Page 39 of Mail-Order Viscountess

Clara’s hand found Kate’s, and Kate gave a gentle squeeze as she slid a look at her sister. Exhaustion was written in every line of Clara’s face. How much sleep had she gotten last night because she’d been worrying?

The man who’d carried in the other trunk stepped forward now. His bearing held a quiet authority that set him apart from his brothers, something in the set of his shoulders that spoke of a responsibility carried long.

“I’m Enoch.” His voice was deeper than Thomas’s, steadier than Robert’s. His blue eyes moved from Kate to Clara with careful assessment. Not cold but measuring. “Welcome to our home.”

Our home. The words settled strangely in Kate’s chest. She’d expected this place to feel foreign, hostile even. Instead, the warmth and genuine concern radiating from these people made something ache behind her ribs.

“Thank you.” She gave a slight nod. “We’re grateful for your hospitality.”

“Let me show you to your room.” Mandie appeared at Kate’s elbow. “Then you can decide whether you want to come down to eat, or I can bring up a tray. You both need rest more than anything, I’d wager.”

She should protest—to insist she was fine. But maybe Clara did need the rest.

And besides, her body felt like it weighed twice what it should, every muscle protesting the hours of sitting in the cold wagon after a night on stone.

“This way.” Mandie moved toward the stairs, and Kate followed, with Clara still pressed close to her side.

The staircase rose along the far wall, wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Kate’s hand found the smooth banister, worn from years of use but well-maintained. Everything in this house spoke of that same care—nothing ostentatious, but nothing neglected either.

They reached the landing, and Mandie led them down a hallway lit by oil lamps in brass sconces. The baby stirred in her arms, making a small sound before settling again. “We didn’t know you were both coming, so I only had one room ready. I can ready another easily though.”

“One room is perfect.” Clara spoke up before Kate could respond. “We’d prefer it, actually.”

Mandie’s expression softened. “Then you’ll be comfortable here.” She stopped before a door near the end of the hall and pushed it open.

The room beyond was smaller than Kate expected, but somehow that made it feel cozier rather than cramped. A large bed dominated one wall, covered in a lovely quilt—intricate stitching in shades of blue and cream that caught the lamplight. A washstand and chest of drawers stood near the window, and a braided rug covered most of the floor.

But the window itself drew her attention more than anything else. Even in the darkness, the outlines of mountains rose against the star-scattered sky. Vast and solid and somehow reassuring in their solidness.

“There’s fresh water in the pitcher.” Mandie moved to light the lamp on the small table beside the bed. “Clean towels on the stand and extra blankets in the chest. Your trunks will be up soon.”

Kate’s throat tightened at the simple kindness in the woman’s voice. “Thank you. You’ve been very thoughtful.”

“It’s no trouble.” Mandie adjusted the baby in her arms. “One of us will bring up some food and hot water for washing. Unless you’d rather come down?”

“Here would be better,” Clara said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all.” Mandie moved toward the door, then paused. “I’m glad you’re both safe. When the storm came through yesterday...” She trailed off as she shook her head. “Well. The Lord was watching over you.”

The door closed softly behind her, leaving Kate and Clara alone in the quiet room.

Clara moved to the bed and sank onto it with a sigh that rose up from her bones. “I thought you were dead.” Her voice came out small, stripped of the cheerfulness she’d managed all day. “When the ice broke, and you couldn’t come across with us, I thought⁠—”

“I’m here.” Kate crossed to her sister and eased down beside her, then slipped her arm around Clara’s waist as she had so many hundreds of times before. “I’m fine. We’re both fine.”

Clara leaned into her, resting her head against Kate’s. The strength of Clara’s inhale pressed against her, then Clara’s body trembled as she released a long breath.

Kate allowed her eyes to drift shut as she breathed in the familiar scent of Clara’s hair—a tiny remnant of lavender soap and something indefinably Clara. For a moment, she let herself simply hold on, let the fear of the last day drain away in the solid warmth of her sister beside her.

“What happened out there?” Clara’s question came softly, curiosity mixed with lingering worry.

Kate opened her eyes and stared at the far wall, at the way lamplight played across the simple wooden planks. Where did she even start? The cave? The fire? The hours pressed against Thomas while the storm raged outside?

The way he’d looked at her in the darkness and called her extraordinary?

“We found shelter behind the waterfall.” She kept her voice steady. Matter-of-fact. “Thomas built a fire. We stayed as warm as we could.”

Clara pulled back just enough to study Kate’s face. Her hazel eyes—so like their father’s, so unlike Clara’s mother’s calculating gaze—searched for something Kate couldn’t let her find.