She had two options. She could either bear the discomfort of her ankle and press ahead, or she could try and get back to the house.

A pleasant thought struck her.

If she was to go back to the house, Harry might be there. But no, Harry wasn’t back from Manchester yet. She knew that, because she’d been watching for him all day. It was strange how she missed him whenever he was away.

Feeling ashamed, she chastised herself. ‘Bridget Mulligan, shame on you! Here you are, thinking pleasant things of Harry, and you a married woman these past four months.’ She had no right even to look at another man, let alone miss him. Not when she had a loving husband like Tom.

‘Maybe Tom will come for me,’ she thought aloud. But there wasn’t much chance of that, she reminded herself. Tom was at the quarry, taking delivery of new rolling stock. Before he left this morning, he had warned her he might not be home until later than usual.

‘Aw, well.’ Brushing herself off, Bridget sighed. ‘I’m not going back to the house, not with the squire after me at every turn, and I don’t mean to sit here and freeze to death.’

As she struggled on, Bridget was afraid she might fall into some deep ditch and be lost for ever. The landmarks were rapidly disappearing beneath a blanket of snow and it was becoming increasingly difficult to see where the lane was. ‘The squire was right after all,’ she groaned, her teeth chattering uncontrollably, ‘though I would never give him the satisfaction of telling him so.’

With the wind howling and the snow lashing down, Bridget didn’t hear the cart coming up behind her.

‘Whoa, boy!’ Catching sight of the small, forlorn figure in front, Harry Little drew back on the reins. ‘Easy there… whoa!’ A strong young man in his early twenties, Harry had no trouble bringing the horse to a halt. Dropping the reins, he leaped from the cart and hurried forward.

‘Bridget! What the devil are you doing out in this weather?’ He was angry, but that was nothing new. Bridget had a way of making him angry; mostly because she was married to someone else and not to him.

Relieved, and utterly exhausted, Bridget fell into his arms. ‘Harry! Oh, Harry, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.’

He gently shook her. ‘Have you gone mad? What possessed you to set out on such a wild night?’

‘I didn’t know it was this bad.’

‘You should have waited. You know I would always see you home.’

‘I know.’ She had no intention of telling him how the squire had offered and she had refused.

‘Well, this is no time to argue the point. Come on.’ Effortlessly lifting her into his arms, he carried her over the rough ground. ‘Good God, woman! You’re soaked to the skin!’

Bridget made no reply. The feel of his strong arms about her made her feel safe and warm.