“Don’t worry, I won’t overset you,” she said.
The glow became clearer as they moved forwards. To her relief, Annabelle saw that it was attached to an inn. The hostelry looked well cared for, with white walls showing up brightly against dark oak beams. It had a pretty thatched roof. A freshly painted sign proclaiming it to be the White Hart swung in the wind.
Annabelle guided the horses carefully into the yard. She gave a sigh of relief as she brought the curricle to a halt, for if they had been forced to go any further she was sure they would have had an accident.
The thunder rumbled overhead, making the horses dance, and a minute later the ostlers appeared and hurriedly took the horses out of the traces. Assuring Annabelle they would be well cared for, the ostlers led the horses off to the stables.
Another flash of lightning sent Annabelle and Caroline hurrying towards the door, whilst the rain jumped in the puddles all around them, splashing up against their ankles and soaking their stockings. They gained the door and went in, to find themselves in a cheerful corridor with wild flowers in jars on the deep window ledges. In front of them were two bedraggled ladies, one with a sodden hat whose plume sagged over her eyes, and the other with water streaming down her face from her high-crowned bonnet. It took Annabelle a moment to realize that the two ladies were herself and Caroline, and that she was looking in a mirror. Caroline realized it at the same time and they both laughed to see themselves in such a state.
The landlord hurried forwards to greet them. “A terrible day,” he said sympathetically. “We haven’t seen a storm like this in years. What can I do for you, ladies?”
“I think we had better have a room, landlord, if you please,” said Annabelle. “We cannot go on today.”
“Shocking this weather is,” he agreed. “I said to my wife this morning, as soon as I saw the sky, ‘Depend upon it, we will have rain.’ ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘and a storm, by the look of things.’ But don’t you worry, we have a fine room here, I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable,” he continued, as he led them upstairs.
Along the corridor they went, with its oak beams and its white walls, and then through an oak door and into a very pleasant chamber. The windows were latticed, but large enough to let in what little light the storm allowed, and the room was clean and spacious. A large bed was set in the centre, with a smaller one pushed to the side, and both were covered with clean counterpanes. Rustic pictures hung on the walls, and a brightly coloured rug lay on the floor. The grate was empty, but the landlord told them that there was a fire in the parlour.
“It’s a private room, just right for you ladies,” he said.
“Thank you, that will be most welcome,” said Annabelle, looking down at her sodden clothing.
He offered to light a fire in the room as well, but Annabelle declined the offer. It was not cold and she did not want to put him to any trouble.
“I am sure the fire in the parlour will suffice,” she said.
He bowed his way out of the room.
“Thank goodness I brought some extra clothes!” said Caroline, who had snatched her portmanteau and hatbox from the curricle before it was taken away. “I am longing to get out of these wet things. I would lend you one of my dresses, but I am afraid they will be too small,” she added in dismay, looking at Annabelle.
“Never mind, I will go down to the parlour and dry myself by the fire,” said Annabelle. She removed her gloves, bonnet and pelisse, and set them down on the window ledge, then tidied her hair as best she could.
“I will join you as soon as I have changed,” said Caroline, stripping off her wet clothes.
“Would you like me to help you?”
“No, thank you, I believe I can manage, and if not, I will ring for the landlord’s wife. Do not let me delay you, Aunt Annabelle, I will never forgive myself if you catch cold.”
Satisfied that Caroline could not get up to any mischief in such a short space of time, in a respectable inn, Annabelle went down to the parlour.
She opened the door … and then hesitated, because the parlour was already occupied. A gentleman was seated by the fire. Steam was rising from his clothes, showing that he too had been caught in the downpour.
She was just about to apologise for intruding when he stood up and turned towards her, and the words died on her lips.
“Annabelle!” he said in surprise, adding more formally, “That is, Miss Langley.”
“Daniel!” she said.
And indeed it was he, as handsome as ever, with his dark hair arranged à la Brutus, his brown eyes, his aquiline nose and his full mouth. His figure was hardened by exercise and his height topped her by six inches: no mean feat, as she herself was five feet eight inches tall.
Memories came rushing back: a house party the previous summer, where she had danced with him, finding him the most amusing partner she had ever had.
She remembered her delight when she had found herself alone with him in a rowing boat the following day, and how they had both laughed when a frog leaped into the boat.
And she remembered the way in which he had taught her to drive, taking her out in the country lanes, where he had shown her how to control his horses and how to guide his carriage. When he had put his arms around her in order to show her how to hold the reins, she had started to tingle. It had been the most delicious sensation, and she had turned her face up to his in surprise and delight. He had seized the moment and kissed her, and it had been quite magical.
Then other, less welcome memories returned: that he had been called away by the death of his brother and that, once the mourning period was over, he had not sought her out as she had expected him to do.
She had been forced to realize that, whilst she had been falling in love with him, he had been indulging in nothing more than a mild flirtation.
And now here he was again, standing before her.
“What a surprise. I did not expect to meet you here,” he said.
“Nor I you. I am just passing through. But I must not disturb you …” she said, feeling suddenly awkward.
“Not at all, it is I who should vacate the parlour and leave it to you.”
“There really is no need …” she said.
There was a silence, and then they both laughed.
“We are talking to each other like strangers!” he said. “There is no need for either of us to retreat. We can be comfortable here together, can we not? But you are wet,” he said. “Will you not sit by the fire?”
She took the seat he held out for her gladly, for her damp clothes were starting to make her feel cold, then he sat down opposite her.
“You are just passing through, you say?”
“Yes. We are on our way to stay with friends.”
“We?”
“My niece and I. She is upstairs at the moment, changing her dress. We were caught unawares by the rain, and as we were travelling in my curricle we were soon drenched.”
“Ah, yes, your curricle. I am glad you have continued with your driving, and put your inheritance to such good use. I should have congratulated you on your good fortune, but I have not spoken to you since the lucky day.”
“Thank you. It was totally unexpected. Great-aunt Matilda had always declared her intention of leaving everything to my brother, but when he married he displeased her and she changed her will and left everything to me. It was no loss to Alistair, as he already had a fortune, and it was a great piece of good luck for me. Although if I had not inherited it,” she added ruefully, “I would not have bought such a dashing carriage, and I would probably have been travelling in a sedate coach and be perfectly dry now!”
He laughed. “You cut quite a figure.”