Chapter Twenty
To Emily’s mingled disappointment and relief, the next day dawned mild. The temperature had risen overnight, and the snow had half melted already, the dark bark of trees stark against the stone grey sky, and grass poking through the shovelled lawn.
By the time they had finished breakfast, Mr Chambers confirmed that a post chaise had made its way past them.
“I reckon the snow’s softened enough that it’ll clear within a few days,” he said as he kicked his boots off.
They all listened to the steady pitter-patter of melting snow from the roof.
Emily did not especially enjoy the cold under ordinary circumstances, and she especially did not enjoy this stage of the snow cycle, where everything turned mushy and damp—the sort of damp that tucked itself under collars and up sleeves. Colder, in some ways, that the crispness of freezing.
A temperature England excelled at.
Oliver looked at Emily from across the table. “Is the road traversable if we were to walk?” he asked.
“Walk? To the nearest village? You have ten miles to go, lad!”
“By the time we arrive, the snow might have melted enough to hire a coach.”
Mr Chambers eyed Oliver dubiously. “Perhaps, but mark my words, you’ll end up staying there overnight before you have a chance of getting out.”
“I don’t mind,” Emily said hastily. “It’s just we should get back to my sister. She’ll be worrying about us.”
At the mention of Isabella, Oliver’s face went perfectly blank.
Neither of them had discussed the previous night yet, but they would have to acknowledge it. A small, jealous part of Emily was glad he would not be marrying her sister, but thinking about Isabella meant thinking about what they had done.
Isabella would never know. But Emily still felt guilty.
Even so, she could not stop sneaking glances at Oliver. And she had felt his eyes on her more than once, too.
“We were hoping to send Old Tom along in the cart this afternoon, if you can stand to wait that long,” Mrs Chambers said. “That is, if the roads are looking well enough. It’s a rickety old thing, mind, the cart.”
Oliver swept them a formal bow. “I’m assured it can be no worse than my carriage, ma’am, and we’re most grateful to you for all your generosity.”
“Now then.” Mrs Chambers blushed and flicked a tea-towel at him. “You’re too handsome for your own good, Mr Beaumont, and that’s the truth. Is there anything else you need before you go?”
“Going already?” John’s small face fell. “But the snow hasn’t fully melted yet.”
Oliver tugged affectionately at one of his ears, and Emily absolutely refused to let her heart respond to the gesture. “We have to get back to our family,” he said. “So they can spend time with us, too. But we’ve had a wonderful time being here with you all.”
“We have,” Emily said warmly, trying to ignore the full-body flush that suffused her when she thought what kind of wonderful time she’d had under their roof. Under the cold light of day, it felt sordid and deeply, overwhelmingly improper.
She loved it.
“And we’ll miss you all,” she added, trying to bring her mind to more suitable breakfast table matters.
“Will you come back and visit?” Sarah asked.
“My family lives a long way south of here,” Oliver explained. “I don’t know when we’ll next be up in these parts.”
Never, was the answer. Without being married, they could never return. Although she wished she could, if only to repay them for their generosity.
“Don’t you pester them,” Mrs Chambers said now, shooing her children away from the table. “They can’t promise anything, I’m sure, and we wouldn’t want them to, either.”
Oliver’s foot nudged hers, and his knee slid along the side of her thigh. Though no one else could see the gesture, it made her face flame, and she coughed into her tea.
His knee nudged her again, more insistently this time, and she caught the corner of his smile as mopped up his egg yolk with a slice of bread.
Biting back a smile of her own, she nudged him back and glanced out of the window at the rapidly melting snow.
The air temperature was positively warm now, and the trees and hedges were all bare.
By tonight, most of the snow would be gone, she suspected. And by this afternoon, enough of the road would be passable for them to make it to the nearest village.
Her heart squeezed at the prospect. The sooner she returned home to Isabella, the better. Her sister would probably be hungry and cold, whereas Emily had been warm and well-fed these past few days. Not to mention partaking in—well, Oliver.
On the other hand, she didn’t want to leave. This had been a delightful interlude, and once she left, she would have to face the reality of everything she had done, and a life she had to endure, not enjoy.
The Chambers enjoyed their life. They had enough, and they had each other, and they were happy.
If only Emily could have faith she might one day have such a thing. But fate did not smile kindly on her, and even now, she had a prickling feeling behind her shoulder blades that something was about to go terribly wrong.
The next village along was called Bridekirk. After they assessed the roads and confirmed they could make the journey, all that remained was for them to gather what few things they had and bid their hosts goodbye.
“I will send someone for the horses and carriage,” Oliver told them as they gathered in the hallway. “And recompense for the cost of stabling the horses, of course.”
“Aye, you worry more about getting yourself settled. We’ll do fine here,” Mr Chambers said.
“You look after one another now, duck,” Mrs Chambers said, embracing Emily. “And don’t you worry about thanking us. It was a pleasure and a joy to have you around. Wasn’t it, Gerald?”
Her husband nodded, clapping Oliver on his good shoulder. “We hope someone would do as much for our daughter and her husband, that’s for certain. Take care of that arm, lad.”
“I will,” Oliver said.
“Do you have the money to repay them?” Emily asked in a low voice after they bid the children goodbye and crossed the yard to where the cart was being set up. Clarabella, to Emily’s relief, was firmly locked away.
“Whether I do or not, Henry does. He’ll send the money over regardless. It’s what’s right; he would never leave a debt like this unpaid.”
“Would you?”
Oliver grimaced, glancing up at the heavy clouds as though daring them to rain on him again. “Not if I can help it.” He adjusted his injured arm, wincing as he did so. “If Henry does end up having to fork out for this, I’ll pay him back.”
“With your allowance?”
“Well . . .” He kicked at the ground, looking almost bashful—and at anyone but her.
“I thought—this morning, I thought I might approach my brother and ask him for help teaching me the things a landowner ought to know.” The tips of his cheekbones pinked.
“I will marry at some point, and when I do, I will come into my inheritance, and I ought to know how to run it. Properly, without relying on a steward for everything the way my father does.”
Emily paused, realising the enormity of this confession. For the entirety of the time she had known him, he had posed his brother as some sort of tyrannical figure, but now Oliver intended to go to him, cap in hand, and ask for help.
She touched his unwounded arm. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”
“You haven’t met my brother.” His half-smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He doesn’t have the best opinion of me—there’s a good chance he will turn you away.”
“Or perhaps your brother loves you,” she said, leaning her cheek against his shoulder for a heartbeat, “and wants the best for you. Perhaps he wants you to find the best for yourself.”
“Perhaps.”
They reached the cart. Oliver helped Emily climb into the back, and Oliver followed clumsily, trying to avoid knocking his bad arm. Six days into healing, and she could tell it still pained him, even if he did his best to hide it from her.
She wished she could magically make it better. Unfortunately, that was not how the world worked.
They settled themselves against the side of the cart amid bags of grain and old pieces of straw as Old Tom flicked the reins and urged the donkeys at the front into motion.
All around them, the melting snow dripped and pattered, and the watery sun bathed them in its indifferent light as they waved goodbye to the farm that had housed them for so long.
Oliver’s warmth pressed into her side, a reminder that no matter what, she couldn’t ignore his presence. They were soon to bid each other farewell, and the thought made her stomach twist a little.
This is what you wanted.
“What do you intend to do once we reach Bridekirk?” she asked.
“I doubt there’s much to be done.” He took her hand, enfolding her fingers in his. “It’ll be too late to easily travel back to Dalston, so I’ll take a room for the night—or two—and after a hearty breakfast tomorrow, I’ll hire a carriage to deliver you home.”
If she wanted, she could insist on separate rooms, or for him to deliver her back to Dalston tonight. He watched her as though he half expected her to demand such a thing.
One last night together. Would that be so bad? Isabella needed her, but what was the difference between late one night and early the next morning? Isabella was not an early riser; she would barely notice the difference.
“All right,” she said, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction.
“Do you regret it?”
She eyed their linked hands pointedly. “If I did, do you think I would be here like this with you now? No, Oliver. I don’t regret it.
” She felt as though a door in her mind and body had been opened.
Things would perhaps have been easier if it had remained shut, but when had the best things in life ever been easy?
“Good,” he said, exhaling. “Then I don’t have to, either.”
“What made you change your mind about me? When we first met, I don’t suppose you intended for this to happen.”