“Another Christmas Alone,” She Thought — Until a Duke’s Carriage Broke Down at Her Gate
Chapter 2
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Mrs. Finch, her housekeeper, had gone to spend Christmas with her married daughter in the neighboring village. The gardener and his family were visiting relatives farther south. Rosamond had insisted they all take the holiday; there was no reason for anyone to remain at Willowmere merely because its mistress had no family coming to visit.She had plenty to occupy herself: a book waited beside her chair; there were letters to answer; she might even attempt the Christmas carol Aunt Beatrice used to play on the pianoforte, although her own performance generally suggested that the instrument was being punished for some terrible offense.Rosamond sat down, opened her book, and read the same sentence three times. Then she closed it. The silence was not unpleasant; that was what made it difficult. It was familiar. Too familiar.She rose and went to the window. Beyond the iron gate, the narrow country road curved between snow-covered hedgerows before disappearing into the woods. Not a single traveler had passed since afternoon."Quite sensible of them," she observed.Pickles did not respond.She was about to turn away when a distant sound reached her through the wind: hooves, then the rumble of wheels. Rosamond leaned closer to the glass. A faint golden light moved between the trees.A carriage? At this hour? In this weather?She watched it approach the bend in the road. The horses were moving cautiously. The carriage lanterns swung in the wind, casting uneven circles of light across the snow.Then came a sharp, violent crack. The carriage lurched. One lantern swung wildly. A horse whinnied, and the entire vehicle tilted toward the frozen ditch beside her gate.Rosamond gasped. "Oh, heavens."She snatched her shawl from the chair. Pickles leaped to his feet, barking as though he had personally predicted the disaster."Yes, yes, I see it."She seized a lantern, hurried into the entrance hall, and pulled open the front door. The cold struck her like a thrown bucket of icy water. She nearly reconsidered.Then she heard a man shout from the road: "Hold them steady!"Another voice answered: "The wheel, Your Grace! The wheel has gone!"Rosamond stopped. "Your Grace?"She looked toward the gate. A tall gentleman stood beside the damaged carriage, his dark greatcoat dusted with snow. One gloved hand held the bridle of a restless horse, while the other reached toward a coachman struggling beside the broken wheel. Even from a distance, there was something unmistakably commanding about him. He was not shouting useless instructions; he was helping.Rosamond lifted her lantern. "Is anyone injured?"The gentleman turned. For a moment, the lantern illuminated his face: he had dark hair, a strong jaw, and an expression that suggested he had recently discovered several reasons to be dissatisfied with the universe.