It had been a gamble at the time, with the way the storm crept ever closer and so very threatening. But Ophelia had been certain that they would make it home before it broke. And even if they did not, the carriage would protect them. Or so she had thought.
The storm came upon them with a vengeance, nearly knocking the carriage from the road. And while the driver had managed to keep it steady at first, as they pressed further, as the storm grew in tenacity, Ophelia had known the worst was about to happen.
Sure enough, the carriage soon became stuck. It had lurched, trembled, and then stopped dead. The horses neighed. The driver cursed. And the wind howled as if it mocked them all.
That was thirty minutes ago.
With Harriet in her arms, Ophelia shifted toward the window. It was dark outside, the rain stained the glass, but she squinted and was just able to make out her chaperone, Charles, and the driver as they worked to free the carriage.
She couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could guess well enough. The driver pulled on the horses’ reins, while Charles did something with the wheels. It made no difference, of course, and she knew without having to stick her head out and ask that they were not going anywhere.
Another clap of thunder. Harriet shrieked. The walls of the carriage trembled. The wood creaked… groaned… and she braced as if it might collapse.
What are we going to do? What can we do?
Nothing was the answer. And Ophelia, ever a ray of sunshine, was unable to find even a sliver of light in the darkness of her reality. It might have been nice to have hoped that someone would come and rescue them… that Adrian would. But she thought back to this last week and how deftly he had ignored her, and she knew that would not be the case.
They were alone. She was alone. And never before had it been more felt.
Suddenly, the shouting coming from outside grew in tenacity. Ophelia’s eyes widened, and she tried to see the cause. Fear spiked through her, wondering what might have happened… asif things could get any worse. The shouting continued as the door to the carriage started to rattle.
Ophelia leaned back, clutching Harriet to her chest. It must have been the wind, shaking it violently. But it rattled further, creaked, and then flew open.
Rain lashed Ophelia’s face. Wind blew through her hair. She cried out and covered her face, and Harriet both, turning her body because she was certain the end was upon her.
“Ophelia!” The voice was like a shield blocking out the storm. Deep, commanding, and safe feeling. She felt it in her chest, wrapped her body like a cloak in winter, and for a moment she did nothing, certain that she had misheard…
“Are you…” The carriage moved as someone climbed inside it. A hand touched her on the shoulder. “Is Harriet…”
Ophelia knew who it was. But still, doubt plagued her, and it took a moment before she dared to turn around. When she did, she found Adrian crouched over in the carriage, and the look he held on her was one that she felt pierce through her heart.
Worried… in pain… it was the look of a man who thought the world was about to end, only to learn that it wasn’t. He looked at her with utmost concern, a touch of hesitation, and Ophelia just about burst into tears.
“Adrian!” Ophelia fell forward and wrapped her spare arm around him. “What are you doing here?”
“You did not come home,” he said stoically. “I was worried about you.”
She pulled back so that she could look at him. “You were?”
“You are my wife, Ophelia,” he said as if it were explanation enough. “Of course I was.”
It might not have been a confession of feelings. It was still detached, an obligation rather than a need. But Ophelia knew her husband well enough to know how significant this was, and what it had taken for him to come and save her.
Maybe there is a chance, after all…
“Come on…” He kept an arm around her waist. “Let’s get you home.”
She pulled back. “But the storm?” Beyond the carriage door, the storm still bellowed and screamed. “How are we…”
He looked at her again. No smile. No encouragement found in his eyes. Merely a determined scowl as if to ask such a thing was to question him as a husband.
“Trust me,” he said.
And she did. Whatever Adrian might have felt for her, she had no doubt that he would do whatever it took to see her and Harriet home to safety. When they had married, he made such a promise: that he would let no harm come to her, and she knew that he would rather die than fail.
“I do,” she said. “I trust you.”
It was subtle, but a smile touched his lips, found his eyes, before he smothered it. Then, he kept an arm around her as he pulled her and Harriet into the storm.
