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Druridge took her cloak and handed it to Poulson. “See that this gets dried.”
Sandalwood and soap, mixed with a subtle, male scent, rose to Rachel’s nostrils. It identified the cloak he’d provided as one of his own and reminded her of the look on his face when he’d taken hold of her.…
Shoving that memory out of her head, she fastened the garment at the throat and gathered handfuls of the expensive fabric to hold so she could walk.
“Shall we go?” Lord Druridge opened the door and motioned her out. “The doctor is waiting in the carriage.”
With a nod, Rachel grabbed the lantern she’d left on the doorstep and hurried out ahead of him.
Dr. Jacobsen was an older gentleman with snowy white hair that also covered most of his jaw. Dressed similarly to the earl, in close-fitting stirrup pants and ankle boots, he wore a double-breasted black cloth coat with velvet collar. A frown lingered on his face but, judging from the many lines around his mouth, Rachel guessed it was no more than his customary expression.
He dipped his head as Lord Druridge handed her into the fancy black coach she had noted so many times on the streets of Creswell—the same conveyance that had so recently waited in front of her own shop.
When the earl introduced them, Rachel returned the doctor’s greeting and slid across the tan leather bench opposite him.
Lord Druridge climbed in last, took a seat next to her and they started off.
“You’re looking fit despite the ungodly hour, my lord.” The doctor had to raise his voice over the storm. Instead of blowing itself out since her arrival at Blackmoor Hall, it had gathered in strength.
“I fear you’ve got a formidable challenge tonight, my friend,” Lord Druridge responded.
Rachel’s lantern had gone out, but in the dim light of the coach’s lamps, the doctor’s frown deepened. “Fever, eh? Fevers can be nasty business. I have seen cholera ravage the strongest of men. This recent outbreak has been growing at an unprecedented rate.” He eyed Rachel. “How long has your mother been ill, my dear?”
“Almost a week.”
The earl disrupted the conversation long enough to retrieve a fur pelt from beneath the seat, which he settled over Rachel’s lap.
Already too conscious of the cloak she wore and his large, manly form seated next to her, she accepted the covering with some reluctance.
Outside, the coachman cracked his whip, drawing Rachel’s attention to the frozen landscape beyond her window. Snowdrifts were piled high on either side of them and more whirling flakes fell to join those on the ground.
The earl’s driver shouted to the horses, urging them on, but the wind swallowed most of his words.
Travel proved slow and arduous. Less than a mile from the estate, the carriage ground to a halt and the coachman appeared at the door.
“Sorry, m’lord,” he shouted above the gale. “The roads are impassable. I am afraid we cannot get through to the village.”
Rachel’s stomach muscles tightened.
“We won’t if you leave us sitting here very long,” the earl responded.
“You want to continue?” His coachman straightened, obviously amazed.
“Take us as far as you can.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The door slammed shut, and the carriage swayed as the driver climbed back on top.
They moved forward, but Rachel could feel a marked difference in their progress as the horses struggled to pull the carriage, seemingly by inches, through the snow. Frightened that they wouldn’t reach her mother after all, she peered at the earl’s face. Would he give up? Turn back?
He stared out at the black night, his expression grim.
“What if we can’t get through?” Rachel asked, her nails curling into her palms.
“Then I will come first thing in the morning,” Dr. Jacobsen replied. “Just as soon as this bloody storm passes.”
The earl glanced at him. “Morning might be too late,” he said. “We will get through.”
The stubborn set of his jaw brought Rachel a degree of comfort. At least the earl was a man of his word. At least he meant to uphold his end of the bargain despite the difficulty of doing so.
Hold on, Mum. We’re coming. We’re coming.…
Twice the carriage became stuck, and Lord Druridge climbed out to help free the wheels. The third time, he told his driver to unharness the horses.
“Are ye certain, m’lord?” Rachel heard the man say from her seat inside the carriage.
“We will take the horses and go on. You take the donkey tethered behind and go back.”
“But m’lord, ye ’aven’t the tack. An’ ye know these ’orses are rarely ridden in such a manner.”
“I believe I can handle my own animals, Timothy. It won’t be the first time I have managed without a saddle.”
Rachel looked out as the liveried servant nodded dumbly.
The doctor, still seated across from her beneath a lap blanket of his own, gaped in surprise. “See here, my lord,” he said as soon as Druridge appeared at the door. “You say we are going on? We will never make it in this—”
“A woman is ill,” the earl interrupted. “And you are a physician. You tell me, where does your duty lie?”
The doctor mumbled something about Lord Druridge being too young and reckless for his own good, but he complied by heaving his considerable bulk out into the storm and trudging through the snow to help the driver free the horses. Rachel followed.
“Let’s go before the drifts are up to our necks,” Jacobsen grumbled, taking hold of the reins of one horse and stepping into the driver’s laced fingertips to climb up.
Rachel’s dress became sodden and heavy in the few minutes it took for the earl to untie Mrs. Tate’s beast and exchange him for the horse the driver held. She felt the weighty fabric pulling her back, making her movements awkward as she hurried to help.
Lord Druridge jumped astride the second animal, a chestnut-colored gelding. The horse snorted and tossed its head, its huge body steaming from the exertion of having pulled the carriage. Obviously, it wasn’t happy about this latest change, but Druridge brought the animal under control and turned it so he could say farewell to his coachman. “Safe journey, Timothy.”
The donkey brayed pitiably and Timothy sent them a forlorn glance. “Aye, m’lord. The same to you.”
Rachel wondered how she would travel. She was perfectly willing to ride Mrs. Tate’s donkey, but the earl had just given Gilly to the coachman.
