Page 6 of Make My Wish Come True
Captain Fitzhugh’s arm tensed. His grin disappeared and he turned away from her to peer out the window. “You may wish to reserve your thanks,” he said. “I do believe we’re stopping.”
Chapter 4
Adrian had a bad feeling.
Thankfully it wasn’t the same foreboding he’d had in Spain, as he made his way to the coast and the English navy, wary of guerrillas or stray French soldiers around every turn. But the speed of the carriage, never very lively to being with, had dropped precipitously.
He’d spoken to the postilion about his desire for haste. He’d paid a premium for fresh horses at every change. And now they were proceeding at roughly the pace of a nervous bride mincing down the aisle at her wedding.
He pushed open the window, admitting a blast of swirling snow. Beside him Miss Barrett recoiled and huddled into her cloak. He leaned out and saw with unease how the snow had thickened. The horses’ rumps were white with it, and the postilion wasn’t much better.
In fact, as he watched, one of the horses took a stumble, his left side dipping, and the postilion reined them to a halt. He twisted in his saddle and looked back. “It’s rough going,” he called back. “We’ll not make Blackthorpe at this rate.”
Damn. “What can we make?” he called back.
The postilion raised a hand and looked from side to side. The light had gone gray and flat, and it was impossible to determine distances in the falling snow. It had been four years since he came this way, and he realized he had little idea where they were.
“Haughley,” said the postilion at last. “The Black Hart.”
“Very well.” He knew that name, though it had been years since he ventured there. He sat back and closed the window. “We have to stop.”
She inhaled anxiously. “Is the snow too deep?”
The carriage lurched back into motion, slow and halting. “I think the road is icy, or perhaps too rutted,” Adrian said, trying to fight off the stab of wild frustration. Only ten miles to go, when he had covered many times that much in the last week. How dare a snowstorm thwart him now?
Miss Barrett bit her lip. “Of course we mustn’t risk it. The horses do not deserve it.”
He was inordinately pleased she thought of the horses rather than her own desire to reach Blackthorpe. “He says we’ll stop at the Black Hart,” he told her. “If we must be delayed, at least we shall be warm and well-fed.”
She nodded, but looked worried.
Adrian remembered the depleted state of her purse. He started to reassure her, then decided he’d simply pay the bill when the time came. If not for him, she wouldn’t be here. “It appears our acquaintance is not to be as brief as originally expected. I’m sorry for the delay.”
“Oh no!” Again she touched his sleeve, lightly and briefly. Adrian noticed how she did it without thinking. Miss Barrett was an affectionate woman, it seemed. He wondered if it came of being a governess. She’d spoken fondly of the children in her care. “You’ve nothing to apologize for! If anything, I should apologize for accepting your kind invitation. It would have been far more comfortable for you to travel without me.”
“But not as enjoyable,” he said at once. “It’s been a long time since I had the leisure to converse with someone.”
“And I’ve told you all about how I stole a cat.”
“A remarkable tale of courage and daring,” he said. “I was on the edge of my seat.”
She laughed. Adrian realized he really liked the sound. It had been a long time since he could sit and laugh with a pretty woman.
Actually, now that he’d had good look at her from close quarters, he was thinking she was remarkably lovely, especially when her eyes were shining at him…
Then he ruined the moment by sneezing. And again.
He recovered to see her holding out a handkerchief. He shook his head, patting his own pockets, but in the end had to accept hers. “Thank you,” he said as he mopped his streaming eyes after a third sneeze.
“It’s not Reggie, is it?” she asked hesitantly.
Adrian shook his head even as he sneezed again. “No, no. An old cricket injury, nothing more. It acts up from time to time in the strangest ways.”
From the way she pressed her lips together, she didn’t believe a word of that rubbish—but Adrian was very taken by the shape of her lips. And she didn’t argue, but she did shift the cat’s basket to the floor and spread the blanket over it. “Are you familiar with the Black Hart?”
“Er… Not really. I’ve been away a long time.” He dimly remembered the time he’d been there, with some mates from university who had accompanied him home to Highvale one holiday. A blonde barmaid and a shockingly large bill were the only things he recalled with any clarity. His friend Jeremy Hanson had declared they would flirt and drink their way up the coast, and they had.
Jeremy Hanson, who had bought his commission the same year Adrian had bought his, and died in the disastrous retreat to Corunna in Spain.
