This time, Rose had been the one caught up in dreaming, not her father, who’d been driving the carriage when he and her mother were killed. Rose had actually let herself dream and be distracted from dull reality for the first time in so long. If she hadn’t been miraculously lucky ...!
One of the horses stomped a restless foot. The thud echoed all through her body, culminating in a sudden, convulsive shiver.
No! Rose surged to her feet, revivifying rage rising up to save her.
She knew what came of reckless driving. She knew! And this time she was here to do something about it, not five miles away and hopelessly ignorant of the tragedy befalling her family. She would stop this foolishness, now, before any more families could be broken apart and scattered like the ruined pieces of her veil.
She barely even felt herself lunge across the distance between the riverbank and the nearest closed carriage door. But her hand was suddenly on its handle, the driver’s worried voice a distant buzzing in her ears, and she wrenched the door open. “How dare you?” she demanded.
“I beg your pardon?” The figure inside the carriage blinked out at her from what seemed – in Rose’s blurred and impatient vision – to be a vast and implausible white ocean.
She didn’t bother to look any closer. “How dare you careen down this road without the slightest regard for anyone’s safety?”
“Here, now, miss.” The driver’s voice broke through at last as he leaned precariously backwards from his perch, clinging to the horses’ reins and his own seat. “There’s no need to be carrying on like that. It’s a pity you had to take a fright, to be certain, but we were in a real hurry, and when you’re walking down the middle of a public road, you do have to—”
“This is not a public road! No one ever drives down here.” She swept one arm out in a decisive, silencing sweep. “Of course I don’t blame you, sir. You were only following orders. But where did this fine gentleman imagine you were going in such a rush? It can’t possibly have been Penryddn House.”
The gentleman – who couldn’t have been much older than herself, actually, only in his early twenties – adjusted his spectacles upon his remarkably straight nose as he frowned and lowered the book that had been masking his face until now. “No,” he said mildly, “I don’t believe it is called Penryddn House. Havers? Didn’t you say you’d asked for directions back at that last inn?”
The driver sighed heavily. “We must’ve taken the wrong turn off the great road an hour ago. All those terrible Welsh accents, you see. They’re impossible to—”
“There is nothing wrong with Welsh accents.” Rose crossed her arms defensively. “You simply have to pay attention.”
She wouldn’t make the mistake of forgetting that rule again. But for now ...
Rage drained inexorably down through her body into the dusty road below, leaving only despair behind. So much for her ingenious scheme! She couldn’t pay a call upon the Ghoul’s house now, not without any means of hiding her face and identity. His servants would spread it across the county that a young lady from Uncle Parry’s household had been scandalously visiting Sir Gareth on her own.
But how could she go home without making even the slightest attempt to find the little dragon’s people – especially when this might be her last chance to escape Gogodd Abbey for days or weeks? Once Uncle Parry’s colleague finally arrived, she would need to be in constant social attendance to ensure the old gentleman’s comfort.
If only society weren’t so absurd when it came to its rules of behaviour for young ladies! If only she had the freedom of a gentleman, even just for half an hour – or had a useful gentleman at her disposal.
If only ...
Rose’s eyes narrowed as she finally focused upon the confused young gentleman who sat before her, clearly lost in the middle of an unfamiliar country with no knowledge of its pathways or its inhabitants. He would be safely gone the moment he found his way out, without staying to relate dangerous gossip to the locals.
Rose had never believed in throwing away unexpected gifts from Fate – and she happened to be excellent at map-reading.
“You’ve nothing to worry about,” she informed him firmly. “I’ll give you directions to wherever you’re going.” Scooping up her skirts with one hand, she pulled herself up into the carriage without even waiting for its steps to be lowered.
That sea of white she’d glimpsed inside turned out to be made of an astonishing number of scattered papers laid atop even more piled and scattered books; she scooped up a large, loose armful from the seat opposite the gentleman and deposited it into the shifting river in the footwell as he gaped at her in silent bafflement.
Rose briskly slapped her hands together to rid them of the dirt from the riverbank and sank down onto the cleared part of the leather seat with true satisfaction. “Just keep on in the same direction for about a mile, and you may do a small favour for me first.”
Chapter 4
The carriage crept along at the pace of an exhausted snail for the entire journey to Penryddn House, but Rose didn’t complain about the delay. Instead, she took the opportunity to sort out the disaster that had befallen her upswept hair in the fall. Once it was all safely pinned back into place, she tapped one finger against the left knee of her dowdy borrowed gown and allowed her thoughtful gaze to linger on the lush woodland outside her righthand window as strategies churned through her head.
Fortunately, the gentleman seated across from her hardly inconvenienced her in any of these endeavours, as he retreated into his book with an audible sigh of relief as soon as the carriage had started moving. Perhaps he was a writer, like Aunt Parry. That might explain the sea of scribbled-on papers that billowed around Rose’s legs. But if he was a writer, she doubted his novels were nearly as exciting as those her aunt wrote. She couldn’t make out any of the titles of the volumes piled underneath all of those papers, but they’d looked far more like her sister Harry’s dull mathematical texts than any properly thrilling adventures.
As for the gentleman himself, he had quite an interesting, angular face and high forehead, and his golden-blond hair was pleasant enough – indeed, it looked surprisingly silky – but he would hardly serve as a dynamic model for any of Aunt Parry’s noble Gothic heroes, always ready to take on her most dastardly of villains without fear. Fortunately, Rose had no need of a romantic hero for herself. All that she required at this moment was a proxy ... so when the carriage came to a final halt, she cleared her throat in a discreet reminder.
Nothing happened.
A moment later, she cleared her throat again, far less discreetly.
Emitting a soft, humming sound of concentration, the gentleman turned a page.
For goodness’ sake. He was just like her younger sister!
