A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,88

her husband’s family?

Lord only knew, not even her uncle could save her then.

She sighed portentously, annoyed all over again, and hardly in the mood to arrive in the dead of night at some wreckage in the wilds of Scotland.

“It won’t be long now,” said Mrs. Grace, with a forbearing smile.

Elizabeth smiled back at her chaperone, wondering if she knew how close Elizabeth was to shouting for the driver to halt… so she could run away, screaming.

But there was this small bit of curiosity that kept her seated: Why did her uncle feel such responsible for this particular clan, when, to the best of Elizabeth’s knowledge, they were perfect strangers? Simply because James was the one ordered to execute the elders didn’t make her Uncle Edward responsible for their reintegration. No doubt, it was a nice gesture, but her mother’s brother simply didn’t have the same sense of charity as his deceased sister, and, in fact, he really liked to make the point that it was her mother’s audacious personality that put her in the “wrong place at the right time”—in front of a speeding carriage, with a sign in her hand.

“How much longer?” Elizabeth relented, ending her long bout of dissenting silence.

The elder woman peered out of the carriage. It was snowing harder, and the carriage was slowing down. At this pace, they would arrive at Dunmore on the Twelfth Night, not the First.

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Grace, as the voices outside grew louder and louder.

Finally, the carriage came to a complete halt, and they heard their driver scuttle down, muttering a curse—shocking words no lady ought to overhear, but Elizabeth snickered and Mrs. Grace shook her head. After a long moment, the driver—one Mr. Hadley, who by the by, appeared to be smuggling spirits, judging by the suspicious sounds coming from their luggage rack—appeared at their door, pulling it open and giving Elizabeth only the briefest of glances before addressing her companion. “The bridge north of Calvine lies buried,” he said, brows pinched. “Won’t be passing through t’night, mayhap not even tomorrow.”

“Oh, good grief,” said Mrs. Grace. “What would you have us do, Mr. Hadley?”

“Welp,” said the driver. “There’s an Inn here in Calvine.”

“Insufferable,” complained Elizabeth, though not because the thought of stopping aggrieved her, but really, she didn’t appreciate that Mr. Hadley’s question wasn’t addressed to her, considering that it was her interest being discussed. She was not a child—unlike her betrothed.

For her outburst, the driver cast her a disgruntled glance and Mrs. Grace reached out to pat Elizabeth’s hand, as though to say, “Quiet, dear.”

“Can you please take us there?” Mrs. Grace inquired.

“Sorry mum,” said the driver. “You’ll see when you get down. The road’s full of travelers, all stuck on account of the weather. I’m guessing most’ll be waking the new year in their coaches.”

“Stuck?” said Elizabeth. “What do you mean stuck?”

“Stuck,” repeated the man, with a sniff, then, again, he turned his face to her and spoke to Mrs. Grace, as though he couldn’t bear the thought of addressing her.

“Really!” she exclaimed. Although she knew him not at all, she wondered if he might be lying, or… scheming. He had some look about him she simply didn’t trust.

“Ask for Balthazar,” said Hadley. “He ain’t got much room, but I’ll warrant if there’s a bed to be let, he’ll give it to ye if you tell him I sent ye.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Mrs. Grace, kindly, and the man departed.

“I don’t like that he assumes to ignore me,” complained Elizabeth, her brow furrowed.

“My dear, don’t be so ready to take offense.” Mrs. Grace patted her arm yet again. “You’re quite direct, at times, and tis off-putting to some. Alas, not to worry,” She said. “I will see to it that we are settled. And, of course, Elizabeth knew that to be true. Mrs. Grace might not be overly fierce, but she was infinitely patient and persevering—two traits Elizabeth sadly did not share. Twenty minutes later, they were both standing with valises before a grizzled, snaggle-toothed old man who was far too preoccupied with combing his beard to note the two of them standing before his counter. But, of course, Mrs. Grace was hardly inclined to disturb him, so they waited “patiently,” while he gently worked at a Lilliputian tangle, and Elizabeth stood melting—quite literally. She had snow in her shoes, snow in her hood, and even more snow in her hair, all of it thawing and making her damp. She could feel those wild little