Chapter 28 - Stephen
At the crossroads, Stephen frowned. For a moment, he thought he saw… There it was again—a flash of light on the smaller path to his right. He reined in his horse and waited. Mr. Frederick and Vera had taken the long way around; that explained the delay.
Stephen frowned, wondering why they’d travelled so far out of their normal route.
Mr. Frederick had been reared in this area of the countryside—he knew the small lanes just as well as Stephen did.
Perhaps Stephen’s trip had been an exercise in futility.
Here he sat, damp and bedraggled, and they were only just late.
However, when the beam of light got closer, it was a lone horseman holding the lantern, not the cart Stephen had been expecting.
“Mr. Frederick?” Stephen called above the wind when the man drew nearer. “Where’s Vera? What’s happened?”
The man frowned. “Horses spooked and drove us right into the gulley. The cart’s stuck and we couldn’t get the other horse loose. Miss Vera is safe enough—she’s waiting in the cart. I’m going to get help to pull the branch off so we can get the other horse free.”
“Branch? What branch?”
“From the lightning that hit the tree.”
“You were nearly struck by lightning?”
Mr. Frederick frowned. “No, my lord. ’Twas the tree that was struck by lightning. Not us.”
Stephen shook his head. “How far back is the cart?”
“A couple of miles, maybe less, maybe more. Somewheres between here and the fork, but you can’t miss it on a road this small.”
“Go on ahead to the house. Bring men back, and tell the household to prepare a hot meal and warm water for baths. Everyone out in this should have one once they’re finished.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Stephen nodded and steered his horse down the dark lane. He could have asked for the lantern, but his eyes were well enough that he could make out the road, even in this gloom.
As he rode, he nursed an unfair anger toward Mr. Frederick. What was he thinking, leaving Vera all alone on the side of the road in a broken cart? There could be brigands!
Granted, it would have to be a particularly desperate brigand to be out in this weather, but still—desperate brigands were the worst kind of brigand.
And sure, there weren’t many who travelled small cart paths looking for prey—they usually stuck to the main thoroughfares that attracted wealthy carriages and offered clean getaways—but sometimes danger lurked in the last place you’d expect!
Of course, that horse couldn’t have held the both of them—Mr. Frederick and Vera—but Mr. Frederick could have led the horse through the storm. Certainly that would have taken longer, but perhaps Mr. Frederick could have jogged alongside or something. There was simply no excuse.
It was perhaps a quarter hour later when a shape came barreling toward him out of the storm.
It was the horse—the one that Mr. Frederick had claimed was stuck—wearing only its bridle.
It stood there shivering and prancing in the middle of the road like a harbinger of doom.
Stephen dismounted, his heart pounding. His boots squelched in the mud.
How had the horse gotten free if it were truly as stuck as Mr. Frederick thought? If Vera had managed to get it free by herself, why wasn’t she riding the blasted thing?
Stephen gave a cursory inspection for injuries, took up the horse’s lead, remounted, and rode faster through the night, chased by all his terrible imaginings.
Much later—hours or days, if one was to ask Stephen how long it felt, though in actuality probably only a quarter of an hour—Stephen’s breath froze in his lungs.
The cart was tilted at a terrible angle, half-submerged in the small ravine. Vera was nowhere in sight.
“Vera?” he called, throwing himself down from the saddle. “Vera?”
Against the backdrop of the howling wind, he heard perhaps the sweetest sound ever.
“Here I am,” she called.
A sodden, cloaked figure emerged from beneath the half-fallen tree.
“What are you doing? Get away from there; it’s dangerous.”
Though he couldn’t hear it over the pelting rain and the raging wind, he swore he could see her sigh. “It’s already fallen, Stephen. I thought the danger mostly passed.”
Stephen leapt over the gulley—it was full now, more like a frothing river than a drainage ditch—his boots squelching in the water and mud on the other side. He held out a hand and she took it. She leaned awkwardly against him on the way back down the hill.
He frowned down at her. “What’s the matter?”
“Why, nothing at all.” She gritted her teeth as she stepped back down toward the water. “Just enjoying a lovely stroll.”
“Stop, Vera. What’s wrong?”
With the darkness, he couldn’t see her face. He found he hated it.
“I sprained my ankle, helping that traitorous horse.” Her voice lacked heat. She shortly added, “I’m glad you met the fellow, though. I was worried he might not find his way home.”
Stephen couldn’t help it, he pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her sodden head.
The relief thrumming through him, to his very bones—it could only mean one thing.
He loved her. He was helplessly, madly in love with Miss Vera Ashbury.
Of course he’d suspected as much, which was why his thoughts had turned toward marriage as of late.
Still, this moment drove the emotion home soundly.
“Why are you hugging me?” Vera asked suspiciously. “Are you about to deliver bad news? Is there something wrong with the horse? I thought he looked all right—”
“Vera, shut up about the damn horse,” he ground out.
She fell silent, and he was grateful for it. He could barely think over the howling of the wind, over the much louder howling of emotions raging within him.
Stephen could have lost her. The fear coursing through him wasn’t just because of tonight, not just because of the stark terror he’d felt when that lone, riderless horse had loomed out of the darkness before him. No—he could have lost her in so many ways.
What if Vera had been accepted to a position before he’d even arrived home from India? They might have never met.
What if Vera hadn’t possessed a great capacity to forgive? He could have lost her with his own arrogance, his own stupid, disbelieving cruelty.
And Stephen might lose her still—if Vera didn’t feel as he did, if he couldn’t convince her to love him back…
Not to mention the danger she’d faced tonight—she could have been gravely injured. Vera could have died. And here she was blathering on about the horse. As it was, she was soaked and shivering and had sprained her ankle…
And Stephen was holding her like a dolt in the middle of the storm, when he could be getting her to safety.
“Forgive me,” he said, drawing back abruptly. “Let’s get you home.”
“That sounds wonderful. Can we please speak of fires and warm baths and hot tea all the way back?” Her lips stuttered on the consonants, belying just how chilled she was.
Stephen’s mind nearly stumbled at the thought of Vera in a bath, but he recovered nicely—his thoughts flew at once to pneumonia, to pleurisy, to fevers. He cursed himself anew.
He swept her up into his arms; Vera gave a little cry of surprise.
Stephen charged down the gulley. When he was ankle-deep in the water, he jumped and splashed into the shallows on the other side.
His boots were of excellent make, but even oiled leather had its limitations—water seeped in at the seams and his wool socks began wicking the moisture upwards.
It didn’t matter—he didn’t care. Vera was far wetter and far colder than he was.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine,” she squeaked, but he frowned down at her, unconvinced.
He set her atop his horse and swung up behind her, then set as fast a pace as was safe for home.