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She shouldn’t.
Truly.
Although.
Perhaps for this short moment, she could…loosen, just a little, her governess guise.
“I believe… I believe I would enjoy that, Your Grace.”
And without so much as a by your leave, the devious knave yanked his reins and took off, black curls blowing wild. “Come, Miss Beaujeu,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Join me.”
Isabelle grinned – how could she not – then tightened her thighs and flicked her own reins, the mare needing no encouragement to track the duke’s flapping coattails.
His gelding slowed a smidgen so she could catch up and they galloped aside, laughter streaming unfettered from Isabelle such as she’d not allowed for many years, the myriad greens of the land pelting past, the air cool and pure.
The duke likewise laughed as she attempted to outrace him although with his lithe gelding, she stood little chance.
All too soon, a decrepit farmhouse came into view, roofless and ruined, crooked curtains still hanging in the windows. Mari’s horse was tied to the gate post and she wandered the garden to one side, gathering the scant stems of autumn – white cabbage flowers and skeletal onion seed heads, signifying that sometime in the not-so-distant past, farmers had lived in and cared for this place.
Out of breath and with chest heaving, Isabelle pulled the reins a little too abruptly and her mare skittered. The duke grabbed the bridle, murmuring assurance. “This is ordinarily Elen’s horse and so isn’t used to a fierce gallop.”
Isabelle paled. “Oh, I should not have–”
“’Tis no problem,” he said. “I expect Jonnet gave you this mare as she hasn’t been ridden much of late and needed the run. And besides, say you didn’t enjoy it, Miss Beaujeu?” He fixed his gaze upon her – eyes twinkling and not black at all in this autumnal light but a rich dark peat.
“I…” It would be churlish to claim anything else… “I enjoyed it immensely, Your Grace.”
When Isabelle had embarked upon this profession, she had felt few qualms in burying the spirited nature of her youth for it had been necessary. Today she keenly felt its loss.
With a grin, the duke dismounted from his gelding, all leather boots and strapping thighs, so she glanced to where Mari was waving an overlong cabbage stalk.
“May I assist you down?”
“Oh, no, I can…” But he’d sidled over and was proffering a hand, so she slipped her fingers into his and slid from her mount. This near, leather and spice assailed her nostrils, his hold unwaveringly robust.
A curious…tumult arced through Isabelle – her normal unrufflable manner deserting her for a burbling core and prickling skin. Perhaps a case of the sniffles was pending?
“You seem…” The duke tilted his head. “You seem to have come awry, Miss Beaujeu.”
What did he mean? Had he noticed her burbling and prickling? Confused, she peeked up at him, watched his fingers glide by her cheek, then reach for her hair.
Her loose hair.
Shoving hands up, she realised the plait had tumbled free from beneath her hat, curls gusting loose. “Oh!” She drew away – foolish Isabelle to be flustered so – and attempted to tame them. “Mrs Pugh gave me this riding habit. It is one of Lady Elen’s discarded ones for the charity box,” she prattled, “and perhaps the hat is a little large.”
“The colour suits you. Like a patch of red clover amongst the verdant grass.” His manner was all that was proper and yet…
His voice was husky, a smile hovering upon his lips.
Not once had Isabelle held a flicker of womanly emotion for her employer, even the most handsome ones, for something of their character always repelled her: their lascivious gaze or disdainful sneer, ill-manners or the earl who pinned butterflies for a pastime.
Miss Culpepper had written that the Duke of Aberdare indulged in scowling moods, and there was no doubt he could be brusque, but Isabelle sensed it was not due to disdain for the company he found himself in, but rather his character had a natural reserve. A discomfort, perhaps, amongst crowds? For this day he had been nothing but affable.
Yet such…regard for one’s employer was not to be permitted, so Isabelle gathered in the spirited nature she’d given free rein when galloping, smoothed her skirts, straightened her jacket and…
“Thank you,” she replied stridently, forcing a rebellious curl back beneath her hat. “Shall we join Mari?”
Rhys nigh growledas Miss Beaujeu’s joyous mood abruptly faded like the last rays of sunset.
