Page 5 of Engaging Sir Isaac

Reminding himself to play the part of a servant, Isaac bowed again. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss. It is my job, so to speak, to guard Sir Isaac’s lands. Didn’t mean any harm by it.” Had he made his accent too thick?

She turned away to stare across the grounds again, at the house in the distance. His great-grandfather had overseen the building of Woodsbridge House, during the middle of the previous century. It was a gray-bricked, white-columned building that had been made to mirror estates far greater than a mere baronet should boast.

“I understand your concern,” she said without looking at him, her voice softer. That surprised him. Why not continue to order him about? “I promise I mean no harm. As I said, I am a visitor here. I have heard about him—Sir Isaac. I am curious.”

Curious? About him? And who had been talking about him? The weight pressed into his chest again, lightly, reminding him of its presence. “Not much people could say about him. He keeps to himself.” He studied the woman, noting the intensity of her stare, as though she tried to peer through the brick of the house in the distance.

“Does he?” she asked, her eyes narrowed. “I understand that he is young. Handsome, even. A war hero. Is he shy as well?”

Isaac had been accused of being many things in his life, but shy? As though he were a nursery child hiding behind his governess’s skirts? “Wouldn’t call him shy,” he grumbled, scratching at the back of his neck for good measure when she turned to look down at him again. “Private isn’t the same as shy, is’t?”

Her lips pursed. “I suppose not. Though it does complicate things.” She studied him a moment, and he stared back, refusing to lower his gaze. That seemed to amuse her, as one corner of her mouth twitched to the side. “Do you know the family well? I understand his sister is lately married to Lord Inglewood.”

“Known the family my whole life,” he admitted, lifting both shoulders in a shrug. That simple movement drew her eyes to his empty sleeve, tucked and pinned as it was against his side to keep it from flapping about as he walked. Isaac did not wince, or withdraw, as he had often wished to since the loss of his arm. Instead, he pasted on a roguish grin, daring her to make a comment. He roughened his voice and thickened his accent. “I’d say the baronet ain’t any more handsome than I am, though, if that’s what ye’ve come to see.”

* * *

Millie had never before encountered a servant with such a conceited way of speaking. Nor did she entirely know what to make of him, with his charming smile. His hair was dark as the earth, so brown it verged on black, curls of it sticking out from beneath his cap. His eyes flashed, almost contemptuous. Yet for all his impertinence, the man did have a fine-looking face. Strong, stubborn jaw, a fair height, and a confidence that finally pulled an answering smile from her.

“If he is half so handsome as you, my good fellow, then it is no wonder he is reclusive. Every miss in the county would set her cap at him.” She did not speak flirtatiously. Not precisely. The man was beneath her in every possible way. Goading him on, however, produced the desired result. He stared at her as though she had said something truly shocking, and the hostile gleam left his eyes.

“Mayhap you’re right,” he said, his strange accent slipping about again, not quite settling correctly.

She bit her lip to keep from continuing the banter. If Mother ever found out she had spent more than a moment in pleasant conversation with a servant, the woman would never forgive Millie. At least Mother hadn’t come with her to the marquess’s country estate. Millie had enough to worry about without being under her mother’s critical eye.

“What else is he like?” If she had caught the man off-balance enough, he may yet give her more helpful information. “Does he ride at any particular time? Does he go about into places I might chance upon him?”

“He comes and goes, as any free man does,” the man muttered, almost crossly. She saw from the corner of her eye that he’d turned toward the house, too. And the accent had slipped away again.

Getting anywhere with this strange man kept proving difficult. Yet she could be as stubborn as he. “Sir Isaac is lucky that you protect his privacy as fiercely as he does.” She purposefully tipped her nose into the air. If the man was loyal to Sir Isaac, there was another tact to try. “I have heard that his personality is not so attractive as his features. Indeed, some say he is quite rude and far too quick to laugh at the misfortunes of others.”

The man’s hand curled into a fist and his jaw tightened. “You hear that, do you? Anyone might guess where, too.” He cut her a dark look. “Would ye like to know a secret, miss?” The accent was back again, but she smiled pleasantly rather than puzzle over that oddity. “Sir Isaac is somewhat touched.” He lifted his one hand and tapped it against his skull. “Not all the time, mind. But on occasion he gets it into his head that he’s still defending England against the French. In fact, he patrols the grounds at times, carrying a pistol and sword. If he chances upon someone he does not know, he asks for the password. If they cannot give it—” The man drew up his hand and held it as though looking down the sights of a barrel. “—Sir Isaac fires upon the enemy.” He mimicked the sound of a gun firing.

Millie swallowed and looked toward the house peeking up over the trees and shrubberies, hardly separated from the grove by more than a meadow. “I hadn’t heard that.” Surely the man was lying, trying to be rid of her.

“We don’t like to let it slip,” the man told her, sighing deeply. “But as you’re wanderin’ about on Sir Isaac’s property, I thought it best to warn you.” He tipped his hat to her. “Good day, miss.” Then he started whistling and walked directly into the open air of the field.

Watching him go, Millie adjusted the reins in her grip and peered beneath the trees. If Sir Isaac was as crazed as the man claimed, surely Lady Olivia would have warned her.

Not that Lady Olivia seemed concerned for the well-being of others, but one would think the marquess’s daughter would share pertinent details such as madness if she wanted her revenge.

A crack in the brush on her left made her startle enough that the horse shifted, then shook its head at her with some irritation. Millie offered the beast a reassuring pat along its neck.

“Quite right, Frances,” she murmured to the sweet gelding. “Best we return now, especially since our most unhelpful friend did not share the password.” She looked once more to the man walking across the field, his head held high and his whistle drifting back to her.

“What a strange man.” Millie turned her horse about and made for the path that had brought her to Woodsbridge Estate.

She hadn’t brought a groom with her, as keeping secrets with an audience of any sort would prove impossible. Besides, no one paid much attention to her, no matter where she went. Lady Olivia had been right about that. As someone invisible to the important members of Society, and above the station of everyone else who was not, she moved about with more autonomy than most unwed women enjoyed.

When Millie returned to the rather opulent estate, she took the horse directly to the stables.

The Marquess of Alderton kept grand stables, with horses from the finest lines in Europe. The family had been around since the days of William the Conqueror, and their state of living left no one in doubt of the deepness of their ancient pockets.

After a groom helped her dismount, Millie found a side entrance to the house. A back stair was what she needed, and easily found after she asked a footman for help. One could wander about the large estate for hours and never find the correct room.

Eventually, Millie found the bedroom appointed for her use. Since she was without a true chaperone, the marchioness had kept her in the family wing rather than the guest wing. Her door was one down from Lady Olivia’s and across the hall from Lady Alderton. Lord Alderton was still in London, along with his eldest son. Where the other two sons were, no one had bothered to tell Millie.

Sarah, Millie’s maid, had now had an evening and a morning to do her own snooping and gossiping. Hopefully, Sarah had obtained information that would be of use.