Chapter Thirty #2
“I do wish we could have taken my family’s carriage. It would have been much more comfortable and kept us fully shielded from the elements. But my family would certainly have noticed it missing.”
“Hmm, no doubt,” she said. “Especially as it would have required four horses compared to the one you’ve taken.”
He chuckled. “True.” Then he sighed, bemused at how his life had changed. “This may be the first time when I am not relishing choosing subterfuge over safety.”
Adaline snorted softly. “Spoken like the agent of mischief you are.” She patted him sympathetically. “No worries. I have no doubt you will be back to your devil-may-care ways soon. But in this instance, it cannot be helped.”
“Hmm, true,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Thankfully, the post inn was only another hour or two up the road.
With luck, they could rent a post chaise and horses and be on their way.
The need for a postillion was unfortunate.
But the benefit of the enclosed chaise for both privacy and protection from the weather outweighed the drawbacks of hiring a driver for the duration of their trip.
“How did you make your escape?” he asked, both to help pass the time and because he was genuinely curious. Her family was surely far more concerned with her whereabouts in the dark hours of the night than his were of him.
Adaline gave him a wicked little grin that had him wanting to both applaud and pull her on his lap to kiss her senseless.
“I feigned a headache. Locked myself in my room, and then when everyone was occupied for the night, I snuck down the back stairs and out one of the back doors we never use. I left a note for my maid. She will inform my family, of course. But I do hope if she discovers me gone before morning that she gives us a little time before she sounds the alarm.”
“Hmm yes,” he murmured, wishing he could spur the horse a little faster.
But the rain was coming harder, beginning to lash down at the hood of his gig. If it didn’t let up, the road would soon be a quagmire of unpassable mud.
Within a quarter hour, with his view of the road ahead obscured by sheets of unrelenting rain, Hugo slowed. The gelding tossed his head, displeased. Puddles pooled in the ruts, mud splashed up, and the wheels threatened to slide.
“Hold tight, love,” Hugo said. “Hopefully this will pass soon.”
Adaline, her hair curling damp at her brow, smiled. “I am perfectly well. Do not fret about me.” Her attempt at nonchalance was belied by the chattering of her teeth.
Hugo appreciated her trying to assuage his worries, but his concern only deepened.
The horse’s gait faltered, and the carriage jolted dangerously.
Adaline shivered, though she tried to mask it.
He pressed his lips together, weighing the risk of continuing versus the need for shelter.
The inn was still at least an hour up the road.
Likely longer, given the current conditions.
Hugo’s jaw set. “We must stop. I will not endanger you, nor the horse.”
“Is that safe?” Adaline asked, her brow creasing in a frown. “They may be searching for us even now.”
“It cannot be helped,” he replied, his concern for her wellbeing overshadowing his fear of being discovered.
He scanned the landscape, searching for any sign of refuge.
The main road narrowed, then diverged. A rough track seemed to cut through the woods up ahead.
Narrow, but well-traveled and wide enough for the horse and gig to pass safely.
And at least the trees would shelter them from the worst of the rain.
He turned the gig, guiding it gingerly off the main lane.
The rain intensified, thunder rumbling in the distance. The track twisted between ancient trees, roots snaking across the path. Adaline braced herself against the bumps and jolts as best she could, though they were both being bounced about until their teeth rattled.
At last, there was a break in the trees, and an outline of a building appeared in a small clearing. A cottage, from what he could tell. Long abandoned, its stone walls streaked with moss and ivy, its sagging roof hunched low over shuttered windows. Hugo exhaled in relief.
He drew the gig to a halt, leapt down, and helped Adaline to the ground. The horse whickered, stamping restlessly.
“Wait here,” he bid Adaline, pushing open the cottage door so he could quickly inspect it before she went inside.
The door hinges protested, obviously unused to being opened.
A good sign. They were sorely in need of those.
Inside, the air was stale and musty, cobwebs swathing the corners.
And everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. There was no bed.
No furniture at all aside from a dilapidated table and a broken basket near the hearth with a few moth-eaten blankets. Rough, but serviceable. They would do.
He went back out to fetch Adaline, his heart jumping when he didn’t immediately see her or the horse and gig.
But a noise around the back led him to a small lean-to where she had improvised some shelter for the animal.
She was stroking the gelding’s neck, murmuring reassurances to him, but paused to smile at Hugo when he appeared.
His heart swelled at the sight of her. There she stood, sodden, shivering. Yet not a word of complaint passing her lips though he deserved a thorough tongue-lashing for stealing her from her warm bed in the dead of night to lead her directly into a storm.
He pulled her to him, his hands trying to rub some warmth back into her arms. He gave her a swift kiss, then turned her toward the cottage.
“Go inside while I tend to the horse. There are some blankets by the hearth. I’ll see what I can find for firewood.”
Hugo settled the horse and returned to her as quickly as possible, his arms laden with firewood he’d scavenged from beneath the eaves.
Adaline raised a dented tinderbox with a triumphant smile. “I found this in the corner.”
“Excellent,” Hugo exclaimed, praying their good luck held out. “That is fortunate, indeed.”
He knelt before the hearth, coaxing flame from brittle twigs and shavings while Adaline removed her sodden cloak, draping it over the table to dry.
Hugo breathed another sigh of relief when the flame caught, greedily jumping to the logs he fed into the hearth. In a few moments, they had a crackling fire casting welcome warmth into the cottage.
He removed his greatcoat, hanging it from a hook near the door, and then reached out, catching Adaline’s hand to draw her down beside him so she could get warm.
She leaned against him with a surprisingly contented sigh and held her hands out to the flames.
Then she hesitated, glancing at her sodden gown.
“We must dry our clothing,” she said, glancing up at him, her cheeks flushing. “Or we’ll catch our death of cold.”
She pulled away from him and slowly stood, her gaze locking with his. His heart thundered, his mouth drying out completely when she reached up and began undoing the fastenings of her gown.