Page 52 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
And Mrs Mack would respond, jiggling her child in her arms, ‘I am trying to. Hush, Lizzy, go back to sleep.’
Lizzy then would reply at the top of her lungs something indecipherable, except for the worddolly. Obviously the child wanted her doll and none of them would receive any peace until then.
Clearing her throat, Julia said in a loud but polite tone of voice, as to be heard over the wailing child, ‘Where is her dolly? Perhaps it will help her stop crying.’
Mrs Mack’s face turned red as if she’d committed the grossest of crimes. ‘I must have forgotten it at the posting inn last night. I can’t find it anywhere.’
Lizzy’s wails redoubled at this news and Julia wished that she hadn’t attempted to intervene. Mr Mack loudly scolded his wife again and the child continued to cry. The three men on the opposite side of the mail coach all gave her matching glares. The last thing she wanted while travelling alone was their attention. Julia resolutely stared out through the small rectangular window at the thick snow that continued to fall at a steady pace. She could no longer see any grass or weeds, nothing but a blanket of white that softened the countryside and frosted the tops of the cottages.
Another shiver ran down her spine. She hoped that they would arrive in Pickwich soon. The snow seemed to grow heavier by the hour. The speed of their vehicle slowed and Julia worried that she would have to spend even more time in the company of the tantrum toddler, the unpleasant parents, a pair of bridle culls, and a man who hated her. She wished again that her father had been kind enough to send a male servant to travel with her or even a maid to lend her countenance.
Her heart leapt in her chest, straight to her throat, when the carriage finally came to a stop. By now it was snowing too hard for her to tell if they were in the village of Pickwich, but they must have been. She grasped her reticule tighter and waited for the door of the carriage to open. She could hardly wait to go inside the posting inn and wait for her father’s driver to pick her up and take her home. She knew the proprietors of the inn, and she would be safe with them until a servant was sent to fetch her. There would probably even be warm soup and a fire in a private parlour. The hot stone at her feet had long lost any warmth and her coat was not keeping out the cold. She only wished that her body wasn’t so aware of Devin’s disapproving eyes upon her and the sinister men’s smiles. Julia couldn’t wait to remove herself from their company.
Strangely, it was several minutes before the groom opened the door of the mail coach and by then Julia could see her white breath in the air.
‘My name is Joe and I’m here to tell you that the carriage is stuck,’ he said in a low, guttural voice.
‘How long will it take to clear it?’ Devin asked.
Joe sneezed and then shook his head. ‘The snow is too deep and it’s still falling heavily. Our only choice is to go and wait out the storm at the closest inn.’
Julia touched her throat. She was eager to get home for Christmas and the safety of Broadwick Abbey. ‘For how long?’
The groom shrugged his shoulders. ‘A day or two at least. Possibly longer. But there isn’t time to dawdle. The snow is coming down thick and you’ll all have to walk to the nearest village, Hooting. It ain’t more than a mile away.’
‘You want us to walk a mile in deep snow?’ Mrs Mack declared in dismay.
Goose bumps formed on Julia’s arms and her chest tightened. She was already cold and she was about to follow a stranger into a snowstorm to an inn where she didn’t know anyone. Her circumstances had changed from bad to worse.
Mr Mack cleared his throat. ‘What about the horses?’
Joe coughed into his hand before he answered, ‘It will be hard enough for the beasts to make it through the snow holding the mail without a rider on their back.’
‘But we’s paid for a coach ride,’ the bearded man said. The expression on his face was murderous.
‘And youse welcome to stay in the coach,’ Joe said, raising his scarf to cover his mouth and red nose. ‘You’ll freeze to death, but it’s your choice. I’m leaving with the driver, Mr Denard, and the horses this very moment to stay the night at the posting inn. If you want to live, you’ll keep close to us, so as not to get lost in the snowstorm.’
Despite being scared and half frozen, Julia had worked too hard for that horrible woman to die now. Without waiting for another word of complaint from her fellow passengers, she stepped out of the carriage and realised that the snow was well above her knees. The reason that Joe had taken several minutes to open the door was that he had removed the snow first. Trembling, she wrapped her arms around herself. But nothing she did kept out the cold or her fears.
One by one, her fellow passengers exited from the stuck mail coach. Joe deftly climbed up the carriage and offered to throw down their bags. Julia would have happily left her small portmanteau behind, but if she did, she would have no dry clothes to change into when they reached the nearest posting inn. Devin easily picked up his own small trunk and slung it over his shoulder. His eyes briefly met hers as if to challenge her to ask for his help.
She would rather die. If he hadn’t tried to sue her for breach of promise, perhaps Papa would not have disowned her and sent her to live with Mrs Heap.
Besides, Devin was treating her like a heartless jilt, when Julia had been forced to end her engagement or live as the unwanted third in a ménage à trois. She deserved better in a marriage and she would not settle for anything less than love if she were to be engaged a second time. Scooping up her portmanteau, she carried it in her arms like a recalcitrant child and struggled through the snow after Mr Denard and the horses.
After a few minutes of trudging through deep snow, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that all of the coach passengers were walking and that Joe was at the back of the group making sure that no one left the road—including the pair of bridle culls. Not that Julia could see a road underneath all the snow. Devin gave her another glare and she returned her gaze to the horses and Mr Denard. She didn’t look back again. It took all of her strength and determination to keep going.
Chapter Two
Sitting in the crowded mail coach, Devin Ballantine hadn’t remembered how beautiful his brother’s betrothed was and it irked him to no end. In his mind, he’d reduced his memory of Julia Sullivan to only her flaws: she’d had two red spots on her chin, she’d been little more than skin and bones, and she’d cried as she called off the wedding. Sir Eustace had started yelling and so had his own mother. Then Julia’s face had turned completely red with embarrassment and tears—not pretty at all. Despite the havoc she was causing his family, Devin couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for her.
His beloved elder brother, whom he looked up to, had not shown any emotion at all. He’d merely accepted his jilting like the gentleman that he was, ignoring their mother’s insistence that he refuse to release her from the already signed marriage contracts—which were legally binding. The contracts stipulated how much Joshua would receive as Julia’s dowry portion and her yearly pin money, as well as her future widow’s portion. Mama had then pressed Devin to sue Julia Sullivan for breach of promise—and the end of the engagement brought more than just embarrassment for Joshua.
Unpleasant and unflattering rumours about his brother had reached Devin all the way in London. People said that something must truly be wrong with the baron if a young heiress would rather be a governess than a baroness. Baron Ballantine had to be mad with an uncontrollable temper or plagued with the pox. Because of the scandal, his brother had not returned to London for the yearly Seasons but stayed in the small town of Pickwich on his estate. His brother’s close friend and steward, Roger Ashby, had even moved into Riverdale House to keep Joshua company and his spirits up. And his brother, now nine and thirty, was still unmarried and without an heir.
Despite the usual tittle-tattle about younger sons, Devin had no aspirations towards his elder brother’s title or estate. He wasn’t even sure if he was the late baron’s son—questions and gossip about his paternity had followed him since school. Although, the man he had called Papa had treated him with nothing but love and kindness before he died. And his mother swore that there was no truth in the rumours.
Besides, Devin was a hard-working barrister and in the last five years had begun to make a name for himself at the London bar. He intended one day to become a judge. And Devin found country life to be quite dull. He loved the hustle and bustle and the sound and the grind of a large city. He thrived on never knowing who or what would come through his door and request legal representation.
