Simply Unforgettable Read Free

directly at it. “You are no farther ahead after all.”
    â€œIf you will use your eyes for looking instead of just flashing fire and brimstone, ma’am,” he said, “you will see that we have come to a bend in the road, and that my coachman—and I too until I was interrupted by your coachman’s ineptitude in drawing from a crawl to a complete halt—is clearing a drift of snow so that my hare may proceed on its way. Your tortoise, on the other hand, is deep in a snowdrift and will be going nowhere for some time to come. Certainly not today.”
    She looked over her shoulder. It was suddenly, sickeningly obvious that he was right. Only the front part of the carriage was even visible, and that was pointing half at the sky.
    â€œAnd so who is likely to win the race?” he asked her.
    What on earth was she going to
do
? Her feet were wet, her cloak was matted with snow about the hem, she was being heavily snowed upon, she was cold, and she was miserable. She was also frightened.
    And furious.
    â€œAnd whose fault is all this?” she asked him. “If
you
had not been springing your horses,
we
would not now be in a snowbank.”
    â€œSpringing the horses.” He looked at her with incredulity mingled with contempt and called over his shoulder. “Peters! I have it on expert authority that you were springing the horses when we overtook this ancient relic. I have told and told you not to spring the horses during a snowstorm. You are dismissed.”
    â€œGive me a moment to finish digging through this drift, guv, and I’ll walk off into the sunset,” the coachman called back. “If someone will just tell me which direction that is.”
    â€œYou had better not do it anyway,” the gentleman said. “I would have to drive the carriage myself. You are rehired.”
    â€œI’ll think about it, guv,” the coachman called. “There! That about does it.”
    Thomas meanwhile was busy releasing the horses from their useless burden.
    â€œIf your carriage had been moving at any speed above an almost imperceptible crawl, ma’am,” the gentleman said, turning his attention back to Frances, “it would not have posed a reckless endangerment to serious, responsible travelers who would really prefer to get somewhere by the end of a day instead of spending eternity on one stretch of road.”
    Frances glared at him. She would bet a month’s salary that not one whisper of cold could penetrate that greatcoat he wore, with its dozen capes, or that one speck of snow had found its way down inside his top boots.
    â€œReady to move on, then, guv,” his coachman called, “unless you prefer to stand admiring the scenery for the next hour or so.”
    â€œWhere is your maid?” The gentleman’s eyes narrowed.
    â€œI have none,” she said. “That should be perfectly obvious. I am alone.”
    She was aware of his eyes sweeping over her from head to foot—or to just below the knee anyway. She was dressed in clothes that were perfectly good and serviceable for her return to school, though it would be quite obvious to such a fashionable gentleman, of course, that they were neither expensive nor modish. She glared back at him.
    â€œYou are going to have to come along with me,” he said ungraciously.
    â€œI most certainly will not!”
    â€œVery well, then,” he said, turning away, “you may remain here in virtuous isolation.”
    She looked about her, and this time panic assaulted her knees as well as her stomach, and she almost sank into the snow never to be heard from again.
    â€œWhere are we?” she asked. “Do you have any idea?”
    â€œSomewhere in Somersetshire,” he said. “Apart from that I have not the foggiest notion, but most roads, I have learned from past experience, lead
somewhere
eventually. This is your last chance, ma’am. Do you wish to explore the great