Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Author:Emmanuelle de Maupassant [de Maupassant, Emmanuelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hot Historical Romance

Chapter Four

The Highland Caledonian Overnight Sleeper to Fort William

Early morning, 13th December

With the lurch of the train, Ursula was tossed onto her side and almost thrown from the little cot in her compartment. She’d been awake through most of the past hours, she was sure, but the jolt had certainly woken her.

She wasn’t in her own bed—neither in Pimlico nor Eaton Square—and it was uncomfortably chilly. Fortunately, she’d slept in most of her clothes.

Pulling on her cardigan, she swung her stockinged feet to the floor and lifted the blind. Light was barely creeping into the sky, the moon fading against a backdrop of delicate violet-grey, yet the landscape glowed white.

And there were mountains!

The sort that loomed so majestically you had to crane your neck to see their jagged peaks. Their ridges and upper crags were heavily snow-topped, while the lower planes and the moorland beneath were crusted thick with frost.

There was no doubt about it. She was in Scotland—and there was most certainly no going back.

If dawn was near breaking, it wouldn’t be long until they reached Fort William.

She fought a sudden wave of nausea.

What had she done?

It had seemed the only option yesterday—to pack a large carpet bag and swear Tilly to utmost confidentiality. Ursula hadn’t a great deal of coin but enough for the ticket, and for the hire of some transport at the other end.

The note she’d scrawled for Eustace would stop him worrying. He’d always been a good friend. He’d want her to be happy. He’d understand.

And he’d keep her whereabouts secret. It was only thirteen days until her birthday. Once it came, she’d have enough income of her own to live upon. Modestly, perhaps, but enough. And she’d be her own person, without needing to ask for anything.

As for where she might go until then, Ursula had immediately thought of Daphne. Hardly a month went by without an exchange between them, and she’d often mentioned how much she’d love Ursula to visit.

They’d met at the Ventissori Academy. Ursula had hardly been a star pupil but her father had been adamant that she attend, and she’d wanted to please him. Together, she and Daphne had practised how to daintily swallow an oyster and remove a lobster from its shell, how to tell apart their forks for fruit and fish, and how to fold napkins into elaborate whimsies.

Finding everything such a bore, Ursula had resorted to making the other girls laugh—mimicking Monsieur Ventissori’s mincing walk and his Gallic histrionics. Daphne had disapproved but always covered for her and, when their Academy days came to an end, had insisted on them keeping in touch.

Daphne was spending Christmas with her parents, only twelve miles east of Fort William.

Once I get there, I’ll simply find a cab for hire, or someone with a cart if need be, thought Ursula. It would be wonderful to see Daphne again.

Why then, did Ursula feel like she wanted to vomit?

Hugging her cardigan closer, she searched about for her footwear.

Breakfast. That was what was needed.

All things were more manageable once you’d eaten.

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