Then again, he could stay here and reflect, as Caroline put it. Review his carefree life before he sold himself in marriage to that woman. He could reminisce about lovers recent and old, about big wins at the tables, and ignore the bigger losses, about indulgences enjoyed despite no money to pay for them. He could revel in the infamy that meant even rustics like the ones in this house knew who he was.
Why not? And if he could get out of this chamber, the hills out there and the sitting room below offered some unexpected diversion. He did not know why he was here, and that alone was an interesting little mystery to be solved.
The scraping said the bar had risen. He sat up as the door opened. Caroline marched in and dropped a bundle on the bed. “Not the finery you are used to, but they should do and no one in society is going to see you. There’s a Bible there, and one of Mrs. Smith’s novels, and a journal or two. I added some newspapers. They are old, but not of London, so you may find them new enough. There are also a few necessities.”
He eyed the stack of garments and publications. “How long do you intend to imprison me?”
“Five days if the weather holds. Longer if the snow keeps falling.”
“Until Christmas then.”
“Yes.”
He would regret missing the festivities. A marquess knew how to do up Christmas smartly. Watching his nieces’ and nephews’ excitement always provoked a pleasant nostalgia.
“You do not have to bar the door and lock me in. If I did not try to escape off the wagon, I won’t now. Nor would it do me much good if I managed it. I don’t even know where I am.” He smiled his best smile, to cajole her to reconsider.
For an instant her mouth softened at the edges and her eyes shone with new lights. Then her brow puckered while she glanced around the chamber to avert her gaze. She turned on her heel and left.
He returned to the window. Fifteen minutes later two figures came up the steps down below. At the same time, the wagon rolled into view.
The two figures, all bundled and hatted against the cold, climbed on the wagon; then it aimed toward the rolling landscape.
Mr. Smith had been driving the horse at the wagon. It had appeared that the young man who abducted Adam had climbed into the wagon. A third man worked here, too, however.
The three of them flowed away, getting smaller. As they did, spots appeared on the crest of the nearest hill. The spots trickled down the land toward the wagon.
Adam squinted at the overcast, snow-filtered distance. Horses. A small herd of them galloped toward the wagon and its hay. The two men began throwing bales onto the ground while the wagon slowly moved.
He gazed at those horses. He recalled how Caroline had looked familiar in some way. In a blink it lined up in his memory.
He knew where he was and probably why he was here. The goal might be a ransom, but the motivation was revenge.
* * *
Heavens, but she was being a fool. That was what happened when a woman lived in isolation with no society and precious few friends. She turned into a puddle when a beautiful man gave her any attention, even if he did so for dishonorable purposes. She was supposed to be filling her father’s empty place, being clever and strong like him—not melting like hot beeswax when a bit of warmth entered Lord Thornhill’s eyes.
Caroline threw another bale, harder than she needed, so hard that it made her arms ache from the effort. Old Tom noticed.
“Don’t you go hurting yourself,” he scolded. He set down the reins and began to rise.
“You stay there. You are the one who has been hurt.”
“Should have stayed with Mum,” Jason muttered beside her while he bent to lift a bale himself. “Don’t know why you think you have to do a man’s work when there are two real men here.”
Had Jason not been a childhood friend and if she did not depend on him so much, she might have put him in his place for that. Not that his place would be clear to either of them anymore. The very notion of places rang hollow these days.
“You are not my brother, Jason, so don’t you dare scold me. I will do as I see fit and there was no reason for you and your father to stay out in this cold twice as long while you fed them yourself.”
“If the snow keeps on, we’ll be doing this every day for a long time,” Tom said. “Maybe Jason should stay here until it passes and not go off.”
“While Jason is gone, I will come out with you,” Caroline replied. “He has to go. We can’t keep Lord Thornhill in that chamber forever.”
“Why not?” Jason muttered. “It’s more than he deserves. I’d have let him sleep in the barn.”
“There was no way to bar him into the barn.”
“You know what I mean. No need to give him all that fuel and a fresh mattress. A bit of discomfort is due him. And you told Mum to cook enough for him, which seems too generous to me.”
