite something,” he murmured as he slowed the horses to a walk. He gazed out over the landscape.
“It’s so beautiful,” Miss Rothwell whispered. “So, so beautiful.”
She was sitting close to him, her shoulder pressing against his. The coach jolted, making her slide closer to him. He stopped breathing for a moment.
He altered his grip on the reins, slowing the horses to a walk. They passed by a snow-covered field, the expanse pure, unmarked white. Miss Rothwell gasped and pointed.
“Look! A hare!”
Callum smiled as he spotted the furry creature darting across the white expanse, leaving a trail of delicate footprints behind it. He glanced at Miss Rothwell, her radiant smile lighting up his soul.
The coach continued down the road, moving through the forest.
They reached a crossroad, and Callum swore under his breath as another vehicle passed them. The coach was also a two-seater, but a smaller, lighter one than their barouche, and his eyes widened as he recognised it. It belonged to his sister. Mr Rothwell was holding the driving reins. Callum saw Mr Rothwell’s eyes widen in alarm as he spotted their coach and who was driving it.
“Perdition take him,” Callum said softly, not sure whether to be impressed by the fellow’s audacity or annoyed. Mr Rothwell was risking Harriet by riding in the light coach that could turn easily on a slippery path, but then, he had to agree that he was driving at little more than a walk, and doing well with the pair of coach-horses. He knew how to drive a coach, that much was clear.
“Sebastian has always been a little, um...” Miss Rothwell said with a small smile.
“Cheeky?” Callum asked.
Miss Rothwell laughed. “A good word,” she replied. “And a fairly accurate description.”
They both laughed. The small two-seater coach was ahead of them on the road, and Callum kept a good thirty feet or so behind, both to maintain the sense of being alone on the road and to avoid Mr Rothwell being tempted to go faster.
They rounded a corner, moving past a stand of fir trees, all covered in wintry white. The other coach was out of sight, and they were alone in the wintry landscape.
“So beautiful,” Miss Rothwell murmured.
“Mm.” Callum stared around. The coach had slowed to a walk, and they moved slowly, each new vista unfolding at a gentle pace before them. The snow was falling more slowly, the flakes drifting down silently past their wide-eyed gazes to dust the trees and bushes like powder.
They rolled past an inn, the windows spilling bright golden light onto the snow, then crossed a bridge and moved down a hill, moving back towards the easterly boundary of the estate. The road moved under dense trees and Callum let the horses have their head for a moment, the ground beneath them snowless and firm footing.
“Oh!” Miss Rothwell gasped, the fast pace tugging at her bonnet and causing it to fall backwards to rest on her shoulders.She giggled, her thick hair tugging partly loose from the confining bun. Callum slowed the horses and then turned to her.
He stopped breathing for a moment. Her lovely hair was tumbled around her face, her cheeks flushed, breathless from the excitement and intense cold.
“Are you quite well?” he asked softly, unable to look away. Her hazel eyes locked with his and he gazed into their depths. She was indescribably lovely, and so close that he could so easily have put his arms around her shoulders and drawn her into a kiss.
“I am quite well,” she said in a soft tone.
“Are you sure?” he asked gently. His hand moved off the reins—the horses were walking, and he could guide the coach one-handed—and wrapped his fingers around hers. She wore gloves, but despite the thin leather, her fingers were freezing cold. “You’re cold.”
“It’s so lovely out here,” Miss Rothwell protested softly, her eyes holding his. “We do not need to go back yet.”
“We should head indoors,” he said in a quiet tone. “It is truly bitter out here.” He shivered, the cold seeping into him. Snow had built up on the collar of his greatcoat and even through the high collar of his shirt, he could feel the cold dampness. He lifted the reins, urging the horses into a trot.
