He hugged her to him once more. “Good-bye, then,” he said.
“Good-bye.” She smiled brightly up at him, touched his cheek briefly with one gloved hand, and ran lightly down the steps, where he followed her and handed her into the carriage without another word. He closed the door and stood back.
The delay seemed endless, Rosamund thought, before the carriage lurched slightly into motion. Her smile felt quite frozen in place. She raised one hand in a final farewell and then the carriage turned to make its way down the driveway. Finally, blessedly, she could see him no more.
And she could not afford to indulge in tears, either, she thought, biting hard on her upper lip. Perhaps they would meet Dennis quite soon. That ache she had felt before dawn returned, except that this time it was many times more painful.
And the feeling of emptiness was quite frightening.
She leaned toward the window to watch the road carefully even though there was no chance of seeing Dennis until they rejoined the main highway.
Although he was not wearing his greatcoat, Lord Wetherby did not go inside immediately. He watched his carriage for as long as it was in sight, and then he wandered over to where they had built their snowmen the day before. The figures were still visible, though there had been some melting. Despite her contention that she had hollowed out the shoulders of hers so that the head would not roll off, it was lying in the snow behind the body, its carrot nose and coal eyes still in place.
The earl smiled and turned to see the marks of her snow angel, still visible, and the marks of his, not so distinct. But of course they had blurred its outlines when he had toppled her onto him and spent several minutes kissing her.
Lord Wetherby realized in sudden surprise that he felt very much like crying. She was gone, and all that was left were these frozen and fast-melting mementos of fun and laughter and mutual attraction.
His snow angel! Melting into air.
She was gone and he knew nothing of her except her name and her brother’s first name and the fact that she had lived in Lincolnshire with her husband. He would not be able to find her even if he wanted to, unless his carriage was forced to take her all the way to her brother’s house, a two-day journey.
He must hope that she would find her brother and would be lost to him beyond trace. He would not wish to have the temptation of knowing where she might be reached. He was not free. In a month’s time he would no longer be free to so much as to look with desire at any woman but Annabelle.
It was cold, he realized, shuddering suddenly. Deuced cold. And she was gone. She would no longer be there to warm his body or his bed.
Or his heart.
It was really absurdly easy, Rosamund found. When she had finally swallowed her tears and concentrated her attention on the road, she had been afraid, as she had been at the back of her mind for the past few days, that she had lost Dennis completely, that he had gone astray searching for her, that perhaps he had even hurt himself—she would not put her fears more strongly than that in her mind.
But it was so easy. Mr. Halliday’s carriage turned onto the main highway and had proceeded for no longer than five minutes when it slowed at the approach of another carriage. And Rosamund, pressing her nose to the window, saw that it was Dennis’ and rapped frantically on the front panel.
She did not wait for the coachman to descend from his perch to put down the steps and help her out. She thrust the door open and jumped down into the roadway, skidding rather inelegantly on its slushy surface. Dennis, peering from his window, soon did likewise.
“You’re safe,” they both said together, and fell into each other’s arms.
“I’m so relieved that you did not perish searching for me,” she said after they had hugged each other wordlessly for several moments, looking eagerly up into his familiar face.
“Where the devil were you?” he asked. “Why did you not come back when it started to snow? Do you realize that I have been out of my mind with worry?”
“And where were you?” she asked. “Why did you not turn back to fetch me? You knew that I would not be the first to give in.”
“I was sitting at the side of the road staring at a carriage with only three wheels,” he said. The volume of his voice was rising. “You would risk your life just because you would not be the one to give in? You have not grown up at all, Rosa. Why do I always have to be the one to give in? And who the devil does that carriage belong to?”
“Perhaps it would be wiser to quarrel when we are alone inside your carriage,” Rosamund suggested. “The carriage belongs to a Mr. and Mrs. Reeves with whom I have been staying since the snow began. I have been very comfortable, I do assure you.”
“I had better go back with you and thank them,” he said.
“There is really no need, Dennis,” she said. “I am of age, you know, and made quite adequate thanks of my own.”
“Well, then,” he said, and he nodded to the earl’s coachman and handed him some coins before helping Rosamund into his carriage and climbing in beside her. “Do you realize that we have already lost more than two days, Rosa, and have had to waste this whole morning, too? We might have been well on the way home by now.”
“Look at it this way, Dennis,” she said. “I could have been dead and frozen in a hedgerow. How would you feel then? At least I am alive and well for you to scold.”
“And I had to stay at one devil of an inn while you were comfortable with that Reeves family,” he said. “I really don’t think it fair, Rosa.”
“But at least you had a peaceful few days,” she said, “even if you were worrying about me. Imagine how many times we would have quarreled if I had been at that inn with you.”
“Well, anyway,” he said, "don’t ever do anything like that again. It was a devilish childish thing to do. What caused it, anyway?”
