For the latter blessing he owed thanks to Mrs. Chase, who, having sat herself beside him, proved more than capable of conducting a tête-à-tête without any assistance from him.
At length, two (or three?) cups of coffee rallied him enough to leave the breakfast table and make his way into the saloon. There he hid behind a newspaper until all the guests were called to assemble outside.
On his way through the entrance hall, he observed a rushed and rather out-of-breath Claire finally making her appearance. As she descended the staircase, she donned leather gauntlets over at least two pairs of crocheted mitts, then buried both her hands in a fur muff.
A charming prospect awaited them all in the carriage sweep, by way of half a dozen horse-drawn sleighs festooned with brass bells, sprigs of holly, and red silk ribbon. Following the expected declarations of surprise and delight, the guests were shown to their conveyances, a gentleman and a lady being assigned to each.
Jonathan’s allotment was the rear-most sleigh and Elizabeth’s friend, Miss Mary Harris. She was a lively young lady with wavy red-gold hair that framed impish blue eyes. But after two minutes’ conversation exhausted their commonalities, they both fell silent and looked about.
Climbing into the sleigh ahead was Claire, who did not take her seat but leaned forward over the apron.
“Elizabeth! Psst, Elizabeth!” she whisper-shouted. In the next sleigh, a red-bonneted head turned. “Elizabeth, what are you doing back here? You’re supposed to be up front with Noah!”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Noah shan’t mind if Captain Talbot does not.”
The top hat beside her turned then, too. “Indeed, I do not,” Talbot confirmed with a roguish grin.
But Noah did mind, if his horrified expression were any indication—for he had just worked out that he was to be left in the clutches of the lovesick Lady Caroline.
Like a man on trial, Noah looked imploringly from face to face. Elizabeth turned up her nose. Claire gave a helpless shrug. Jonathan felt for his friend and would have happily switched places, could such be done without slighting Miss Harris. But since that was impossible, all he could do was shake his head in sympathy.
With manful resignation, Noah squared his shoulders and donned his riding gloves. Then he began the long march toward his doom—only slightly delayed, upon drawing near his sisters, by his lunging to deliver a withering, “I’ll make you pay for this!”
“No need, brother dear!” Elizabeth called cheerfully after him. “The accounts are still in your favor!”
When Jonathan was comfortably installed, with his feet against a warming-box and a blanket over his lap, he accepted a pair of reins from the stablemaster. “Serenity’ll do well for ye, yer grace,” the man said with a bow. “No steadier horse in Sussex, I wager. She’s the far better choice.”
“Better than what?” Jonathan would have asked, had he any chance. But the sleighs ahead were already in motion, and the groom sent Serenity after them with a click of his tongue.
Amid his exhilaration, Jonathan soon forgot the puzzling remark. Greystone Castle sat amid wide pastures and gentle rises, all perfectly suited for easy and speedy dashing.
Rays of sun peeked through clouds to emblazon the glittering snow. Icicles clung to naked trees. A bracing wind whistled along to the cheery jingle of bells and the crunch of hooves meeting snow. And though the cold nipped at Jonathan’s cheeks and nose, the rest of him stayed delightfully snug beneath his blanket.
Steadfast as advertised, Serenity trotted along without any need of direction. Jonathan was therefore content to leave such matters to her and enjoy the scenery, though he found his gaze most frequently, and unaccountably, rested on the sleigh ahead of them.
While its passengers were his beloved and her new beau, Jonathan did not stare daggers at Milstead nor pine for a glimpse of Claire’s face. (Not at the moment, anyway.) In fact, all he could see of the lady was her heavy cloak, for her head lay deep inside its fur-lined hood.
That hood, however, was almost invariably tilted up toward the gentleman, who gazed down upon his companion in a manner that (Jonathan imagined) was very earnest. Though Jonathan could not see their expressions or hear their conversation, he could sense the air of gravity between them.
It was evident something of great intensity was taking place.
Miss Harris also took notice. “Begad!” she cried. “I suspect Lord Milstead is proposing at this very moment!” She craned for a better view. “Back in the castle yard, did you see how they both got under one blanket?”
Jonathan had seen no such thing and very much doubted Miss Harris had, either. Still, the mere thought opened a pit in his stomach.
Was Milstead proposing?
Had Jonathan already lost?
He quite suddenly found himself staring daggers after all, and spent the rest of the ride blind to the breathtaking scenes whizzing by.
After half an hour, the little convoy rounded a copse and, one by one, slowed to a halt in the middle of a large field. They seemed to have reached their destination: an odd cluster of snow-shrouded mounds and thatched shelters, and beside them, a great tent.
Upon leaving their sleighs, everybody gathered to peer at and puzzle over their surroundings. Except Jonathan, who peered only at Claire and Milstead, trying to detect some evidence of the alleged engagement. But they exchanged no meaningful looks, intimate gestures, or happy blushes, merely appearing rather anxious on her side and wooden on his.
The detective remained in suspense.
“Very well, cousins,” Cainewood said loudly, “you’ve had your fun keeping secrets from the rest of us. What is this place?”
