The Darkest Summer (Book Classic Retelling) by Rebecca J. Greenwood

Author:Rebecca J. Greenwood [Greenwood, Rebecca J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance, Women's Fiction, Victorian Era, 19th Century, Forever Love, Bachelor, Single Woman, Love Possibility, Hearts Desire, Clean & Wholesome, Christian Stories, Faith Based, Inspirational Reads, Love Inspired, Life-Changes, Second Chance Reunion, Honesty & Trust, Home & Family, Lifetime Love, Romantic Schemes, Love-Family & Forever, Action & Adventure, Small Town & Rural Area
Publisher: Cedar Fort, Inc.
Published: 2017-11-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Torrent

SATURDAY, JULY 6, 1816, 2 AM

The rain came down in sheets. It hit the windows of the carriage, cold winds buffeted them. The temperature in the coach, which had been comfortable in Cora’s pelisse and gloves all day, plummeted. She could see her breath in a pale cloud in the dim light coming from the carriage lanterns outside.

Thunder rolled in the distance, and lightning lit the outside. A flash and instant boom of a strike hit close to them. The horses whinnied, and the carriage jerked with their alarm.

She felt horrible for the post boys and Charlie Coachman outside, experiencing the full onslaught of the elements.

“Your grace, this isn’t good.” Miss Douglas’s voice was almost drowned in the sound of the torrents hitting the roof.

“No, it isn’t,” He answered. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “It’s a quarter after two. I had not planned to stop, but that may not be possible if this continues.”

Their progress slowed to a crawl. They all sat tense, watching the windows as sheet after drenching sheet hit the glass.

Cold droplets struck Cora’s face as Charlie Coachman opened the hatch, and yelled down to the duke.

“Your grace, we can’t proceed in this, and it don’t look likely to let up!”

“I agree, Charlie!” He called back, turning to kneel on the seat, and bring his face closer to the hatch. “Find the nearest hostelry, and we will stop for the night.”

“Aye, milord duke!”

The hatch shut, and Cora relaxed some at the thought of a bed, safety from this storm, and an end to this crazy, interminable day. She hoped they would find an inn quickly!

The hatch opened again. “Your grace, the boys say the closest inn is small, but should have room. It’s off the main road, but we should be able to reach it in ten minutes, even in this downpour.”

“Sounds good, Charlie, let’s head to it!”

The road changed from the wide and well-traveled avenue of the Great North Road, to a smaller and tighter lane through trees and fenced fields. A few shapes that might be dark cottages passed by her window. She felt isolated in the pounding noise of the rain and the rumble of thunder.

Lightning illumined the worried face of the Duke of Blackdale, the long ordeal of the day made worse by this onslaught.

The drumming outside escalated into pings and clatters. The horses whinnied in alarm.

“Hail.” Mr. Malcolm said, and grabbed the leather strap hanging nearest him.

Oh my. Cora followed suit. She squeezed the strap that hung near her face with her hand, and clutching the flower pot in its protective crate with her other.

The hail was small, it pinged against the painted wooden roof of the carriage. The men outside shouted at each other. The carriage lurched and stopped and lurched again. The sound of the hail worsened. The pieces were getting bigger. No longer small, bead-sized rounds of white ice, they became pearls, and then coin-sized, then the size of figs, plummeting down and pummeling the horses and men outside.

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