“You’re going to Sussex?” she demanded.
Callum nodded tiredly. “I am.” He had never been more convinced about anything in his life. He had to find her. He had to tell her that he knew the truth.
Harriet walked with him, and they went upstairs to prepare for the journey.
Chapter 27
Rosalyn looked out of the coach. The snow was falling heavily. It had fallen heavily all day and through the night. They had stayed at a wayside inn, and she had advised her father that they should not continue on their journey, but he had insisted. The snow had not abated all morning, and, by afternoon, it was falling too thickly to see.
“Papa,” Rosalyn said tightly, as the coach slowed to a walk. “We need to stop.”
Her father blinked and nodded. “You are right, daughter,” he said softly. He sounded tired. He banged on the roof of the coach with a walking cane. The driver stopped and Papa opened the window, letting in a flurry of cold snow. Georgina and Isabel, who were sitting closest to the window, screamed as the snow fell in on their uncovered faces. Rosalyn gazed out at the whirling flakes.
“Mr Simmons? Please stop at the first inn that you see.”
“Very good, my lord!” The coachman called back. He sounded pleased.
Rosalyn leaned back, shutting her eyes. The coach trip had been exhausting. Sebastian and her sisters were the only reason that she was still sane—the former for his cheerful support, and the latter for their irrepressible spirit. Without them, she was sure that she would be stark mad. She could not understand how Sebastian found the strength that he did to comfort her—he himself was suffering as much as she was. But she was grateful, and she did not question it.
The coach rolled on.
“Papa?” Rosalyn whispered as they slowed again. “Will we manage to reach the closest inn?”
That was the thought that terrified her. If they were forced to stop, the horses might die of cold—to say nothing of Mr Simmons, on the roof, and themselves in the cold interior. The padded coach walls did something to keep out the cold—and it was dry inside—but it was still almost as freezing inside as it was without, her breath visible vapour if she exhaled hard.
Her father gazed at her. “We will have to be brave, daughter, and pray,” he said tightly.
Rosalyn swallowed hard. He was as worried as she was. Her fingers laced through each other. Her heart skipped with elation as Mr Simmons got the coach going again. Every yard ahead was a yard closer to an inn and safety.
They rolled on.
As it was starting to become dark, her prayers were answered. The coach turned and rolled slowly into an inn yard. Her sisters let out a cry of joy.
“Papa! Look!” Georgina yelled. “It’s an inn! A real inn!”
“The horses can dry off. And we can get warm!” Isabel announced with delight.
“You’d think we were traversing the frozen North,” Sebastian joked though the relief was evident on his face as well. Rosalyn squeezed his hand, and he smiled back at her.
The coach came to a halt.
“Here we are,” Papa murmured, helping Rosalyn down, and then her two sisters, who shrieked as the thick snow fell on them. They ran under the shelter of the overhanging roof. Rosalyn walked up the steps to join them. Her gaze followed her father as he directed the coachman to the yard, handing him coins to pay for the horses’ lodging and his own.
They bundled into the inn hallway.
“Two bedchambers, please,” Papa requested of the innkeeper. “One for my daughters, and one for myself and my son.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“And we would like to take a hot meal in the parlour,” Papa added. Georgina nodded vigorously. She had been terribly hungry during the coach-trip, since they were entirely unprepared and had not brought any food with them.
“Well, look at that,” Sebastian murmured as they bundled into the inn parlour—an upstairs room overlooking a small garden, with wood panelling to keep it warm and a small fireplace. It was a room set aside for the gentry to dine in, while the local folks would use the taproom downstairs. “It’s snowing and it’s Christmas Eve.”
“Mm.” Rosalyn’s heart ached. She did not want to remember. At the very least, she wished it to be an ordinary day. It was worse than an ordinary day.
“We’ve nothing prepared, my lord,” the innkeeper’s wife told Papa as she came into the inn parlour, wringing her apron in her hands. “It’s too early for supper and too late for dinner. What may we prepare to feed you?”
Rosalyn took a breath. She had no appetite. She would have been perfectly happy to retire to bed without eating anything. Georgina looked hopefully at Papa and Isabel did likewise. Papa frowned.
