He grinned. “We all make mistakes. Mine was giving you the expensive brandy. If I’d know it was all going to come up, I would have picked a different bottle.”
That at least got a wounded chuckle from her. She was still in fine spirits, then. She might be hungover the next day, but that would ease as well. Perhaps he could give her some of the local remedies, which he had to admit helped.
“I normally can handle my liquor,” she said, her eyes closed. She scooped the snow in her hands and smeared it across her face.
Karl was helpless. He could only watch her hands drift over her features, wishing it were him. No, not helping. Tomorrow, he would have to step into his professional role. There was no time to be dallying with foreign women. “Altitude. We are very high in the mountains already. Far higher than London. You cannot drink as much up here without feeling the effects.”
“Why did you not tell me earlier?” She sounded genuinely upset.
“Who would not know this? Who would come to the Alps and not know?” This was silly—of course everyone knew that drinking at altitude saved money. This was a great joke for all mountaineers. But, he supposed, softening, as a maid in England, where there were no great heights, she might not have understood this.
“I didn’t know!” She attempted to stand, but wobbled.
Karl was there, using his body to block her from falling inward on the hardwood floors. He put a hand out in front of herto catch her if she fell forward onto the snow. “I have you.” At least he could remember that in English.
It wasn’t second nature yet, to speak in English. His native Bavarian was not that far from the Swiss dialect spoken in Zermatt, which was an easy switch to make. And the Italian had been so similar to French, that hadn’t bothered him much either. But he’d guided multiple trips in those languages. It was not having anyone to practice his English with that made it so difficult to remember.
But this girl guaranteed he would try. He was already formulating plans to ask for English lessons from her in the evenings after her duties were concluded. He didn’t need them, as his father had drilled in the importance of English for expanding their trade routes, but perhaps he could ask for colloquialisms and the like. It wasn’t a lie, merely an exaggeration.
She gripped his hand, her smaller palms disappearing into his. But she didn’t move again for quite some time. She balanced well, standing and breathing a steady rhythm, much as he did while ascending difficult terrain.
“I’m perfectly well now, thank you.” She turned to face him, and if she had not just emptied her stomach all over the dining room, he would have tried to kiss her. Perfect bow lips. She was like a caricature of the perfect woman—cute but still possessing the curving traits that made his mind flip over to far more seductive thoughts.
She walked past him, veering into the wall. He scooped her up before she fell. She weighed nearly nothing. Despite her whispered protests, he tucked her close against his chest.
“You really don’t need to—”
He shrugged, jostling her a little. She was still pale, her face turned up to his. Would she appreciate this heroic gesture? As he delivered her up the stairs, she told him her roomnumber. Ah. The room with the viscount’s daughter. So she worked for the honorable Miss Ophelia Bridewell. He tucked that information away.
He set her down on her feet, being as gentle as he was able. “Goodnight.”
“Thank you,” she said, clearing her throat. “That was quite the delivery.”
“I do what is required of me,” he said, with a smirk.
She returned the smile. “Most gallant.” Instead of a kiss—again, he’d given her too much brandy—he bowed to her.
*
Chapter Two
The next morning was not nearly as bad as she’d anticipated. Yes, her mouth was parched and her head throbbed until she downed a cup of water, but all of that was attributable to the long travels of the prior week. She didn’t dare tell anyone of her midnight assignation with the undressed man in the dining room. Or her subsequent humiliation of casting up her accounts while on all fours in the snow.
Hopefully this man mostly worked out of doors and she wouldn’t see him much. They, after all, had plans in place for altitude training and climbs in the mountain range before attempting to summit the Matterhorn in July—months away, but training was of utmost importance.
Justine and Ophelia helped each other pin up their hair and button dresses, and went down to breakfast, wondering what to expect from the Swiss chalet that opened expressly for their expedition. None of the other inns in Zermatt were open for another month at least. Lord Rascomb had explained, as they’d bumped on donkeys through the empty town, that the Alpine inns didn’t have a way to heat individual rooms adequately.
They met Prudence and Mr. Moon on the landing. While the couple greeted them, Justine could practically smell the unquenchable desire radiating from them. Mr. Moon was tall and thin, and very restrained, but even his reserve crackled with heat as he kept his eyes fixed on Prudence. And Prudence, her honey-gold hair normally pinned in a conservative chignon, was clearly hastily put up, letting portions of her coiffure sag and letting tendrils escape down her back—which Mr. Moon twirled around his finger when he thought no one saw.
But Justine saw. And she sighed. It wasn’t that she envied Prudence; she envied Mr. Moon. She wanted to be besotted like that. And it had just never happened. She’d tried to be, but polite friendship was all she could muster. Or flirtatious bluster, as she’d done last night. Which ended in driving away another suitor, given that she’d spent a good portion of their conversation casting up her accounts.
The light in the window was very faint, not at all the bright, cheerful morning she’d expected. But when peering out the small windows, she found it was because the sun had not yet made it over the mountaintops, or at least, not from where this hotel sat. A bit odd, but that was the way her flat-landed self had been raised, she supposed.
The dining room smelled of sausage and coffee, thankfully, not of cast-up apple brandy. That was a relief. Lord and Lady Rascomb were already at the dining table, holding court for the entire room. Another wish for herself, to have a life where she even vaguely resembled this handsome older couple who exuded calm happiness.
It was one of the reasons Justine preferred to spend time at Ophelia’s house than her own. Her parents were unfortunately mismatched. Her father was like her, which was why he had so much money, in Justine’s opinion. He couldn’t keep still, always working, always finding new ways to invest.Her mother, on the other hand, had spent a lifetime trying to understand him, or at least get along with him, and then bore a final girl child who couldn’t hide her similarities to her frenetic father.
As Justine came around the table, Ophelia sitting next to her father, Justine took the place next to her best friend. But her eyes widened as she saw her Swiss guard from last night sitting across from Lord Rascomb.
