be getting ideas above their stations, and that do lead to laziness.’
Emily returned to tell Hannah that Mrs Silvers was getting out of bed. The kitchen now seemed full of inn servants. It looked as if they had all returned.
‘Come along,’ said Hannah to Emily. ‘We can be ladies of leisure again.’
Emily found she was feeling disappointed. She wondered what she would normally have done with the time had the servants been there all along. Well, she would have read books or checked her clothes for holes and darned any stockings that needed darning and perhaps she would have read novels. How tedious it all seemed now.
Breakfast was served in the dining-room. The coachman had been out earlier and said gloomily that there was no hope of them getting on the road that day. The drifts were piled high and frozen hard.
After breakfast, Hannah suggested it would do them all good to walk for a little into the town. The servants had managed to walk to the inn, so there must be paths through the snow.
Only Mrs Bradley said she would stay by the fire and keep warm.
Emily was tired of her wool gown but did not want to venture out in muslin, even with a fur-lined cloak. She spent longer than usual brushing her hair and buffing her nails and putting on perfume, so that when she went downstairs again, the rest were already impatiently awaiting her at the inn door.
Lord Harley offered her his arm and she took it, glancing up at him in surprise.
‘Well, Mrs Bisley,’ came Captain Seaton’s heavy voice from behind them. ‘Are we set?’
He held out his arm. Lizzie shrank back a little. Mr Fletcher firmly drew the widow’s arm through his own.
‘Why, you …’ began the captain. Lord Harley swung around and the captain muttered something and fell back.
The sun was shining and snow glittered everywhere. ‘How beautiful it is!’ cried Emily. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling.
‘Yes, very beautiful,’ said Lord Harley, looking down at her face.
Emily was conscious of the pressure of his arm. She became quite breathless and then felt a flow of feeling from her own arm to his. She tried to stop it. She began to wish he would release her so that she could breathe properly again.
‘Look, there is a baker’s shop open,’ she cried and disengaged herself from him and ran forward.
‘You cannot want to eat again so soon,’ protested Hannah. ‘You have just had breakfast.’
Emily stayed gazing raptly into the baker’s window until she heard them moving on. She then turned around, but found Lord Harley politely waiting for her.
‘I do not want to appear rude, my lord,’ said Emily, ‘but I would rather not take your arm. You see, you are so very tall, I have to reach up, and … and … it is so awkward … and …’
He simply smiled in an enigmatic way and waited until she fell into step beside him. Then Emily discovered that the soles of her half-boots, always buffed and polished by the boot-boy at home, had hardly any grip on the rutted icy surface of the winding path between high drifts that led down the main street. She slipped and stumbled and then she had Lord Harley’s arm around her waist. The tumult of emotions that contact caused in her body almost made her gasp aloud. It was so dismal to have such a treacherous aching, yearning body when
Lord Harley was thinking, if this is the effect she has on me when I simply hold her lightly at the waist, what would it be like if I kissed her now? I have kissed her before, but I would like to find out what it would be like if she kissed me back willingly. The more sensible side of his mind chided him for his folly. He was too old and experienced to ally himself to nothing more than a pretty face.
He fairly rushed her along until they caught up with the others, who were standing admiring giant icicles hanging from a roof. As they moved on again, Lord Harley neatly moved alongside Hannah. Mr Fletcher turned to take Lizzie’s arm again but found to his chagrin that Mr Hendry had been there before him. He offered his arm to Emily and both of them walked along in a disappointed silence.
After some time, Hannah suggested they turn back. The sun had gone in and the sky was turning grey again.
As they entered the inn courtyard, Emily, smarting at the way Lord Harley was ignoring her completely, dropped Mr Fletcher’s arm and bent down and scooped up a handful of snow.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Mr Fletcher.
‘Watch!’ said Emily gleefully.
Lord Harley was nearly at the door of the inn. Emily made a snowball and threw it with all her force. It caught him on the back of the neck. He swung about and saw Emily laughing at him.
‘Minx,’ he said, beginning to laugh himself. He made a snowball and flung it back at her.
‘Haven’t done this since I was in petticoats,’ said the coachman gleefully. He made a snowball and threw it at the guard.
Soon they were all indulging in a snow fight, shouting and laughing like children. Everyone was throwing snowballs. Hannah Pym threw snowballs overarm like a cricket bowler and Lizzie was shying the smallest snowballs anyone had ever seen.
And then Mr Fletcher let out a cry and put his hand to his head and collapsed on the snow, blood streaming down his face. Lizzie screamed and ran to him.
Lord Harley pushed her gently aside and loosened the lawyer’s neckcloth and felt his pulse. He then looked on the ground near where Mr Fletcher had fallen. There was a large snowball with a piece of something sticking out of it. Lord Harley examined it carefully and then his face grew grim.
‘I told you, you churl,’ he said, staring at the captain, ‘what I would do to you if you did not leave Mr Fletcher alone.’
‘What are you talking about?’ roared the captain. ‘I didn’t go near him.’
‘You didn’t need to,’ said Lord Harley. ‘You put a large jagged stone inside a snowball and threw it at him.’
‘That’s a damned lie!’ yelled the captain. ‘You’re persecuting me. You all hate me.’
And to everyone’s consternation, he sat down in the snow and began to cry.
‘Help me in with Mr Fletcher,’ commanded Lord Harley in tones of disgust. Mr Burridge and Lord Harley carried the slight body of the lawyer between them. Lizzie followed them up the stairs and insisted on staying with Mr Fletcher until a doctor could be found.
Hannah entered the bedroom quietly half an hour later. Mr Fletcher had recovered consciousness. Lizzie was sitting beside the bed, holding his hand.
‘I would like to ask the pair of you if you plan to wed,’ said Hannah.
Mr Fletcher made a feeble noise of protest, for he still had fears of looking like a fortune hunter, but Lizzie said defiantly, ‘Yes.’
‘I wish you both all happiness,’ said Hannah, ‘but I beg you, Mrs Bisley, to make an announcement of your engagement at dinner. Once Captain Seaton realizes all hope has gone, then he will trouble Mr Fletcher no further.’
‘I will do it,’ said Lizzie firmly. ‘Where is the captain now?’
‘Down below with Lord Harley, still protesting his innocence. Did you notice that great bruise on his chin this morning?’
‘Yes,’ said Lizzie. ‘I wonder what happened?’
Hannah was about to say she was sure Lord Harley had punched the captain, but then decided against it. Lizzie was too tender-hearted and might rush to the captain’s side and ruin everything.
‘I think he fell over when he was drunk,’ lied Hannah. ‘Don’t forget to make that announcement at dinner.’
The doctor arrived just after she had left and advised Mr Fletcher to stay in bed, after bandaging his head.
The rest of the party assembled around the dinner-table. Lizzie got to her feet and, in a trembling voice and without looking at Captain Seaton, announced her engagement to Mr Fletcher. No one knew what to say, for it was hard to offer hearty felicitations when the rejected lover was seated at the table. Mrs Bradley pressed Lizzie’s hand and said, ‘Well done, m’dear,’ and everyone else murmured some sort of congratulations, except the captain, who glowered into his wine. It began as a silent meal, for everyone was thinking about Captain Seaton at the same time
