A pox on them all!
A quarter to eight. — The sun is coming up, and it appears to be a rare sunny winter day. Hurrah!
Oh no, voices in the corridor, and my notes yet unwritten! Ahh!
Frantically,
Claire
Nine
JONATHAN AWOKE—or rather, opened his eyes—when the first glimmer of morning light spilled across his face. He very much doubted whether he’d dozed off even once, curled as he was on a settee with his greatcoat spread over him. His legs were stiff, his neck cricked, his eyes stinging with fatigue.
But when he peeped out a window, the answering view seemed to cure half his ailments. A glorious winter’s day—crisp, clear, and blanketed in fresh snow—followed last night’s storm. The immaculate stretch of white looked to Jonathan like a fresh start.
Yesterday may not have gone to plan, but today was a new day.
And the late-night brush with Claire had not been an outright failure. She may have refused his hand, but at least she’d accepted his apology. He could fancy he’d seen one or two layers of frostiness thaw away, and then, just before she’d bolted, a flare of…something.
A small and fleeting something, but something nonetheless.
He had seen it. He was sure of it.
That thin thread of optimism had sustained him through a frustrating search for a kitchen candle and then a long, weary trudge through the maze of the castle to his chamber. At last he’d gratefully crawled into bed.
Only to leap right back out.
Staggering away, he’d coughed till his eyes watered, for some unpleasant and thoroughly pungent odor—camphor oil?—enveloped him. Claire and her sister must have soaked the bedclothes in it, the treacherous fiends!
Were he not already retching, he might have laughed himself sick. Camphor, of all things! Someday he would have to ask those two where they’d got their inspiration.
Assuming he survived their Christmas party, that was. It appeared the pranks were not finished, after all, and Jonathan feared his endurance had reached its limit. He could only hope the bedclothes were a parting shot, and henceforth Claire would keep her word.
His faith was soon rewarded.
Well, not too soon, because first came the long hours spent languishing on the too-short settee, awake and uncomfortable and muttering stronger oaths than treacherous or fiends. But upon stumbling bleary-eyed and muddle-brained into the breakfast parlor (from which Claire was mysteriously absent), he at last found reprieve. There, he found himself both graciously allowed to partake of the general fare and mercifully spared the trouble of talking to anybody.
For the latter blessing he owed thanks to Mrs. Chase, who, having sat herself beside him, proved more than capable of conducting a tête-à-tête without any assistance from him.
At length, two (or three?) cups of coffee rallied him enough to leave the breakfast table and make his way into the saloon. There he hid behind a newspaper until all the guests were called to assemble outside.
On his way through the entrance hall, he observed a rushed and rather out-of-breath Claire finally making her appearance. As she descended the staircase, she donned leather gauntlets over at least two pairs of crocheted mitts, then buried both her hands in a fur muff.
A charming prospect awaited them all in the carriage sweep, by way of half a dozen horse-drawn sleighs festooned with brass bells, sprigs of holly, and red silk ribbon. Following the expected declarations of surprise and delight, the guests were shown to their conveyances, a gentleman and a lady being assigned to each.
Jonathan’s allotment was the rear-most sleigh and Elizabeth’s friend, Miss Mary Harris. She was a lively young lady with wavy red-gold hair that framed impish blue eyes. But after two minutes’ conversation exhausted their commonalities, they both fell silent and looked about.
Climbing into the sleigh ahead was Claire, who did not take her seat but leaned forward over the apron.
“Elizabeth! Psst, Elizabeth!” she whisper-shouted. In the next sleigh, a red-bonneted head turned. “Elizabeth, what are you doing back here? You’re supposed to be up front with Noah!”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Noah shan’t mind if Captain Talbot does not.”
The top hat beside her turned then, too. “Indeed, I do not,” Talbot confirmed with a roguish grin.
But Noah did mind, if his horrified expression were any indication—for he had just worked out that he was to be left in the clutches of the lovesick Lady Caroline.
Like a man on trial, Noah looked imploringly from face to face. Elizabeth turned up her nose. Claire gave a helpless shrug. Jonathan felt for his friend and would have happily switched places, could such be done without slighting Miss Harris. But as things stood, all he could do was shake his head in sympathy.
