Chapter 21
Harriet would not stop crying. It was loud. Terror felt in each shriek. Ordinarily, such a sound would be like a knife through Ophelia’s chest so that all she would be able to think about was what she might be able to do to calm the baby’s suffering.
As things were, Harriet’s tears were not at the top of Ophelia’s priorities.
“There, there…” She rocked the baby back and forth because it was all that she could think of doing. Nothing was going to silence the poor girl. At least not anytime soon. “I’m here; there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
If only that were true…
Despite how loudly Harriet cried, the noise heard was drowned out somewhat by the storm that raged beyond the confines of the carriage.
The rain fell so heavily that it was deafening.
The thunder and lightning rocked the sky and shook the earth.
And the wind beat and battered at the carriage so that the wood creaked and groaned, the very real sense that at any moment it might be torn to pieces.
Ophelia wanted to feel brave. If not for her own sake, so that Harriet might get a sense of it. But bravery could only take a person so far, and eventually common sense made such aspirations null and void.
They really shouldn’t have left her father’s estate.
It had been a gamble at the time, with the way the storm crept ever closer and so very threatening. But Ophelia had been certain that they would make it home before it broke. And even if they did not, the carriage would protect them. Or so she had thought.
The storm came upon them with a vengeance, nearly knocking the carriage from the road. And while the driver had managed to keep it steady at first, as they pressed further, as the storm grew in tenacity, Ophelia had known the worst was about to happen.
Sure enough, the carriage soon became stuck. It had lurched, trembled, and then stopped dead. The horses neighed. The driver cursed. And the wind howled as if it mocked them all.
That was thirty minutes ago.
With Harriet in her arms, Ophelia shifted toward the window. It was dark outside, the rain stained the glass, but she squinted and was just able to make out her chaperone, Charles, and the driver as they worked to free the carriage.
She couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could guess well enough. The driver pulled on the horses’ reins, while Charles did something with the wheels. It made no difference, of course, and she knew without having to stick her head out and ask that they were not going anywhere.
Another clap of thunder. Harriet shrieked. The walls of the carriage trembled. The wood creaked… groaned… and she braced as if it might collapse.
What are we going to do? What can we do?
Nothing was the answer. And Ophelia, ever a ray of sunshine, was unable to find even a sliver of light in the darkness of her reality.
It might have been nice to have hoped that someone would come and rescue them…
that Adrian would. But she thought back to this last week and how deftly he had ignored her, and she knew that would not be the case.
They were alone. She was alone. And never before had it been more felt.
Suddenly, the shouting coming from outside grew in tenacity. Ophelia’s eyes widened, and she tried to see the cause. Fear spiked through her, wondering what might have happened… as if things could get any worse. The shouting continued as the door to the carriage started to rattle.
Ophelia leaned back, clutching Harriet to her chest. It must have been the wind, shaking it violently. But it rattled further, creaked, and then flew open.
Rain lashed Ophelia’s face. Wind blew through her hair. She cried out and covered her face, and Harriet both, turning her body because she was certain the end was upon her.
“Ophelia!” The voice was like a shield blocking out the storm. Deep, commanding, and safe feeling. She felt it in her chest, wrapped her body like a cloak in winter, and for a moment she did nothing, certain that she had misheard…
“Are you…” The carriage moved as someone climbed inside it. A hand touched her on the shoulder. “Is Harriet…”
Ophelia knew who it was. But still, doubt plagued her, and it took a moment before she dared to turn around. When she did, she found Adrian crouched over in the carriage, and the look he held on her was one that she felt pierce through her heart.
Worried… in pain… it was the look of a man who thought the world was about to end, only to learn that it wasn’t. He looked at her with utmost concern, a touch of hesitation, and Ophelia just about burst into tears.
“Adrian!” Ophelia fell forward and wrapped her spare arm around him. “What are you doing here?”
“You did not come home,” he said stoically. “I was worried about you.”
She pulled back so that she could look at him. “You were?”
“You are my wife, Ophelia,” he said as if it were explanation enough. “Of course I was.”
It might not have been a confession of feelings. It was still detached, an obligation rather than a need. But Ophelia knew her husband well enough to know how significant this was, and what it had taken for him to come and save her.
Maybe there is a chance, after all…
“Come on…” He kept an arm around her waist. “Let’s get you home.”
She pulled back. “But the storm?” Beyond the carriage door, the storm still bellowed and screamed. “How are we…”
He looked at her again. No smile. No encouragement found in his eyes. Merely a determined scowl as if to ask such a thing was to question him as a husband.
“Trust me,” he said.
And she did. Whatever Adrian might have felt for her, she had no doubt that he would do whatever it took to see her and Harriet home to safety. When they had married, he made such a promise: that he would let no harm come to her, and she knew that he would rather die than fail.
“I do,” she said. “I trust you.”
It was subtle, but a smile touched his lips, found his eyes, before he smothered it. Then, he kept an arm around her as he pulled her and Harriet into the storm.
The next few moments were chaotic as Adrian led her to his horse. She kept Harriet bundled underneath her heavy coat, ignoring the poor baby’s confused cries. Adrian’s arm was around her always, and when they reached the horse, he lifted her in one motion onto the saddle.
He then hurried to speak with Charles and the driver.
Ophelia did not know what was said, but he left them a moment later.
He moved with such command, such assertion, that it was as if the storm were afraid of him.
And when he climbed into the saddle, keeping her in front and between his legs, Ophelia had never felt so safe.
“Are you ready?” he shouted over the wind.
“Take me home,” she shouted back.
As bad as the storm was, Ophelia hardly noticed it.
They rode quickly down the road, through the wind and the rain, moving with purpose, with defiance.
Adrian’s arms were clamped around her; Ophelia knew that he would never let her fall, just as she knew that he would see her and Harriet home safely.
When the castle came into sight, seen through the raging winds and torrential rain, Ophelia did not breathe a sigh of relief. She did not feel a weight released from her chest. The danger had passed a long time ago, so there was no reason for such sensations as that.
Rather, she was calm as Adrian rode the horse right to the front steps, where someone was waiting.
He climbed down first and handed over the reins before taking her by the waist and lifting her from the saddle.
He didn’t ask; he just did, in full control and perfectly confident in his ability to see her inside.
“Almost there,” he said as he put his arm around her. Harriet was tucked under Ophelia’s coat, and she hunched over, allowing Adrian’s body to shield them both. “You’re almost safe.”
“I know I am,” she said.
Strangely, Harriet no longer cried. She was perfectly still and silent as if she understood how safe she was with Adrian. The storm was horrid, but he was a bulwark against it.
They stumbled inside and the doors closed behind, silencing the storm instantly. Mr. Watley was waiting, and the relief on his face was unmistakable.
“Oh, thank God,” he said as he rushed forward. “What happened?”
“A towel, Mr. Watley,” Adrian commanded. “A fire. Quickly.”
“Of course, Your Grace. This way.” Mr. Watley swept his hand and indicated for them to follow, which they did.
Even inside, finally safe, Adrian kept his arm around Ophelia as they walked the walls. His grip was tight, his body acted as if it was trying to shield them still, and when Ophelia glanced up to look at Adrian’s face, she saw his deep concern, paired with determination etched across it.
He does care… whatever this last week was, he has always cared for me.
That thought alone sent a warmth throughout Ophelia’s drenched body. She was shaking from the wet and the cold, but she did not feel it. And all she could think about was what this moment meant, for now and for the future.
“In here.” Mr. Watley led them into the drawing room where a fire burned hot in the hearth. There was a couch pulled up before it and Adrian led them forward, still holding her.
“Towels,” he commanded.
“I have them,” Mr. Watley said, sprinting ahead to where a pile of towels awaited by the couch.
Ophelia thought to point out that she was not in nearly as bad of a state as Adrian seemed to think.
Even Harriet, as if the baby knew that the danger had passed, was still silent.
Ophelia threw her coat back as she reached the couch, and she almost laughed to see the baby sleeping soundly in her arms.
“Here…” Adrian helped her to the couch, almost forcing her to sit.
“I am…” She hesitated, not wanting to be dismissive of Adrian’s help. “Thank you,” she offered instead as she sat down. “For saving us.”