CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – SYLVIE #2
The middle of a snowstorm was not an ideal time to figure out you had very real feelings for someone you thought you hated.
“Are we there yet?” I muttered, tucking my hands inside my sleeves like it was any warmer in there.
Spoiler alert: it was not.
“Almost. End of this lane,” he replied, like that was going to make it better.
Unlike the road we’d broken down on, the snow on this lane was not compacted in any way by cars.
It was all loose, dusty, drifting snow, and the lane itself was like a bloody wind tunnel.
It was gusting through and into us something chronic, and I had to reach up to hold my hood over my hat before the wind blew it off.
Thomas was doing the same thing, and it felt as though an hour had passed by the time we reached the gates that would grant us entry to his estate.
He dragged me over to the intercom and pressed the button. It buzzed to life, and several long-arse seconds passed before the speaker crackled.
“Hello?”
“Mum?” Thomas said. “Can you unlock the gates?”
“What? I thought you were home. What are you doing at the gates?”
“For goodness’ sake, Mother. Can we have this conversation in a minute? We’re freezing out here!”
“We? Who is we?”
“Open the gate!”
“Oh, goodness, of course. I’ll be at the door for you. Hurry, hurry.”
Thomas released the button and shook his head. “She’s got a heart of gold, but the common sense of a blind donkey.”
I laughed, shivering again. “She means well.”
“Aye, she means she’s going to let me freeze to death if I don’t answer her questions.” He chuckled as the gates slowly opened, only slightly thwarted by the build-up of snow. “Ah, it looks like the driveway has been gritted. That’s something, at least.”
“It is? Why? Did it grit itself?”
“Yes. It’s a self-gritting one. You’re not really rich if your driveway doesn’t salt itself in cold weather.”
I nodded. “But of course. Your lawns have water sprinklers, and your driveways have salt sprinklers. That’s obviously why they’re always gravel.”
“Don’t tell anyone you know that. It’s a secret.”
“Between your driveway and your suits of armour, you’re practically a romance novel hero.”
“God, I hope not. Those things end in marriage.”
“Ah, the commitment-averse hero. You really are made for fiction.”
He shook his head, but I could feel his body shaking with a quiet laughter. “I’m really not, and I can thank—your grandmother’s pig.”
I frowned. “You can thank my grandmother’s pig for you not being made for romance? That’s a new one.”
“No, you daft thing. Your grandma’s pig is under my tree.” He stopped us and pointed towards a rather large pine tree where Beatrix Trotter was shielding from the snow. “What on Earth is she doing here?”
“An excellent question,” I replied, stepping forwards. “Looks like she’s gone on her jollies again.”
“Will you be able to catch her?”
“I don’t know. I think she likes me. The feeling isn’t entirely mutual, though. Not since she pooped in my bed.”
He snorted. “Can you at least pretend to adore her for a few minutes?”
“I guess…” I shuffled forwards, bending over. Thank God for a long coat that wouldn’t expose my bare skin to this weather. “Hey, Beatrix. C’mere.”
She stared at me.
It was definitely the pig. I knew by the black eye patch she had.
Not an actual eye patch like a pirate—more a splodge around her eye.
“Come on,” I cooed. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”
Her tail twirled, and I was able to snag her jumper before she made a break for it. If I’d let her go in this weather, I would never hear the end of it from my grandmother, that was for sure.
“Did you get her?” Thomas asked.
I nodded, cradling the little pig in my arms. “She’s freezing.”
“Okay, come here.” He took her from me and unzipped his coat halfway down, tucked the tiny, shivering pig against his body, and pulled the zip up as far as he could. “We’ll run,” he said, looking at me as he rested one hand against his body where Beatrix was. “Ready?”
“No,” I replied.
He grabbed my hand and pulled, and I screamed as my legs moved before my brain did.
It was completely ridiculous, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what the pair of us looked light running along the seemingly never-ending driveway, hand-in-hand like a couple of kids with a pig stuffed inside his coat.
It was also a very bad time for me to be aware of how much larger his hand was compared to mine. Of how tight his grip was as his fingers clutched mine as he pulled me alone until the dreamy view that was Castleton Manor finally broke through the snow.
It was a massive Georgian manor, every inch a regal, fairytale building. If someone told you it was the home of princes and princesses, you wouldn’t think twice. Three floors, gorgeous stonework, and big windows designed to let as much light as possible in.
Those windows were currently alight and giving us some much-needed direction. At least they still had power—I had to hope that my grandparents did, too. I’d seen the power go out in lesser storms than this one many times before.
The majestic door swung open almost as soon as we hit the bottom step.
“Thomas—Sylvie!” Emily said, shock etched into her features.
“What are you doing here? Out there, even? Goodness me, get inside. You look absolutely frozen. Thomas, where is your car? Why are you running up the driveway like a couple of teenagers who’ve snuck out a bedroom window to a party? ”
“Mum, would you let us in?” Thomas asked, ushering me ahead of him with one hand on the small of my back. “We’re going to freeze to death soon.”
“Of course, of course.” Emily shuffled herself out of the way. “Get in here, you silly things. Thomas, is that a pig in your coat?” She looked at me. “Why is there a pig in his coat?”
“It’s Nana’s pet pig,” I replied slowly, loosening my scarf from around my face. My skin tingled as the warmth inside prickled at my cheeks. “We found her under a tree.”
Emily shut the door behind him and waved a hand in the direction of someone, squinting at the pig. “Goodness, so it is. Whatever is she doing here?”
“No idea. She tends to escape and go off on her jollies like a cat, and I’m guessing the weather came in before she could get home.”
Emily touched a hand to her chest. “Lizzie, do you know where Jeremy is?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the younger woman replied. “He’s in the staff kitchen.”
“Could you please ask him to come to the living room? Beatrix will need some food and warmth before she’s to go to the barn.
” Emily turned back to me as the younger woman hurried off.
“Don’t worry. Jeremy is our farmhand—Beatrix will be perfectly safe and warm in the barn with the other animals.
He just cleaned it this morning in preparation for them being inside for a few days, and we have a small, secure stall she can sleep in alone. ”
Well, that was better than where I was expecting her to end up, which was on my bed.
I nodded, still shaking with the cold, and Thomas turned at the sound of another pair of footsteps. I’d barely jerked my head around to look when Emily took hold of me and started fussing over me in a motherly way I hadn’t felt in so long.
“Whatever happened? Last I knew he was delivering the trees for your sister’s wedding. What are you doing here?”
As she busied herself with relieving me of all my outerwear, I explained everything that had happened from us getting the trees sorted to Gramps’ car breaking down and Thomas parking his in the ditch at the side of the road.
She requested someone bring us a pot or two of hot tea and ushered us both into the living room where she proceeded to plonk our bums on the floor in front of a roaring open fire.
Honestly, I was too cold to argue, and I think Thomas was, too, although he did shoot me an amused look when Emily bustled over with two blankets and tossed one in his lap but carefully wrapped the other around my shoulders.
“I’ll call your grandmother and let her know where you are—and the pig.” Emily patted my shoulder.
“Would you make sure they’re all right, too?” I asked softly. “I don’t want to be here comfortable if they’re not.”
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”