The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,1

Renaissance, the period of artworks on which the gallery focused.

Eastlake and the gallery directors were eager to finalize the acquisition before the end of February; Godfrey assumed they hoped to include the painting as a drawcard in their spring exhibition. Consequently, he’d set out to brave the gauntlet of Yorkshire in the height of winter. He’d debated driving his curricle north from London or taking the train to York and hiring a conveyance there. After consulting with Wally, he’d elected to drive; they’d made decent time along the Great North Road, halting at Stilton the first night and spending the second at Doncaster before setting out early this morning and traveling through Boroughbridge to Ripon and out along the lanes toward Hinckley Hall.

Although the skies had been overcast throughout the journey, the clouds hadn’t thickened to ominous until the turnoff to York.

A vicious gust of wind caused the bays to skitter; Godfrey steadied them, then urged them on with a flick of the reins.

“Guv, I really don’t like the looks of them clouds.”

Godfrey raised his gaze to the gray and cloudy but otherwise unthreatening horizon. He frowned. “Which clouds?”

“The ones racing up behind us.”

“What?” Swiveling on the seat, Godfrey looked back—at the roiling mass of charcoal gray swallowing the sky and bearing down on them. He knew the worst storms in the area came from the east, racing in off the North Sea. “Damn!” He faced forward, but given the uncertain surface of the minor lane, the horses were going as fast as he dared run them. Having one break a leg wouldn’t help. “We’ll just have to hope we make it in time.”

A minute later, Wally said, “There’s snow, and the storm’s bowling straight for us.”

Second by second, the light dimmed, fading to a portentous gloom. Godfrey felt the curricle shift as Wally resettled his scarf and coat, no doubt hauling the collar high and buttoning it all the way up.

“Here.” Wally reached over, mittened hands gesturing. “Gimme the reins and get yourself buttoned up. There’s no escaping it.”

Grim-faced, Godfrey complied. As he buttoned the collar of his greatcoat, the first snowflakes whirled about them.

Ten seconds later, the blizzard struck in full force.

Within two minutes, the road ahead was blanketed in white, and the surrounding fields had vanished behind a veil of driven flakes. The air turned freezing, sharp and biting against any exposed skin, while the wind raged, gusting and roaring; it wasn’t hard to imagine the storm as a ravening wolf that saw them as its prey.

Squinting ahead, Godfrey held his team steady, but despite his best efforts, the horses shook their heads, then hung them and slowed.

Wally leaned forward and shouted over the unholy din, “We’ll have to get down and lead them. Should we turn back?”

Lips setting, Godfrey let the horses slow to a trudging walk while he calculated, then yelled in reply, “We’re closer to our destination than to Ripon, and we haven’t passed any inns or even a farmhouse along the way. Safe haven will be closer and more certain if we forge on.”

Features pinched, Wally nodded. He leapt down from his perch and strode to grip the leader’s harness and urge the beast on.

Godfrey stepped down on the other side of the curricle and went to the other horse’s head. With him and Wally out of the carriage, it was much lighter, and between them, they persuaded the horses to come up to a brisk walk.

He’d never known snow to fall so quickly; they’d barely gone a hundred yards before the curricle’s wheels started to catch, drag, and slide. Minutes later, the horses were having to lift each hoof free. Soon, Godfrey and Wally had to exert themselves to gain each forward step as well.

Heads down, they plowed on, engulfed in white and cold.

Time ceased to have meaning. Rationally, Godfrey knew they had to be nearing Hinckley Hall, but with the landscape transformed into a haze of white, he could only pray that he spotted the opening to the drive. At the rate the storm was dumping snow, the drive itself might be blocked. Worse, if the house was any distance from the road, unless they had lights blazing in every window, he would never see it.

“Oomph!”

Godfrey’s ears only just caught the sound, which emanated from the other side of the horses. He raised his head and peered through the hazy gloom. He couldn’t see Wally.

He halted the horses. Calming them, he rounded their heads and saw Wally lying facedown in the