“Why are you telling me all this?” she asked, more confused than ever.
“I’m just trying to explain why I cannot…pay court to you.”
Humiliated, she lashed out. “Pay court to me? Because of a little kiss? What an absurd notion!” Her voice rose an octave in her agitation. “I’d never expect you to marry me—you’ve tried to get rid of me at every turn.”
“That’s not true,” he protested.
“It is so true,” she contradicted, but the anger was seeping out of her already.
Things were as they were.
She wasn’t suited to him, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Amy,” he began, rising on his knees to face her.
When she instinctively scooted backward, a flash of hurt crossed his face. She looked down, rubbing at a damp spot on her skirt.
“I’m sorry,” he finally repeated.
They were silent for a while. Then Amy forced herself to look up and locked her gaze on his.
“When I’m with you,” she confessed softly, “I feel things I never thought to feel. I don’t know if you might feel them, too. What I do know is that it doesn’t matter. You belong here, with lords and ladies and the king, and I belong in France, working at a jeweler’s bench.”
An inscrutable mask settled over Colin’s features. He hesitated, then stood and brushed the grass off his breeches.
“We’d better get some sleep,” he said in a voice devoid of any emotion. “I mean to get an early start.”
His long legs carried him up the steps and through the door without hesitation. Amy took a deep breath and raised herself up, hoping her own legs would carry her.
TWENTY-SEVEN
COLIN CURSED fluently, aiming a boot at the side of the carriage for emphasis.
“My lord, we’ll have to stop here,” Benchley concluded.
“Oh, is that right?” Colin’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I imagined we could drag along to Dover on three wheels.”
Benchley usually stood as tall as possible to compensate for his deficient height, but now his shoulders hunched over and he positively drooped.
“My apologies,” Colin hastened to say. Though he’d be hiring more servants in the near future—as soon as there was lodging available for them at Greystone—at this point Benchley was his valet, butler, coachman, cook, and serving-maid all rolled into one. He didn’t deserve Colin’s misplaced wrath. “Hang it, but I’m vexed, is all.”
“I understand, my lord. I’ll just take one of the horses and return with a wheel and a wright to install it. You two sit tight and eat the dinner Lady Kendra sent. I’ll be back in no time.”
“I think not.” Colin gestured angrily at the sky. “This accursed storm is due to kick up any minute.”
As though on cue, a few snowflakes drifted down from the clouds.
Benchley brushed a flake off his beak of a nose. “I fear you’re right, my lord. I’m not certain I’ll be able to find a wheelwright willing to come out in this weather.”
The clouds that had begun gathering last night looked unequivocally threatening now. The family had tried to talk Colin into postponing this journey, but he’d been adamant. He meant to deliver Amy to a France-bound ship, and he meant to do it today.
Broken wheel or not.
The thought of spending extra time with Amy, in a freezing carriage going nowhere, was daunting. The only thing colder than the weather was her demeanor. They’d spent the first short part of their journey in total silence, in diagonal corners on opposite seats, each with their nose buried in a book.
Spending the afternoon cooped up with her here was unthinkable.
“Pay the wheelwright whatever it takes.” He dug in his pouch and slapped some coins into Benchley’s hand. “The one saving grace is we happen to be close to Greystone. I’ll take Mrs. Goldsmith there on the other horse. When the wheel is fixed, ride on over and we’ll be on our way.”
Colin helped Benchley unhitch one of the matched bays and sent him off with a smack on the horse’s rump. Then he climbed into the carriage and sat opposite Amy, shutting the door against the frigid air.
Amy looked up from the book she’d been struggling to read in the failing light. “Yes?” she asked in a frosty tone.
“The wheel is broken,” he began.
“I surmised as much.” Amy shut her book. “I heard every word you uttered, foul and otherwise.”
“Benchley has ridden off for help,” Colin explained anyway. “We’ll ride the other bay to Greystone and wait for him there.”
“How far is Greystone?”
“A mile and a half, or thereabouts.”
“I’ll walk.”
“No, you won’t,” Colin declared.
“I’m not riding any horse.”
He knew she was unhappy with him, but did she have to contradict him at every turn?
“I won’t allow you to walk. It’s snowing, and you have no cloak. You’d freeze to death before you made it halfway.”
“It’s snowing?” Shooting him a skeptical glance, she rubbed a circle of condensation off the window with her fist. She peered outside, wrapped the blanket tighter about herself, and leaned back into the corner. “It’s snowing.”
Colin looked out the view hole she’d created.
“Curse it, it’s getting worse than I expected.” Her mocking expression made him bristle. “It’s not my fault we’re surprised with a November snow. For heaven’s sake, we haven’t seen snow this far south in three years. How on earth was I supposed to predict such an occurrence?”
“It was cold regardless. You could have waited for decent weather before insisting—”
“I have my reasons for needing to get on with this.”
“Why? So you can get rid of me once and for all?”
“No!” he said too quickly. She’d hit too close to home.
Her response was a stony stare.
“Amy…I’m sorry this happened. I’ve already said I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you.”
She remained tight lipped.
His hands clenched on his knees as he fought to control his tone. “We need to get to Greystone, and at the rate you’re moving this will be a full-blown blizzard before we even get out of the carriage.”
Her icy mask fell, and she shrank
