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“Who are you?” he enquired brusquely.
“A distant relative, I will explain our connection later but for now we require your aid.” the resonant female voice replied with a decidedly French accent.
He shook himself. Of course it was foolish to have entertained such false hope.Shewas long gone.
“How many of you are travelling within the carriage?” he asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. He hated bad manners, and unexpected guests a fortnight before Yuletide fell into that category.
“Only myself, and my maid, of course,” the lady replied.
“I shall carry you on horseback up to the house and return to fetch the maid. Come forth,” he commanded.
“Malheureusement, I should prefer to wait here with my maid until a carriage can be readied to collect us both,” came her irksome reply.
Oh, shepreferred,did she? Muttering an obscenity, he dismounted and strode to the coach. Tearing open the carriage door, he peered inside the gloomy depths. Seeing a woman dressed head to toe in black, her face completely obscured by a veil, he concluded she must be in mourning. A feeling of unease stirred deep within. Whom had she lost, and what had her loss to do with him?
“Give me your hand.” He softened his tone but spoke perfunctorily.
The woman shrank back from him into her seat, as though afraid.
“If your coach is stuck in snow, it is to be presumed that another would suffer the same fate. Now, give me your hand.”
Still she shrank from him. With a grunt of irritation, he reached for her. It was as though she realised she couldn’t win against his determination, for she capitulated immediately, meeting him halfway. He was able to lean in and scoop her out of the door. She was far lighter than he’d expected. Her form was slight inside the voluminous, sombre gown.
Snow crunched underfoot as he carried her over to his horse. Her arms tightened about his neck. She rested the side of her head on his shoulder and leaned into him quite passively. He placed her onto the saddle, climbing up behind her. Securing her to him, with an arm placed around her waist, he turned Star and set off at a sedate pace, with the dogs following at their own speed. Large flakes of snow swirled thickly, but it was not yet deep enough to upset the sure-footed stallion.
There was something unsettling about the woman that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, a certain feeling of familiarity that made him uncomfortable. She sat meekly before him, not attempting any small talk. He was bemused by the fact she leant back against his chest without any embarrassment, which he would have expected from an unknown female sitting in close proximity to an unknown male. Perhaps if she was elderly, she had a lifetime of experience that had taught her to be accepting of situations beyond her control. He could not determine her age; she was too heavily screened behind the darkness of her veil.
Again he wondered, with unease, what loss had brought her to his door.
It was so cold that breath hung as mist in the freezing air. Star’s snorting gasps looked like the smoke trailing from a dragon’s nostril.
“Not far now. I shall order a hot meal to be prepared for you on our arrival,” he reassured her.
She merely inclined her head in acknowledgement.
He frowned. Who on earth was this mysterious woman? It would be the first thing he would ask her once they were back at the house. He caught an imperceptible whiff of her elusive scent, and an overwhelming sense of familiarity once again engulfed him. Thoroughly unsettled, he shifted his knees, urging Star to move faster. He wanted to get this perplexing female home so he could interrogate her properly.
On their arrival his housekeeper, Mrs. Berry, took immediate charge of the unexpected guest. She allocated a bed chamber for the lady whilst a truckle bed was placed at the foot of the bed for the maid’s use. Mrs. Berry then left them both to settle into her chambers and went to speak with cook. She ordered cook to prepare a simple luncheon of hot soup, buttered bread, and a sweet flummery, to be prepared and served in the breakfast room, where a warm fire still blazed.
* * *
Gabriel left the widow in his staff’s capable hands and rode around to the back of the house to the stables. He arranged for help to be sent out to aid the coach driver with mending the carriage wheel. Then, cantering back to the coach, he collected the shivering maid. She appeared terrified by both horse and rider, testing Gabriel’s patience to the limit. He picked up her quivering form, and despite her fearful squeals, he rode back to the house, holding her weeping form secure in front of him. He dismounted and lifted her down; she muttered her gratitude and fled inside the house. He walked Star around to the stables, treading carefully in the settled snow. For once not attending to his horse himself, he left strict instructions for Star’s care with the head groom. He wanted to get back quickly to uncover the lady’s identity and her puzzling arrival.
Mid-December was not the usual time for acquaintances to call, let alone strangers. Yuletide was a time for family and close friends. Celebrations were only two weeks hence. Who on earth was this unknown woman?
Chapter 4
Angele made her way down through the familiar passages of her old home in nervous anticipation. She had forgotten how Gabriel could swamp her senses with his presence. After five years of pining and missing her beloved, it was incredibly disconcerting to come face to face with the reality of him. She’d discovered that her heart was totally unprepared for the physicality of the man. Overwhelmingly, she’d wanted to throw herself into his arms, to press her mouth against his as it had pursed into a line of obvious disapproval at her arrival. How well she knew him and the contours of his masculine body. She drew her mind back from images long suppressed, knowing that way would lead only to heartbreak.
She recalled the ride from the stranded coach through the snowy landscape whilst clasped securely within his arms as he’d controlled the mighty beast beneath them. It was everything and more that she had dreamed of for the past five years. Seeing Michaelmas Hall again, a place where she had always felt she belonged and had looked upon as home, created bittersweet pangs of misery.
Tears stung her eyes. She’d thought for Christopher’s sake that she could do this, but meeting Gabriel again, facing the reality of his physicality, breathing in his scent, being together in this magical place, where for a few blissful years they had spent so many happy hours together. It was almost her undoing, yet at the same time it felt quite wondrous.
Gabriel, her soul mate, had held her in his embrace. At that precise moment, she’d desperately wanted him to continue riding onwards, enfolded in his arms forever. Her despair thrummed, mixed confusingly with hope.
When he had lifted her from the horse’s back, he had held her against him, staring down at her, attempting to meet her eyes through the thick gauze of her veil. It had taken every ounce of her self-control not to cling to him or cry out her love for him. After he’d set her carefully on her feet, she’d hurried into the house, deliberately not turning to look around, even though she could feel his gaze burning into her back.
As Angele walked about her former home, she reminded herself that she had to remain strong for Christopher’s sake. He was but a child, one who had been created out of their love for one another. He was entitled to his place in English society, a world to which she could never return. Stopping, she placed her hand on her diaphragm and took a deep, fortifying breath. Stiffening her spine, she reminded herself not to weaken when Gabriel was near. She conjured the image of her son’s sweet face, holding his visage as a shield against her ragged emotions. With a huge effort of willpower, she summoned her composure and grew calmer. Finally satisfied she could face Gabriel, she continued determinedly on her way.
