Free The Mad Lord's Daughter by Jane Goodger

once before Mary pulled her back in horror.
    “It was lovely,” she’d said, closer to tears than she would ever admit. She’d looked outside and seen one of the stable boys pick up a bit of it and fling it against the stable wall.
    “You’ll catch your death and then what will you do?”
    Melissa had shrugged. “Die I s’pose.”
    Her father had overheard the entire exchange and stormed into her room, his face a mask of fury. It was one of the few times in her life she’d ever seen her father angry; never had that anger been directed at herself. He’d grabbed her shoulders and given her a hard shake, then dropped his hands immediately. “Don’t you ever say such a thing again. Ever, do you hear me, Melissa Ann? Do you?”
    Tears had coursed down her cheeks then, tears of anger and fear and terrible guilt that she had made her beloved father angry with her. But over the years she’d watched countless times when people trudged through the snow, as horses plodded through it, great clumps lifting into the air. She’d even watched her own father walk from the house to the stables, and he’d never fallen ill. It made no sense to a little girl, and even less sense to her when she was grown. By then, she accepted her life without resentment or anger.
    But now, Bamburgh was behind her, along with her father’s incessant fears, and she could do as she wished. If she wanted to touch the snow, she would. If she wanted to don a pair of boots and take a walk in it, she could. She pushed down a sharp stab of anger at all her father had taken from her. She would not be angry with him. He’d loved her. He’d only been trying to protect her.
    But it had only been snow, a small rebellious voice said.
    She rushed to the window and looked out to see John below talking to one of the servants who had a shovel in his hand. Without thinking, she threw open the sash and called down. “Is it lovely?”
    “It’s bloody cold, that’s what it is,” he called back, smiling.
    “May I come down?”
    “Of course,” he said, looking slightly taken aback that she’d asked.
    Melissa quickly closed the window and turned to find her maid, Clara, behind her tidying up the bed. While she missed her old maid, Mary, Melissa liked having someone who was not only efficient but who treated her like a normal young lady. Mary had always taken great care not to touch her and had always worn pristine gloves when she was attending her. Even when dressing her hair, Mary had donned a clean pair of gloves. It was something Melissa hadn’t thought about until moving to her uncle’s. She realized, with a bit of self-disgust, she hadn’t thought of a great many things while living her cloistered, quiet life in Bamburgh.
    “Clara. Could you please help me into my warmest clothes? I’m going out into the snow.”
    “Oh, miss, it’s terrible cold out there,” she said, shuddering, and Melissa had an awful sinking feeling that she would be denied. “I have some nice woolen mittens you can borrow. And your boots. Be sure to dress warm.”
    Melissa grinned, feeling a sharp sense of freedom. No one would stop her. “I will. I’ve never been in the snow, you see.”
    “Never?” Clara asked, amazed. “I met a girl from Italy once who had never seen snow.”
    “Oh, I’ve seen it. I’ve just never been in it.”
    “Let’s bundle you up, then.”
    In a matter of minutes, Melissa was warm and cozy in a woolen dress, boots, muffler, and thick woolen mittens that Clara had fetched from her own supply. “Gloves won’t do in this cold. It’s getting colder by the minute out there. Me mum makes the nicest mittens, doesn’t she? I’ve got more than I could ever use. It doesn’t matter that I’ve only got the two hands, she’s forever knitting more.”
    “Be sure to tell your mother thank you for me. These are wonderful,” Melissa said, waggling her fingers inside the mittens. Outside, the temperature had dropped, and the snowflakes that had been