He paused at the door, then looked at her, a myriad of emotions dancing over his face. What happened now? Did they shake hands? Did they kiss like amorous newlyweds? She wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to beg him to let her remain just one night.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said instead.
Augustine nodded, summoning up a small smile. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “You’d best get going.”
* * *
AS JANE WATCHED Lindridge Hall recede behind her, its unkempt grounds and lowering gables fading into shadow, an acute loneliness settled around her. For the first time since her early childhood, she wouldn’t be sleeping under the Cunninghams’ roof, and though she liked Mr. Lowell well enough, she hardly knew him. She hardly knew Augustine, either—but he was her husband, and without him, and without her guardians, she was a woman under her own power, and at her own mercy.
She would have to get used to it. It was, after all, exactly what she’d asked for.
Jane rested her forehead against the window as her carriage rattled along, hoping its movements would jar the sentimental, almost fearful thoughts from her head. This was not the first time she had been left alone, she reminded herself. Her parents had joined the volunteer forces when the war had reached Camhurst, and then they had left her. They had sent her far away, to the home of one of her father’s old friends, Mr. Cunningham. For those long hours in that crowded carriage into the heartland, still trembling from the shelling that had stopped only a few days before in a temporary cease-fire, she had been without a single person in the world.
She had survived then, and she could certainly survive a wedding night on her own.
They were only a half mile along the dirt road back to Larrenton when the rains started. At first, it was only a few scattered taps along the top of the carriage, but within minutes it was pouring, hammering on the roof and sheeting down the small glass windows. The water blotted out the hills they traveled through.
The carriage lurched, slowed abruptly, and listed to the left.
Jane reflexively pressed herself against the opposite wall of the carriage, but her weight wasn’t enough to stop it from tipping, wavering on two of its wheels, and finally crashing over.
Outside, the horse screamed.
The impact threw her against the seat, and she curled up, trying to protect her head. Even on its side, the coach continued to move, sliding. Were they on a relatively flat portion of the road, or on one of the many ridges that wound their way through the hills?
Another inch. And another. She pulled herself to her feet, hunching almost double to stand in the much shorter width of the cab, and scrabbled for the door handle.
The carriage driver’s shadow fell across the window and he hauled the door open from the outside. He leaned in, hat dripping and greatcoat-clad shoulders slick with rain, and grabbed her by the arms. With his help, she heaved herself from the cab and tumbled out onto the ground below. Rain swiftly plastered her hair to her face, destroying the careful coiffure Mrs. Cunningham had arranged for her that morning. And it was cold, so cold.
The driver left her side, and as she pulled herself to her feet in a tangle of wet silk, she saw him struggling to free the horse. The road had been washed out by a mudslide coming from the hill to her right, and the carriage was within a foot of the drop off to the dale below. The horse’s every spasmodic lurch dragged it closer to the edge, the swift flow of water and crumbling earth promising disaster.
At last, the driver freed the horse. It shot to its feet and bolted. Jane watched it go, great hooves churning up the muddy soil.
Her driver swore viciously, then turned to her, feeling for his hat and righting it on his scalp. “Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked. “The mudslides, they come out of nowhere this time of year. I barely saw it before it hit us.”
“Yes, just rattled,” she said, looking back at the carriage. It had stopped its wild slide. “Your horse—”
“I’ll find him.” The driver came over to the carriage, reaching out and touching one of its wheels, then giving it a tug to see if he could right it. It didn’t move. “Best that you wait here, ma’am.”
At that, a great jag of lightning split the darkened sky, followed by a seemingly endless rolling boom. The rain came harder, and the wind with it. The carriage was useless for shelter, and the rain would only continue. She looked behind her, up the road toward Lindridge Hall.
Augustine would not be happy, but he would hate for her to be out here in the elements even more.