in red knitted mufflers and black top hats.
“Some things grab you by the throat,” Star said, “and you can’t escape the consequences. Last year Texas had the worst winter anybody can remember. Dead cattle lay piled up against the fences for miles around. The water holes froze. The grass was buried. Those poor creatures bawled so piteously it nearly broke my heart. The few that survived were all frostbitten and scrawny. Oh, it was a terrible spring, let me tell you. This year it’s happening all over again. They’re calling it the Big Die-Up.”
“Dreadful.”
“You can say that again. There’s not a thing my daddy or any other rancher can do but pray for a warm spell and hope the investors won’t pull out. On the other hand, I’ve learned that some consequences we bring on ourselves. Like when I ran off that rancher by being so ornery. So my Christmas present this year is going to be a wedding to the baron. Consequences.”
“Consequences.” The man tugged off his coat and laid it on the empty seat beside him. Then he leaned one shoulder against the coach window and with his knuckle traced a pattern on the steamy glass. “May I ask the name of your baron, madam? Perhaps I know the man.”
“The name is Chol-mon-deley, or something like that.” Star had practiced her new surname for weeks, but she thought she was probably botching the pronunciation. “Awkward as a bear in a bramble patch, if you ask me. Now, I’m Star Ellis. Plain and simple.”
“I wouldn’t call you plain, Miss Ellis, and you’re certainly not simple.” He thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know your intended husband, though I’ve likely met him. Yorkshire’s hardly a place where one can stay anonymous for long.”
Star shrugged. It wouldn’t do much good to learn about Rupert Cholmondeley anyway. Her intended husband had written her two letters since the announcement of their fathers’ agreement. Both missives had been short and uninteresting. The man’s primary occupation seemed to be foxhunting.
“Permit me to introduce myself, Miss Ellis,” the man said.“I am the viscount Stratton, at your service. Lord Stratton, if you like.”
Star felt her whole frame stiffen up like a buffalo hide in a snowstorm. This man was a lord ? And she’d been rattling on and on like he was one of the cowhands over at the corral. Mercy!
“I’m pleased to meet you, Viscount,” she said. “Wait a minute, I don’t think I got that right.”
Grabbing her etiquette manual, she began flipping through the pages. If only she could find that section on introductions and titles. She tucked away a curl that had strayed from her bonnet and ran her finger down the index.
“Lord Stratton,” he said. “That’s the formal name. My friends call me Stratton, and you’re welcome to do the same.”
Swallowing hard, Star shut her book. “Don’t you have a real name?”
“Grey is my given name, but you won’t hear it. If you need rescuing from your baron, you’ll have to ask for Lord Stratton.”
“I’ll call you Grey.” She picked up her needle again. “And I don’t think anyone can rescue me.”
“Righty ho!” the coach driver called as he swung open the inn’s door. “This be seven o’clock an’ time to leave Nottin’am. A fine inn, good eats, an’ decent beds, hey? Show yer thanks in a sovereign or two for the innkeeper, that’s right. Climb aboard everybody, and we’ll be off.”
As Grey waited for Miss Ellis to emerge from the room in which she had spent the previous night, he peered out the window at the quaint little village with its half-timbered houses and snow-lined streets. Wreaths tied with red and green ribbons hung on the streetlights, and shoppers were filling the streets in pursuit of the ingredients for holiday feasts.
Grey had enjoyed the journey thus far, and he was dreading its end. Miss Ellis had kept up an amusing and interesting conversation all the previous afternoon as the coach
“Some things grab you by the throat,” Star said, “and you can’t escape the consequences. Last year Texas had the worst winter anybody can remember. Dead cattle lay piled up against the fences for miles around. The water holes froze. The grass was buried. Those poor creatures bawled so piteously it nearly broke my heart. The few that survived were all frostbitten and scrawny. Oh, it was a terrible spring, let me tell you. This year it’s happening all over again. They’re calling it the Big Die-Up.”
“Dreadful.”
“You can say that again. There’s not a thing my daddy or any other rancher can do but pray for a warm spell and hope the investors won’t pull out. On the other hand, I’ve learned that some consequences we bring on ourselves. Like when I ran off that rancher by being so ornery. So my Christmas present this year is going to be a wedding to the baron. Consequences.”
“Consequences.” The man tugged off his coat and laid it on the empty seat beside him. Then he leaned one shoulder against the coach window and with his knuckle traced a pattern on the steamy glass. “May I ask the name of your baron, madam? Perhaps I know the man.”
“The name is Chol-mon-deley, or something like that.” Star had practiced her new surname for weeks, but she thought she was probably botching the pronunciation. “Awkward as a bear in a bramble patch, if you ask me. Now, I’m Star Ellis. Plain and simple.”
“I wouldn’t call you plain, Miss Ellis, and you’re certainly not simple.” He thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know your intended husband, though I’ve likely met him. Yorkshire’s hardly a place where one can stay anonymous for long.”
Star shrugged. It wouldn’t do much good to learn about Rupert Cholmondeley anyway. Her intended husband had written her two letters since the announcement of their fathers’ agreement. Both missives had been short and uninteresting. The man’s primary occupation seemed to be foxhunting.
“Permit me to introduce myself, Miss Ellis,” the man said.“I am the viscount Stratton, at your service. Lord Stratton, if you like.”
Star felt her whole frame stiffen up like a buffalo hide in a snowstorm. This man was a lord ? And she’d been rattling on and on like he was one of the cowhands over at the corral. Mercy!
“I’m pleased to meet you, Viscount,” she said. “Wait a minute, I don’t think I got that right.”
Grabbing her etiquette manual, she began flipping through the pages. If only she could find that section on introductions and titles. She tucked away a curl that had strayed from her bonnet and ran her finger down the index.
“Lord Stratton,” he said. “That’s the formal name. My friends call me Stratton, and you’re welcome to do the same.”
Swallowing hard, Star shut her book. “Don’t you have a real name?”
“Grey is my given name, but you won’t hear it. If you need rescuing from your baron, you’ll have to ask for Lord Stratton.”
“I’ll call you Grey.” She picked up her needle again. “And I don’t think anyone can rescue me.”
“Righty ho!” the coach driver called as he swung open the inn’s door. “This be seven o’clock an’ time to leave Nottin’am. A fine inn, good eats, an’ decent beds, hey? Show yer thanks in a sovereign or two for the innkeeper, that’s right. Climb aboard everybody, and we’ll be off.”
As Grey waited for Miss Ellis to emerge from the room in which she had spent the previous night, he peered out the window at the quaint little village with its half-timbered houses and snow-lined streets. Wreaths tied with red and green ribbons hung on the streetlights, and shoppers were filling the streets in pursuit of the ingredients for holiday feasts.
Grey had enjoyed the journey thus far, and he was dreading its end. Miss Ellis had kept up an amusing and interesting conversation all the previous afternoon as the coach
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