The third disaster of the day occurred when Lady Helen Jeffries found herself stranded in an unseasonal blizzard.

Shivering outside the broken coach, she clutched the ermine-trimmed hood tighter around her blond hair. The wind plucked at her crimson cloak. Specks of ice peppered her cheeks. Heedless of her own discomfort, Helen waved a cheerful farewell to her footman as he rode off into the blinding snow.

For a moment she stood there, gripped by cold and fright. It was mid-afternoon already. Even if Cox reached the village before dark, would there be time for a rescue party to set out?

Possibly not. She and Miss Gilbert and the injured coachman might be forced to spend the night here with no fire to warm them. The spare horse, tethered in the shelter of the rocks, could not carry all of them to safety.

And this predicament was her fault.

Heartsick, she climbed into the coach, which lay tilted in the ditch. At least the plush blue interior felt marginally warmer than outside. M'lord yapped excitedly. Helen scooped up the little brown-and-white dog and took comfort from his warm body.

Miss Gilbert had tucked a spare blanket around the coachman's hurt leg. With her arms fluttering beneath her cape, she looked like a plump brown wren. "Oh, my lady," the old governess chirped, "whatever are we to do? Poor Cox will freeze to death. And so shall we!"

"It's not as bad as all that," Helen said reassuringly. "He'll ride to that hamlet we passed a mile back, and then we'll be rescued in a trice. Mr. Abbott, are you in pain?"

"I'm well enough," the coachman said, though his grizzled face showed tension around his mouth. " Tis sorry I am for running us off the road."

"It was an accident," Helen soothed. "Certainly we've survived worse. Remember that sandstorm in North Africa? And the earthquake in Turkey?"

"Lord Hathaway saved us from those catastrophes," Miss Gilbert said worriedly. "He led us to safety. How can we manage without him?"

Helen wondered, too.

Her father, the Marquess of Hathaway, often accompanied Helen on the journeys she had taken over the past five years. After the disastrous end to her betrothal, she had left England, restless to seek a new life. She had traveled the world, and as time passed, she had come to relish her freedom.

Lord Hathaway had intended to join her on this tour of the Highlands. But as they had been about to depart at dawn, a messenger had arrived from the docks. A fire had broken out on a ship belonging to his lordship, and he needed to assess the damages. Helen wanted to delay the trip, but her father insisted he could catch up to the party later.

That had been the first disaster of the day.

The second had occurred after luncheon, when a few pale flakes had drifted from the leaden sky. As it was too early in the season for a storm, Helen had insisted upon pressing onward. She was enthralled by the rugged scenery, so ancient and natural, the trees displaying their autumn brilliance. Except for the occasional croft with smoke drifting from a stone chimney, the Highlands were a rough masterpiece untouched by man. Great crags of rock towered over heather-carpeted moors. Once she glimpsed a herd of red deer grazing deep in the shadows of a pine forest. Another time, a waterfall shimmered against the mossy rock of a hill.

As the coach climbed higher into the mountains, the powdered-sugar dusting of snow had thickened into a dense white blanket. The wind whipped the flurries into a frenzied dance, but even then Helen had been enchanted by the savage splendor of it all…

"M'lady," said Abbott, hanging his head, "I humbly beg your pardon for leadin' you into such trouble. When his lordship hears what I done-"

"You shan't lose your post," Helen said, anxious that he would fear so. "It's my fault. We ought to have turned back when you first suggested it."

"Oh, we shall all perish." Miss Gilbert dabbed at her red nose with a handkerchief. "They will find our poor frozen forms with the spring thaw."

"Please," Helen said in exasperation, "there's no need to be theatrical."

"But listen to that wind. I do believe the storm has grown worse." Quivering, the governess peered out the window. "One might think an evil sorcerer has cast a spell over this uncivilized land."

A flurry of goose bumps crept across Helen's skin. "That is nonsense," she said crisply. "We are safe here with enough food in the hamper to tide us over. Now sit back and relax. I shall read to all of us."

The crazy angle of the coach made it impossible for more than one person to comfortably occupy each blue-cushioned seat. Cradling M'lord in her lap, Helen sat down on the floor, reached into her valise for Rob Roy by Sir Walter Scott, and read the book aloud. The well-worn pages provided a distraction from the howling of the blizzard. After a time, a light snoring emanated from Abbott, and his chin slumped onto his broad chest. Even Miss Gilbert huddled in the corner with her eyes closed.

The scant daylight had begun to wane. Soon it would grow dark. To allay her fears, Helen stroked the dog. Her fingers and toes felt numb from the cold. Had Cox reached the village yet?

She prayed so. The thought of spending many more frigid hours here daunted her. What if the snow continued throughout the night? What if rescue did indeed come too late?

Immediately she scolded herself. Who was she to complain when Abbott lay senseless with pain?

Helen leaned her head back and stared out the window, where snowflakes cavorted in a highland jig. The branches of a bush scraped somewhere outside. The wind lamented like a lost soul.

A sense of utter aloneness crept over her. She had the uncanny impression it had nothing to do with being stranded on this remote road, that the emptiness had been there for a long time, buried deep inside herself. She felt lacking somehow, unsatisfied with… what? The direction of her life?

Surely not. She liked being free to go her own way, to discover new places. And yet… she thought of her visit a few weeks ago to her half sister. Isabel and Justin lived on an estate in Derbyshire with their three young children. Their happiness had lingered like a rich essence in the air, and Helen recalled the time when she had come upon husband and wife kissing in the garden. The tender passion of their embrace made her heart ache.

How would it feel to be held by a man, to let him caress the secret places of her body, to join with him in the mysterious act of mating? She had traveled the world, seen more exotic sights in the past five years than other ladies did in a lifetime, but she did not know the touch of a man.

At one time she'd had that chance, but she hadn't been ready for it. Now she feared she might never again have the opportunity. She had no wish to marry a dull English lord, and her father would be terribly disappointed if she wed beneath her station. Besides, having a husband would put an end to her independence, and that thought was sufficient to douse any romantic yearnings. She wanted to live life to its fullest. Never again would she be the naive girl whose sole relief from boredom was to visit London for the Season.

Of course, there were drawbacks to adventure. Her quest for new experiences had left her stranded in a raging snowstorm.