Earlier that year, though, she had been more persistent, declaring that she had found him just the girl for his future duchess. Merrick had grinned good-naturedly as she had described this paragon of beauty and virtue, who would be attending her ball the following week. He could not avoid the introduction, as he was honor-bound to attend the ball himself. But to his own surprise, he had discovered that he had no wish to escape the ordeal. The girl was a beauty, tall with a willowy slimness, masses of blond curls framing an oval face, and china-blue eyes that looked on the world with a strange combination of innocence and self-assurance.
Merrick had soon concluded that, since he must settle down sooner or later, it might as well be sooner. It would be a good match. The girl was highborn and well-trained in the kind of life she would have to lead as his wife. Young as she was, she knew how to manage a household and how to inspire loyalty, even adoration, in subordinates. She had the kind of poise that would carry her through the formal state occasions that they must face when he succeeded to the dukedom-which, please heaven, would not be too soon. And even though he had made the decision with his head, Merrick had to admit that the more personal aspect of the marriage was far from distasteful to his mind. He frequently let his eyes roam over her young, untouched body and looked forward with some impatience to the time when he would have the right to explore with his hands rather than his eyes. He had not yet touched her, of course. She had not let him kiss more than her hand, and even that only once when she had consented to become betrothed to him as soon as her birthday came. In the meantime, he soothed his frustrations with other female companions.
He wanted very much to see her again. Two weeks had seemed an eternity. Unconsciously, he urged his horse on, only to ease back firmly on the reins as he felt one hoof slip on the snow. He cursed again and passed one gloved hand across his eyes in a vain effort to shake off the glare that made them ache with a sharp pain. He would be lucky to find anywhere to spend the night. He would probably be found dead of exposure a week or so from now when the snow finally melted, he thought wryly. He slid reluctantly from his horse's back and took a firm hold of the reins close to the bit. He could not risk either his horse's or his own safety any longer by riding.
The snow was disconcertingly deep. His boots sank immediately above the ankles. As he waded on, he was soon in almost to his knees. It was impossible to tell where the road was or in which direction he walked. What a fool he had been! Even if old Horace's reasoning that morning had been somewhat unbelievable, the evidence of his own senses as the afternoon progressed should have been enough. He had seen those clouds gathering, had recognized the signs. He had passed through two villages after realizing that a storm was on the way. But he had refused to acknowledge the message of his own brain. And here he was, a prize idiot, in the middle of nowhere, becoming increasingly aware of the real danger of his situation.
At the moment when he admitted this final thought, he jerked his eyes back to the spot that they had just passed. Had he really seen a light, or was his anxiety causing him hallucinations? He held on to the reins with an iron hand as his horse snorted and tried to toss its head in protest against the irritation of the snow. He narrowed his eyes and gazed intently. He sagged with relief when the light once again appeared through the driving snow, small but steady. A house. It must come from a house.
Merrick turned in its direction, pulling the horse firmly along with him. He dared not take his eyes from the faint light, willed it to stay alight, prayed that the inhabitants would not decide to snuff the candles and go to bed. He stumbled frequently and sometimes sank above his knees into a windblown drift. But the light held steady and gradually took form as that thrown by a branch of candles inside a square window. It came from a fairly large and imposing brick house, Merrick realized as the walls loomed out of the almost blinding curtain of snow. He was not, after all, going to have to demand hospitality from some cottager. Not that he would really care at the moment. He was chilled to the bone and had received a bad scare. Any hovel would have seemed like a glimpse of heaven.
He stumbled to the front door, abandoning his hold on his horse's reins only in order to stagger up the steps that led up to it, their true contours completely masked by the heavy fall of snow. He grasped the iron knocker and banged it against the door. It seemed to him an age until he heard bolts being drawn back at the other side of the door. He had banged three times.
The door was swung back as quickly as such a heavy portal could be opened by a small female.
"Oh, Bruce," she was saying even before she could see who was waiting so impatiently to be let in, "you really should not have… Oh!" A hand went to her throat when she saw that it was not Bruce, whoever he might be.
"Let me in, my good girl," Merrick said firmly, shouldering his way past her into the hallway. "I shall need to beg hospitality. But first, is there someone who can stable my horse and perhaps brush him down for me?"
"Oh, no," she said hesitantly, "there is no one, sir."
He turned impatiently. "No one willing to brave a storm for the sake of a horse?" he asked coldly.
"No," she said anxiously. "There are no servants here, sir. Is your horse outside?"
"Do you see it in the hallway?" he asked sharply, then gave himself a mental shake as he pulled his leather gloves free of fingers that were already beginning to tingle with returning warmth. He was not usually abrupt with servants. "Announce me, please. Then I shall stable the horse myself."
The girl hesitated, so that again he swung in her direction and looked full at her for the first time. Small, plain, mousy, overplump, drably dressed, overanxious. He raised his eyebrows.
"There is no one here," she said, "except me, sir."
Merrick continued to stare. "Everyone is out and has left the house in the care of one girl?" he asked incredulously.
"Bruce-my brother-is supposed to be back," she explained, "but the storm will surely keep him in town." Her look of anxiety deepened into one of near fright as she appeared to realize how much of her own vulnerability she had revealed.
"Well," he said matter-of-facdy, his eyes coolly sweeping her figure once more, "we shall have to manage as best we can, my girl. I shall begin by seeing to my horse if you would give me the direction to the stables. I would be much obliged to you if you will have brandy and some food available to me when I return. Some bread or cold meat or whatever you have. I will not expect a feast. And see that the fires are well built up."
She stared back at him, cheeks stained with color. "Yes, sir," she said. "The stables are west of the house. You would see them clearly if it were not for the snow."
Merrick pulled his gloves back on and strode back to the door, bracing himself to face the cold and the storm again. His horse had not moved, but stood snorting and pawing at the ground as if by so doing it might disperse the nuisance that was attacking it from all directions. The stables were close to the house, Merrick discovered with some relief. Only one of the many stalls was occupied, but he found straw and water, a brush with which to care for his own animal, and a blanket with which to cover it. He felt the warmth creeping back into his own limbs as he worked.
The family must be away from home and had left a skeleton staff. Very much a skeleton staff. It appeared that this girl and her brother ran the household alone. It must be quite a formidable task even if there was no family to tend to. That Bruce fellow must be a careless kind of servant to leave house and sister alone while he, no doubt, was roistering in a nearby village, probably amusing himself with the village ale and the village wenches. However, he must be eternally grateful that the man had not taken his sister with him. He would still be wading around the countryside if he had not seen her light.