tap came at the window. Daphne nearly jumped upon seeing Cole’s face just on the other side of the glass. He’d dismounted and held his horse’s reins, his light hair darkened by the rain and swept to one side. Hadn’t he gone on his way already? But he had that insistent expression upon his face, one that Daphne knew well. She gritted her teeth and pushed open the window.
“Yes?” she asked stiffly.
“You went inside before I could tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
His eyes narrowed somewhat. “The road is unmanageable ahead, what with the mud. I would advise your coachman to take another road, but I cannot speak to the conditions elsewhere.”
“What would you then suggest?” Daphne did not think she’d ever spoken to a man like this in all her life. Her good friend Lavinia never shied away from speaking her mind, but Daphne had always been more quiet. Thoughtful.
Now Daphne was finding thoughtfulness rather impossible.
Cole did not back away. “Perhaps with less weight the coach would make it through the mud.”
Daphne stared. “Are you suggesting I walk the rest of the way to Cheriton?”
“Only if you actually wish to reach the house by tonight.” There was a familiar hint of teasing in his voice. As if a joke might settle everything between them. “Or, of course, you are welcome to ride with me.”
What mischief was he about? Undoubtedly he wanted her to arrive disheveled and muddy in an attempt to ruin her credibility even more with Aunt Hartwell. She shook her head. “I shall take my chances in the coach.” She called up to the coachman. “Carry on, Mr. White.”
“Yes, Miss Windham.”
Cole had to leap back as the coach jolted forward, and Daphne felt some satisfaction in that. Not enough, of course, to outweigh her hurt. Nothing would be enough.
That was, unless she could succeed in the task her mother had set for her. Unless she found a way to undo what she’d thought impossible for so long.
Daphne scrubbed at her forehead, as if she could erase the words that paraded through her mind. The letter from Mother’s acquaintance, a neighbor of Aunt Hartwell, informing the Windhams of the most dreadful news—news that everyone in the county had already heard.
Aunt Hartwell had finally named her heir. And it was not Daphne Windham, as everyone had expected for years.
It was Cole Everard.
Cole Everard, the steward’s son. Cole Everard, Daphne’s supposed friend. Cole Everard, the man who would take everything from her.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. She’d doubted Mother’s plan from the start—Aunt Hartwell was determined and stubborn. How on earth was Daphne to change the woman’s mind when she’d clearly already made her choice? And yet so much was at stake. Her standing in society, her prospects in marriage—her entire future.
“Are you all right, miss?” Jenny asked hesitantly.
“Yes, of course.” Daphne sat up straight. She didn’t want anyone, not even her maid, knowing how affected she was by seeing Cole again. “I only—”
The coach gave a mighty jolt, and Daphne was pitched forward, barely catching herself on the opposite seat. Jenny screeched and threw her arms out to brace herself just as the coach came to a shuddering stop.
“What—” But then Daphne stopped. Because she knew precisely what had happened. She shook her head in frustration, but turned to Jenny. “Are you all right?”
The girl nodded just as the coach lurched forward slightly, then slid backward again. Horses whinnied, and the coachman’s voice calmed the agitated animals.
The door was tossed open and Cole appeared once again, this time with a raise to his brow. “Miss Windham, are you—”
“Fine,” she sputtered. “Fine.”
The coachman appeared just behind Cole, worry clouding his broad face. “Apologies, miss. But the mud is too deep, just as Mr. Everard said it would be. The coach is stuck fast, I’m afraid.”
Of course.
“What if I walk ahead?” the coachman asked anxiously. “Fetch some help from Cheriton Hall?”
Daphne was about to agree—the plan sounded logical to her—but Cole spoke before she could.
“Nonsense,” he said, shrugging out of his damp jacket and draping it across his horse’s saddle. She tried hard not to stare as he loosened his cravat and pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing strong, lean forearms. “If the young ladies will step out for a few minutes, I’ve no doubt we can get you on your way.”
He’d always been like that—facing trouble head on, sometimes to his own detriment.
“Pardon me,” Daphne managed. “But I hardly think that the best