A Christmas Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF

belated yawp of outraged inquiry.
    “The gods are punishing us for our audacity,” she groaned. Flops shook his head vigorously, as if to complain that he was guiltless of any temerity. A moment later, the coachman stuck his grizzled head inside the door.
    “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady,” he told her breathlessly, “but I can drive ‘er no farther this night. We be axle high in drifts and the horses foundering.”
    Lady Fanny closed her eyes wearily and sighed. “It wanted only this,” she muttered.
    “Beg pardon, my lady?”
    “Nothing, John. Have you an idea where we are?”
    “Na but two miles from the lodge. I’ll just have the lad ride ahead and ask them to send a cart back for you.”
    A gust of wind blew a skiff of snowflakes in through the open door. Fanny shuddered, both at the cold and the notion of arriving at her former home in such an unstately manner. She was certain that even Giles would not turn her back on a night like this, but arriving in the back of a cart like a common gypsy would be an inexpressibly mortifying experience.
    “I shall ride ahead, John,” she told him decisively. “There is still some light and I know the way quite well. I shall send a party back for you.”
    John, a retainer of some twenty years, knew better than to argue with his mistress. Instead, he merely ducked his head in resigned acknowledgement and saw to the saddling of a horse.
    Glad of the generous skirt of her traveling ensemble. Fanny assumed her mount with little difficulty and called for Flops to be handed up to her. The dog, out of sorts at being dragged from his warm nest of rugs, squirmed and whimpered, but Fanny tucked him firmly under one arm and rode forward into the gathering twilight. She was not fond of the little beast, but neither, she knew, were her servants. It would not do for him to be left by the wayside in this weather, as he might well be if certain parties had their way.
    There was enough reflected light from the snow that she could make out the road quite plainly and maneuver her horse between the drifts. It was beastly cold. A very good thing, too, she reflected, for were it not, she would be tempted to turn the horse about and flee in the opposite direction.
    Her journey was slow-going, however, and more than once she wished she had stayed with the carriage. Although she carried a muff and her pelisse was lined with fur, her nose had begun to feel as if it would drop off at any moment. Then, she reflected with a short laugh, she would look more than a little like the pug-nosed Flops. Ah, poetic justice! Giles had been quite right about her all those years ago. Her current predicament proved she was headstrong and thoughtless. Not likely to become any less so either, she decided with a sigh.
    At last Fanny thought she could make out the lights of the gatehouse glowing through the snowflakes. From there it would not be far to her front door The gates, she knew, would stand open on a night such as this that travellers stranded by the storm might not be shut out.
    She was tempted for a moment to stop where she was, to request such hospitality as the gatehouse might offer and avoid what promised to be an embarrassing entrance at her former home. Such cowardice, she scolded herself. She had come this far, after all, and there was nothing for it but to continue. Perhaps if her nose did drop off from the cold, Giles might at last summon some small compassion for her.
    She urged the horse forward and passed through the gates. As the grounds came dimly into view, a rush of nostalgia swept over her. Although she had anticipated a response of some poignancy, she had not expected it to be so strong. A painful lump rose up in her throat. There was the gazebo and, beside it, the stubble of last summer’s garden poking up through the snow. Or perhaps it was even the remains of the last garden she had planted—who knew if anyone cared for such things after she left?
    As the house came into view, she