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She braced herself as she walked out into the frigid air, the heels of her ankle boots crunching on a piece of ice that had escaped the attention of a footman. And stopped short, her brow creasing in confusion, when she saw it wasn’t a carriage that awaited her at the top of the drive, but a sleigh. A curiously old-fashioned wooden sleigh being pulled by a matching set of handsome brown geldings. In the front, his lap covered in a green blanket, sat a round man with a bushy white beard. He held a pipe in one hand and the reins in the other, but dropped them to wave at Alexandria when he caught her staring.
“Sarah, who is that?” she asked the maid holding her trunk.
The servant squinted, then shook her head. “I’m not sure, my lady. Perhaps Mr. Tommens is ill?” she said, referring to drive who regularly transported the earl and the countess.
“Or else he’s on his way to London with my husband,” Alexandria muttered under her breath.
“I’m sorry, my lady?”
“Nothing, Sarah. I’ll take my trunk, thank you.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble–”
“Positive.” All but wrenching the trunk from the maid’s arms, she dragged it through the snow to the sleigh. Now that she’d made up her mind to leave, she wasn’t going to let anyone or anything slow her down. With a grunt, she heaved the trunk into the storage compartment before climbing into her seat and collapsing against the high velvet back.
“I would have been happy to help you with that, Lady Chesterfield.” There was a twinkle in the old man’s eye as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Where are we off to on this beautiful morning?”
“I…” Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I have absolutely no idea.”
Although her parent’s estate was a three mile drive along a well-traveled road, she couldn’t go there. Not when the first thing they’d ask was where Duncan was. And since she wouldn’t lie to them, she’d have to tell the truth. That she was separating from her husband, by whatever means were available to her.
Of course, her mother would immediately throw a dramatic fit and demand she return to Chesterfield Manor at once. Her father, while more stoic in his reaction, would agree. They’d shoo her out–with hugs and kisses–and slam the door in her face with the tactical agreement that her fit of temporary insanity (for that was what they’d view it as) wouldn’t ever be mentioned again.
She had a friend, Patience, who wasn’t very far…but Patience was a newlywed, and Alexandria didn’t want to burden her. Not when from the few letters they’d exchanged it sounded as if Patience had enough of her own worries to deal with.
There was an inn in the village above the tavern. She could stay there for a few days, but had no means to pay except to put the bill in Duncan’s name. That was hardly a promising start to a life of independence.
Oh, she really should have given this more care! But in her desperation and lowest moments, she’d only seen the door. Not what laid on the other side of it.
“Have you had the chance to visit the ice sculpture garden yet?” the driver asked. “It’s a sight, to be sure. We can go there first, and plan your next stop along the way, if you’d like.”
Alexandria hadn’t evenheardof any ice sculpture garden, but she nodded gratefully. “Yes, please. That…that sounds lovely.”
A crack of the whip, a jingle of bells, and they were off.
Trotting away from Chesterfield Manor.
Away from her husband.
Away from her heart.
Seven
Duncan didn’t realize he was whistling until the gray-haired woman, wearing a maroon bonnet trimmed in white scalloped lace and carrying a wicker basket, made mention of it.
“My, my,” she exclaimed, sidling up beside him on the busy street. “It’s so nice to see a gentleman in such a fine mood. Tell me, kind sir, what good fortune has snowed down upon you? I might like a bit of it for myself!”
Duncan’s pursed lips went flat and he canted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he studied the woman’s face. There was something vaguely familiar about her, although he couldn’t quite place what it was. “Do I know you?” he wondered aloud.
“Do you?” she chirped. “How wonderful.”
A group of young ladies passed them by, giggling into their muffs as they stole sideways glances at Duncan. He tugged at the collar of his coat, and resisted the urge to check the time on the gold pocket watch that had once belonged to his father.
“I’ve not had any change in fortune,” he said. “If you would excuse me, I have somewhere to–”
“Are you sure?” she interrupted, stepping in front of him with surprising dexterity given her advanced age when he attempted to walk around her. “I may be out of place, but you really do have the look of a person with a renewed holiday spirit. And Isoadore a good holiday spirit.”
Who the hell was this woman? He would have sworn they’d met before, except he had absolutely no memory of where.A lonely old grandmother, he decided. With nothing better to do than pester random strangers she encountered during her morning constitution.
