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asked as she banked up the fire.
    â€œYes, the pass is closed. No one is getting in or out of the valley for days, perhaps weeks! It is still snowing, harder than ever!”
    Mary hesitated. What on earth was she now supposed to do about the poor girl lying in bed upstairs? How would she be able to return to her own home?
    Gathering up her courage she was about to speak out and confess what had happened, when the Earl said,
    â€œThat will be all for now, Mary. The food and the drink, if you please.”
    Mary returned to the kitchen and gave the order to Mrs. Rush.
    â€œDoes he know about old Pardew?” the cook asked as she took a side of beef from the larder and began to cut slices and place them on a plate.
    â€œI have no idea. He used to be concerned about all the servants, but since my Lady died, he does not seem interested.”
    Mrs. Rush sniffed.
    â€œThat’s so true! A drunken butler, no entertainin’, not even receivin’ any calls from the local gentry and no Christmas party for the castle staff this year! Bless me, I have never heard of such a thing in a well-run house!”
    She paused briefly from her tirade before asking,
    â€œMary, what are you goin’ to do about the young lass upstairs?”
    George was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a late supper of bread and cheese.
    He had looked out at the falling snow and knew it would be very dangerous to try and return to his farm until the morning when the drifts would be easier to see.
    Mary hushed her, glancing round to make sure none of the other servants were in the kitchen.
    â€œHopefully she will be recovered enough to travel by tomorrow. Once she tells us where she is from, perhaps you could help her home, George. Or if she is still cut off by the blizzard, take her to The Golden Lion in the village. One thing is certain, she cannot stay here now the Master is home.”
    â€œOnce his Lordship’s supper has been served, I will go and sit with her,” offered Mrs. Rush. “You look worn out, young Mary.
    â€œSit and talk to George here and try and make him see some sense about sellin’ his old farm to our Master. Hopefully this young lady will be able to tell me who she is and we can then get this whole problem sorted out before tomorrow.”
    Mary nodded her thanks.
    She was always very grateful for any chance to be in George’s company, but realised that nothing she could say would push him into changing his mind about selling his farm.
    Those few damp acres had taken on a whole new significance to the young Yorkshireman since the Earl had asked him to sell them to him.
    Somehow it was no longer about the land, but two men from different walks of life trying to best each other.
    As Mary and George talked in the kitchen, the Earl absentmindedly nodded his thanks when Gladys brought in his supper on a silver tray.
    The beef looked fresh and succulent and the bread and pickles wholesome, but he found his appetite had gone.
    Moodily he drank the coffee and then pushed the rest aside.
    He sat for an hour staring into the dying embers of the fire.
    He knew he should be concentrating on what to do with these vital papers that now were not going to arrive in London in time for the meeting at the Foreign Office.
    But instead all he was able to think about was that impudent American girl riding a black horse that was far too strong for even a good rider such as herself.
    He could still see in his mind’s eye her sparkling blue eyes as she gazed down at him from her saddle.
    Had she reached her destination safely before the blizzard closed all the roads in the district?
    He hoped so.
    Perhaps he should ask someone – the doctor or the Rector, perhaps, who might possibly have heard about an American houseguest staying locally.
    After all she was a visitor to his country. It would only be courteous to check that she was safe and sound.
    He picked up the telephone receiver, then realised that the