Chapter Twenty-three

Victoria snapped the reins with more Assurance than she felt, and the spirited horse bounded forward, its satiny coat glistening in the gloom. “Easy, now,” Victoria whispered in fright. Jason obviously did not believe in keeping sedate carriage horses in his stables—the flashy mare harnessed to Victoria’s carriage was incredibly hard to control. She pranced and danced until Victoria’s hands were blistered and red from trying to hold her to a slow trot.

As Victoria was nearing the village, the wind picked up and lightning flashed in blue streaks, splitting the sky into jagged slices while thunder boomed an ominous warning and the sky turned almost as black as night. Minutes later, the sky opened up and rain came down in blinding sheets, driving into her face, obscuring her vision, and turning her cloak to a sodden mass.

Straining to see the road ahead, Victoria shoved her dripping hair off her face and shivered. She had never seen the orphanage, but Captain Farrell had told her where the road was that led to it, as well as the road that led to his own house. Victoria strained her eyes, and then she saw what looked like one of the roads he had described. It forked off to her left and she turned the horse onto it, not certain whether she was heading toward the orphanage or Captain Farrell’s house. At the moment she didn’t care, so long as she was going to a warm, dry place where she could get out of the downpour. The road rounded a bend and began to climb upward through increasingly dense woods, passed two deserted cottages, then narrowed until it was scarcely more than a dirt track, which was rapidly becoming a quagmire in the torrential downpour.

Mud sucked at the wheels of the carriage and the mare began to labor with the effort of freeing her hooves from the deep slime every time she took a step. Up ahead Victoria saw a dim light coming through the trees. Shivering with relief and cold, she turned onto a little lane that was sheltered by a thick stand of ancient oak trees, their branches meeting overhead like a dripping umbrella. Suddenly lightning rent the sky, illuminating a cottage large enough for a small family but certainly not large enough to house twenty orphans. Thunder cracked deafeningly overhead and the mare shied, half-rearing in the traces. Victoria jumped down from the carriage. “Easy now,” she told the mare soothingly as she reached for the nervous animal’s bridle. Her feet sank into the mud as she led the horse to the post in front of the cottage and tied her there.

With Wolf protectively at her side, she lifted her sodden skirts, walked up the front steps of the cottage, and knocked.

A moment later the door was flung open and Captain Farrell’s rugged face was silhouetted in the light from the cheerful fire behind him. “Lady Fielding!” he gasped, reaching out to pull her quickly inside. A low, vicious snarl from Wolf stopped his hand in midmotion and his eyes widened as he beheld the wet gray beast that was snarling at him, its lip curled back above white fangs.

“Wolf, stop it!” Victoria commanded wearily, and the animal subsided.

Keeping a wary eye on the ferocious-looking beast, Captain Farrell cautiously drew Victoria inside. Wolf followed close at her heels, his tawny eyes riveted warningly on Mike Farrell. “What in heaven’s name are you doing out in this weather?” he asked worriedly.

“S-swimming,” Victoria tried to joke, but her teeth were chattering and her body was trembling with cold as he pulled her cloak off and tossed it over the back of a chair near the fire.

“You’ll have to get out of those wet garments or you’ll catch your death. Will that great beast let you out of his sight long enough to put on some warm clothes?”

Victoria wrapped her arms around herself and nodded, glancing at her fierce canine guardian. “S-stay here, Wolf.”

The dog flopped down in front of the fireplace and put his head on his big paws, his eyes trained on the doorway into the bedroom through which they disappeared.

“I’ll stoke up the fire,” Captain Farrell said kindly in the bedroom, handing her a pair of his own trousers and one of his shirts. “These clothes are the best I can offer.” Victoria opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her. “I’ll not listen to any foolish arguments about the impropriety of wearing men’s clothes, young woman,” he said authoritatively. “Use the water in the pitcher to wash and then put on these clothes and wrap yourself up in that blanket. When you’re ready, come out by the fire and get warm. If you’re worried about whether Jason might disapprove of you wearing my clothes; you can stop worrying—I’ve known him since he was a very small lad.”

Victoria’s head came up defensively. “I am not at all concerned with what Jason might think,” she said, unable to keep the rebellious note out of her voice. “I have no intention of freezing to death to suit him. Or anyone,” she amended quickly, realizing how much she was giving away in her beleaguered discomfort.

Captain Farrell shot her an odd, narrow look, but he only nodded. “Good. That’s very sensible thinking.”

“If I were sensible, I would have stayed home today.” Victoria smiled wanly, trying to hide her misery over her abortive effort to brighten her life.

When she emerged from the bedroom, Captain Farrell had already put her horse in the small barn beyond the house, stoked up the fire, and made her a cup of tea. He handed her a big cloth. “Use this to dry your hair,” he commanded kindly, indicating that she should sit in the chair he’d drawn up close to the fire.

“Do you mind if I smoke this?” he asked, holding up a pipe as he sat down across from her.

“Not at all,” Victoria said politely.

He filled the bowl with tobacco and lit it, puffing idly, his disconcertingly direct gaze focused on Victoria’s face. “Why didn’t you do that?” he asked finally.

“Why didn’t I do what?”

“Stay at home today.”

Wondering if she looked as guilty and unhappy as she felt at the moment, Victoria gave a light, evasive shrug. “I wanted to bring food to the orphanage. There was so much of it left after our party last night.”

“Yet it was obviously going to rain, and you could have sent a servant to the orphanage—which, by the way, is another mile past here. Instead, you decided to brave the weather and try to find the place yourself.”

“I needed—wanted, I mean—to get away, to get out of the house for a while, that is,” Victoria said, paying unnecessary attention to the act of stirring her tea.

“I’m surprised Jason didn’t insist you stay home,” he persisted pointedly.