Chapter One

Nathaniel Harding reluctantly opened his eyes, wincing at the brightness piercing his eyeballs. He might have had one too many brandies the night before, but he couldn't let the anniversary of dear daddy's death go unmarked. As the window finally swam into focus, he noticed that the bottom half was entirely blocked with … bloody hell, was that snow? Swearing, he rolled out of bed and hurried to the window, only to stare in disbelief at the sea of white. It was April for God's sake.

He rubbed a hand over the stubble covering his chin as his befogged brain tried to make sense of the completely foreign landscape. Abruptly, he remembered that his monthly supplies were due today and if he wasn't to starve, he needed to clear a path to his front door, and quickly.

With another, more colourful expletive, he hurriedly began pulling on his clothes. His dog, Ruby, stared at him in disbelief through one bleary eye, before burrowing back into the crumpled bedclothes. Nate shook his head, knowing she'd be out of bed the minute he walked through the door.

As he approached the top of the stairs, he paused for a second, staring down into the gloom below him, absently noting the missing banister spindles, the rotten planks making the stairs a death trap for the unwary. Downstairs in the large reception hall, the panelling was riddled with woodworm – the pieces that were left that is. The rest had long since gone for firewood.

The drawing room, the library, the dining room … simply more of the same. And the kitchen – if it could be called such? Any minute now, he fully expected the whole lot to come crashing down around his ears.

Carlingford Hall. His inheritance. His father's last joke.

Nate's scrutiny of his questionable kingdom was interrupted by the predicted clicking of claws on the wooden floor. He turned his head to watch Ruby stretch, her bottom high in the air. A quick shake and a desultory wag of her tail followed.

‘I'm not keen either, Roo,' Nate muttered, starting down the stairs.

Minutes later, he was shrugging on his old great coat and forcing his way out into the snow, already nearly a foot deep in places. Looking up, he swore again. The flakes were thick, falling from a sky the colour of whalebone. There was no way a horse and cart would get through to the house, and if the snow continued falling like this, digging would be worse than useless.

Nate blew into his hands, trying to decide what to do. His supplies were coming from Corsham, but he had no way of knowing whether the driver would even attempt to get through. Likely the main road would still be passable with the number of carriages using it, but beyond that…?

He shook his head and looked down at Ruby shivering beside him. There was really no choice. He'd have to saddle Duchess and go into town himself. At least he'd be able to bring back enough to feed the three of them until the weather improved.

And with the cold as biting as it was, he'd have the perfect excuse to cover his face.

***

Mercedes Stanhope tucked her hands under her armpits in a vain effort to keep them warm. It was ironic that the weather in the Cotswolds was significantly colder than it had been in Loch Lomond. Indeed, the sun had shone almost continuously throughout her month's stay at Caerlaverock with Jenny and Brendon - though her best friend's husband of ten months had repeatedly assured her that such clement weather was not typical of the Highlands of Scotland.

She'd started the long journey back to the New Forest five days ago, and the weather had steadily worsened until finally the squalling rain turned to heavy snow. She could only hope the main road remained passable until they reached their final overnight stop before Cottesmore.

She glanced over at her two companions, snoring loudly in opposite corners of the carriage and shook her head, stifling a weary grin.

When she'd first accepted her best friend's invitation to Scotland, Mercedes realised she'd need at least one chaperone to make the long journey with her. However, she hadn't considered that the role might be filled by her step-grandparents. Especially as Reverend Shackleford had been returned from Scotland less than six months.

Apparently, according to Jennifer's brother Peter, the clergyman had inexplicably made a friend in Brendon Galbraith's father, Dougal – though Peter assured her that if either were questioned about their friendship, they would deny it strenuously, likely including a few colourful insults in their repudiation.

The Reverend had therefore magnanimously offered to accompany Mercy on her visit, insisting that his wife Agnes came along on this occasion, presumably to support his chaperoning activities - though where he'd got the idea that Agnes was a champion of a young woman's finer sensibilities, she had no idea. Indeed, as far as Mercedes was aware, neither of her step-grandparents would recognise a finer sensibility if it wacked them on the head.

In actual fact, Augustus and Agnes Shackleford were very much the last two people her father, the Earl of Cottesmore trusted to take care of his eldest daughter's morals - or anything else for that matter. It was an opinion he did very little to hide.

Unfortunately, the eldest daughter in question was in truth possessed of very few finer sensibilities . She was however possessed of a mostly well-hidden stubborn streak and had made no bones about the fact that she would marry the first man to cross her path if her father did not allow the visit.

While most fathers might well have been happy to hear such an avowal since Mercy was about to enter into her third season, the fact that she'd come under the dubious influence of her Shackleford relatives at the tender age of eight, put the fear of God into the Earl's heart.

So, with great reluctance, he threw in the towel and allowed Mercy to visit Jennifer in Scotland.

Along with Reverend and Agnes Shackleford.

The month at Caerlaverock with her closest friend - who also happened to be her cousin by marriage - had been glorious. Her step-grandmother's supposed supervisory role had entirely taken place from a newly acquired chaise longue in the small sitting room, while the Reverend had spent the whole time spreading God's word to workers in the local whisky distilleries, leaving Mercy to spend her time assisting Jennifer and Brendon with the building of Caerlaverock's new school for orphans. In between, she roamed the hills and valleys around Loch Lomond with only the Reverend's little dog, Flossy, and Fergus, Brendon's wolfhound for company.

She'd been able to push her upcoming third season to the farthest recesses of her mind - until the very moment she left Caerlaverock five days ago. And as the days passed, her anxiety had only increased. She would be home at Cottesmore for barely a week before travelling to London with her father and stepmother and three half siblings.

And this time she had to make a good match. No more declaring a bored indifference with the marriage mart and fobbing off potential suitors whilst secretly waiting for a man who would sweep her off her feet.

She wasn't afraid that her father would force her into a match she didn't want. But neither could she remain at Cottesmore for the rest of her life. Not that her stepmother, Chastity, would ever wish her gone. Mercy knew her adopted mother loved her dearly.

In truth, she wanted to be the chatelaine of her own home, but despite her pragmatic declarations to the contrary, she wanted it with a man who loved her by her side.

Mercedes sighed and turned her attention to the seemingly endless fall of snow visible through the window. As she stared out into the increasingly colourless landscape, she felt a sudden moment of disquiet. Biting her lip, she hugged Flossy to her, taking comfort in the little dog's warm body snuggled inside her cloak. As far as she was aware, there was only the Black Swan Inn between here and Corsham. The carriage was travelling apace, but not alarmingly so. She could only assume that Arthur, the lead coach driver was confident they would reach their destination without too much trouble. If she remembered correctly, the inn was on this side of the town.

***

‘You're certain her carriage will be stopping here?'

‘The coach driver told Smiffy that Stanhope ‘ad already paid fer the rooms. Private parlour an' everythin'.

‘Who is she travelling with?'

‘Coach driver got a bit suspicious o' ‘is questions and Smiffy din't want to push it, but she ain't goin' ter be on ‘er own. Chits like ‘er don't go anywhere wi'out a bloody nursemaid.'

‘What time did they leave Tewkesbury?'

‘Jus' after eleven milord. There ain't no other inn between there an' ‘ere. An' with the weather closin' in, they'll not be tempted to try and get past Corsham to Salisbury. I reckon they should be arrivin' jus' as it starts to get dark. Perfect timing.'

The man shook his head. ‘I won't take her today. We'll only have one chance to grab her. Tonight, we find out who she's travelling with. Let the bitch have her last supper.' He patted his coat pocket. ‘I already have the licence, and once I have her, all I have to do is get her to the priest.'

***

‘When the deuce did it start snowing?' The Reverend cast an incredulous look through the carriage window.

‘Not long after we left Tewkesbury,' Mercy answered with a sigh. ‘Initially, I didn't think it would settle, but it doesn't seem to be abating at all.'

‘Lawks, snow in April, Augustus! Surely it means we're coming to the end times,' Agnes cried, clutching at the Reverend's arm. ‘Promise me you've had a word with the Almighty and apologised for all the misery you've caused me?'

She retrieved a kerchief from her reticule and dabbed it under her eyes, adding. ‘I know you've not been much of a husband – lord knows you're too ripe and ready by half - and I can't deny you're a bit of a toad eater. You're nearly always in a devil's own scrape … and you're deuced good at upsetting people, and making a cake of yourself…' she paused and blew her nose before finishing, ‘but there's no getting away from the fact that you're the only one I've got.'

The Reverend and Mercy stared at Agnes silently, both lost for words as they digested the matron's catalogue of reproaches. When Mercedes finally glanced over at the Reverend, she couldn't help wincing at the interesting colour of his face. ‘I really don't think the snow is apocalyptic, Grandmama,' she inserted hurriedly. ‘There truly is no need to worry. I'm sure it will be entirely gone before we recommence our journey tomorrow.'

‘Well, I can't deny I'm looking forward to reaching Cottesmore,' Agnes sniffed. ‘A nice clean bed without any deuced bedbugs.' She gave her posterior a quick scratch for emphasis.

‘I'm sure Mama will be delighted to see both of you,' Mercedes soothed.

Her step-grandfather snorted in answer. ‘I'll wager Chastity would rather have her fingernails removed with a rusty spoon.' He waved towards the window and chuckled. ‘She might have to put up with us for a bit longer than she'd hoped though if this keeps up.'

‘Oh, I'm certain it will be gone in no time,' Mercedes repeated, crossing her fingers under her cloak. ‘It is April after all.'

‘Snow in April,' Agnes muttered. ‘You mark my words; it'll be fire and brimstone next.'

The Reverend raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, if it is, I'm sure you've got a potion for it somewhere in your bag.'

***

Hoisting the panniers over Duchess's back, and mounting up behind them, Nate whistled to Ruby who was busy nosing at something particularly noxious mixed in with all the snow in the gutter. He'd managed to purchase enough provisions to last him a sennight though he doubted the unseasonal spell of weather would last that long.

Nudging the mare with his feet, he walked her carefully along Corsham high street, taking care to avoid the deeper drifts of snow gathering at the side of the road. Not that the centre of the street was much better, covered with a crisscross of muddy white slush, effectively concealing any hidden stones and rocks.

Despite his cautiousness, as he broke free of the last houses on the edge of the town, the horse began limping. Swearing under his breath, Nate stopped the mare and dismounted, patting Duchess's flank as he lifted the effected hoof. As he raised her leg, she favoured him with a quick irritable nip on his shoulders. Accustomed to her bad temper, he tapped her nose before crouching down to inspect the hoof. Almost immediately he spotted a stone embedded in her shoe, its sharp edge slicing into the tender flesh underneath.

‘Fiend seize it,' he muttered to himself, letting her foot go and rising back to his feet. The stone needed removing, but to do so before getting her inside might make things worse rather than better. The stone would almost certainly cause a bruise which in turn could turn to an abscess, and walking her on the hard, snow-covered ground for another three miles… He grimaced, dragging off the scarf covering his lower face in frustration. She needed to be stabled overnight, and since he'd be unable to continue on foot carrying his supplies, he'd have to stay with her.

Running his hand through his unkempt shoulder length hair, Nate squinted through the still heavily falling snow. The carriage tracks outlining the road were already being covered by fresh snow. There really was no time to lose. He shook his head, staring up at the heavens. Bloody snow – in April.

If he remembered correctly, there was an inn a little further along the main road. He couldn't remember exactly how far since he didn't usually pass it, preferring to take a short cut from Carlingford whenever he was forced into Corsham - one that avoided the usually busy main road as much as possible. Today however, the road was deserted, since clearly he was the only person bacon-brained enough to venture out in such filthy weather. Taking hold of Duchess's bridle, he urged the mare onwards, walking beside her to reduce the weight on her back. Ruby trotted happily along, darting in and out of the snow drifts collecting on the side of the road.

Mentally counting how much coin he dared spend, Nate decided he'd simply request a couple of blankets and sleep in the stables with Duchess - providing there was enough room of course.

And at least the equine guests wouldn't be spending the evening staring at his face.