The Snowbound Baron by Augustine Lang

Author:Augustine Lang [Lang, Augustine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Augustine Lang
Published: 2019-12-05T16:00:00+00:00

12.

After spending the morning talking to Klaus and the remainder of the day finishing all of her letters, she realized with a jolt, quite late at night, that she had to attend the Wolcotts’ party the next day.

When the dim clang of the door-bell woke her in the morning, she bolted out of bed, threw on a dressing-gown, slippers, and a red and a green shawl. There were no fires yet and the house breathed cold air. She could barely make her way downstairs without tripping on her own cold feet.

The Baron was startled to be greeted by her in this state. He hesitated outside the door even when she opened it wide. “I have wakened you?”

A flurry of snowflakes came in around him.

“Yes, and I’m glad,” she said with the thin nerves of not enough sleep. “Unless you’d like to stay outside and freeze, come in and light the kitchen-fire whilst I dress. After I have some tea I will be fit to talk to.”

She walked off, leaving him to make up his own mind. She heard his boots on the floor and the door closing, so she knew she would have tea waiting for her when she went back downstairs.

The water in her wash-basin was frozen solid so she couldn’t wash, which further put her out of sorts. Her eyelids felt stuck together with sand.

She pulled on layers and layers of warm petticoats and her usual, aged yellow party-dress, since the crimson one was scarcely begun. She left her hair up under her nightcap for later sorting-out and took the wash-basin downstairs with her.

The Baron was sitting by the kitchen-fire drinking tea. He stood up politely when she came down, set aside his cup and poured one for her.

She said, “Thank you,” but occupied herself in pouring some hot water from the kettle into the basin. Finally she was able to dip both hands in, pushing aside chunks of ice, and scoop up water to douse her face several times.

She wiped her face on a dish-towel and sat down, rubbing her eyes and sighing.

“Did that help?” asked the Baron, amused.

“Yes.”

“I did not attempt to make anything but tea.”

She tried the tea in the cup he set beside her. Privately, she decided that he had made a good choice to stop there.

“Thank you for that. You can put more leaves in.”

She sat with her head in her hands. She could hear the click of tea-caddy, crunch of leaves, and clink of china and spoon as he obeyed.

She felt that before yesterday he might have been far more uncomfortable with all of this. She didn’t know what it was that had put him more at ease: whether it was the words they’d exchanged as friends, or the two hours composing a cutting rebuttal to the “gentleman” whose starting premise was that slavery was good for economies.

“I went to bed at eleven o’clock,” she said between her hands, in the direction of the table. “A perfectly reasonable hour. I had done good work and I should have been able to sleep.

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