Read Online No Longer a Gentleman by Mary Jo Putney - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Jo Putney
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relearned?
The thought made him sweat despite the cold. He must proceed one step at a time. For now, it was enough that he was no longer a prisoner.
Surrendering to fatigue, he slept as a free man for the first time in ten years.
Cassie’s mouth tightened as the snow became heavier. It was more than three inches deep and concealed the frozen ruts, making the ride a bumpy one. She’d slept in her cart before in bad weather, and even ridden out a blizzard once, grateful for the warmth of her pony. But she’d rather not have to do that with two men, one of them in fragile health.
The weather did have the advantage of keeping people indoors. Once a hunched rider passed them going the opposite direction, and another time she halted the cart while a farmer drove a small flock of sheep across the road. He ignored the cart and its occupants as if they were invisible.
Afternoon turned to dusk and the snow became deep enough to slow their progress. If they didn’t reach their destination soon, they risked being bogged down in the empty countryside.
It was almost dark when Père Laurent said, “Turn left into that lane. It leads to Viole’s farm.”
Praying that farm and niece would be as he believed, she turned at his direction. The area was indeed out of the way. They should be safe here, at least for a while.
The track climbed upward and the pony began foundering in the slippery snow. Cassie halted the cart and handed the reins to Père Laurent. “Please hold these.”
She climbed from the cart and went to the pony’s head. Taking the bridle, she tugged the pony forward. “I’m sorry for this, Thistle,” she crooned. “You’re such a strong, brave pony. Soon you can rest and I’ll give you some of the oats in the back of the cart. Just a little longer, ma petite chou.”
Head down, the pony struggled forward again. At first the cart barely moved. Then it began rolling smoothly, reducing the strain on Thistle. Surprised, Cassie glanced back and saw that Grey had climbed out and was pushing the cart from behind. The man was strong. And for a British lord, fairly useful.
The last stretch of track seemed endless. Cassie was numb with cold and slipped repeatedly. She was exhausted, not just from the trials of today but because she’d been pushing herself since leaving England. She kept moving, one foot in front of the other, clinging to the pony’s harness. She’d learned early that surrender was a poor choice.
She didn’t notice that the track had leveled off until Père Laurent said, “We’re here.” His voice was warm. “It looks just as I remember.”
Cassie wondered tartly if that had also been in the middle of a blizzard. She couldn’t see the farmhouse clearly, but smoke came from the nearest chimney and there was light visible through the windows. Even if the priest’s niece, Viole, wasn’t here anymore, surely the inhabitants wouldn’t turn away strangers caught in such a storm.
Shivering, Cassie made her way to the door and knocked hard. Only a moment passed before the door opened a crack, revealing the face of a wary middle-aged woman. She relaxed a little to see another female on the doorstep. “Who are you?”
“I’m Madame Renard. There are three of us, and we need shelter from the storm.” When the woman nodded, Cassie continued, “If you are Madame Boyer, do you have an Uncle Laurent?”
The woman’s face clouded and she crossed herself. “I did, may God rest his blessed soul.”
A weary but amused voice said, “Reports of my death were exaggerated, my dearest Viole.”
Cassie turned and saw the dark figure of Père Laurent emerging from the cart, supported by Grey. Viole Boyer stared in disbelief. “Mon oncle!”
She threw the door open and raced out into the snow and embraced the priest. If not for Grey’s support, she and her uncle would have tumbled to the ground.
Père Laurent didn’t mind. Tears on his face and in his voice, he said hoarsely, “My darling
The thought made him sweat despite the cold. He must proceed one step at a time. For now, it was enough that he was no longer a prisoner.
Surrendering to fatigue, he slept as a free man for the first time in ten years.
Cassie’s mouth tightened as the snow became heavier. It was more than three inches deep and concealed the frozen ruts, making the ride a bumpy one. She’d slept in her cart before in bad weather, and even ridden out a blizzard once, grateful for the warmth of her pony. But she’d rather not have to do that with two men, one of them in fragile health.
The weather did have the advantage of keeping people indoors. Once a hunched rider passed them going the opposite direction, and another time she halted the cart while a farmer drove a small flock of sheep across the road. He ignored the cart and its occupants as if they were invisible.
Afternoon turned to dusk and the snow became deep enough to slow their progress. If they didn’t reach their destination soon, they risked being bogged down in the empty countryside.
It was almost dark when Père Laurent said, “Turn left into that lane. It leads to Viole’s farm.”
Praying that farm and niece would be as he believed, she turned at his direction. The area was indeed out of the way. They should be safe here, at least for a while.
The track climbed upward and the pony began foundering in the slippery snow. Cassie halted the cart and handed the reins to Père Laurent. “Please hold these.”
She climbed from the cart and went to the pony’s head. Taking the bridle, she tugged the pony forward. “I’m sorry for this, Thistle,” she crooned. “You’re such a strong, brave pony. Soon you can rest and I’ll give you some of the oats in the back of the cart. Just a little longer, ma petite chou.”
Head down, the pony struggled forward again. At first the cart barely moved. Then it began rolling smoothly, reducing the strain on Thistle. Surprised, Cassie glanced back and saw that Grey had climbed out and was pushing the cart from behind. The man was strong. And for a British lord, fairly useful.
The last stretch of track seemed endless. Cassie was numb with cold and slipped repeatedly. She was exhausted, not just from the trials of today but because she’d been pushing herself since leaving England. She kept moving, one foot in front of the other, clinging to the pony’s harness. She’d learned early that surrender was a poor choice.
She didn’t notice that the track had leveled off until Père Laurent said, “We’re here.” His voice was warm. “It looks just as I remember.”
Cassie wondered tartly if that had also been in the middle of a blizzard. She couldn’t see the farmhouse clearly, but smoke came from the nearest chimney and there was light visible through the windows. Even if the priest’s niece, Viole, wasn’t here anymore, surely the inhabitants wouldn’t turn away strangers caught in such a storm.
Shivering, Cassie made her way to the door and knocked hard. Only a moment passed before the door opened a crack, revealing the face of a wary middle-aged woman. She relaxed a little to see another female on the doorstep. “Who are you?”
“I’m Madame Renard. There are three of us, and we need shelter from the storm.” When the woman nodded, Cassie continued, “If you are Madame Boyer, do you have an Uncle Laurent?”
The woman’s face clouded and she crossed herself. “I did, may God rest his blessed soul.”
A weary but amused voice said, “Reports of my death were exaggerated, my dearest Viole.”
Cassie turned and saw the dark figure of Père Laurent emerging from the cart, supported by Grey. Viole Boyer stared in disbelief. “Mon oncle!”
She threw the door open and raced out into the snow and embraced the priest. If not for Grey’s support, she and her uncle would have tumbled to the ground.
Père Laurent didn’t mind. Tears on his face and in his voice, he said hoarsely, “My darling
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