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But Isabelle was too chilled and sodden, drizzle gathering on her bonnet edge and dripping down her pelisse. “Tell me in the carriage.” She fired a glare at the stable lad. “I presume there is one waiting for me as the duke promised?”
An unsteady finger pointed to abarn across the yard where a crested carriage with two harnessed bay horses stood idle, and with that, the lad scuttled off towards the inn.
Soon enough a liveried coachman emerged, dusting pie crumbs from his coat and doffing his cap, and within a trice, Isabelle and her new charge were safely ensconced within the luxurious interior of the ducal carriage, blankets on knees.
They trundled through the village in silence, the houses either side appearing huddled and obscure, the steep-sloped slate roofs not separated from the drab low cloud but colluding with it.
As the carriage laboured into open countryside and slipped and slid down a rutted track, Isabelle inspected Miss Mari Cadogan.
Muddy. Bold. Mutinous green eyes. Slender frame bristling with hostility.
In fact, she reminded Isabelle of herself at fifteen. Headstrong and no doubt with a temper to match.
Nowadays, if Isabelle’s own temper simmered, she breathed deep and counted in French to dix.
Then vingt.
And thought of her meagre Retirement Savings Pot.
Miss Cadogan tugged at her grubby cuffs. “I won’t apologise for–”
Isabelle sliced the air with a hand. “No point if you’re not going to mean it. Was it a boy?”
The girl’s forehead crumpled. “Was what a boy?”
“You went riding and lost your horse. And without your guardian’s permission, I would guess. So, was it to meet a boy?”
“Eeeuugh!”
Well, at least that was one bringer of conflict she could cross off for the present, although with those pretty green eyes, it wouldn’t be long.
“So why did you ride out without permission?”
Mutters ensued.
“Be honest with me.” And with hands clasped, Isabelle waited patiently.
For some while.
“My Uncle Rhys,” she all but mumbled, “doesn’t want me to gallop along the cliff path. Cousin Elen doesn’t want me dirty and smelling of the stables. And I don’t want this house party.”
Yes, there was that. Isabelle was none too sure herself. The duke’s secretary had conveyed to her in postscript the minor omission from the interview that a gathering was soon to be held and that she would be expected to attend certain events with her charge in tow.
“But if you hie off in such a manner, Miss Cadogan, it will only cause His Grace to tighten his rules further. He is a duke, after all. And I must agree with your cousin if you thought to walk in the front door, looking like…that?”
The girl scowled to her bespattered boots.
“I make no promises, but as your governess, I will try to allot time within our schedule for riding. If we both go, His Grace is less likely to fret and if we return via the servants’entrance for a wash and change, your cousin will have no cause for complaint.”
“Can you ride?” The girl tilted her head. “My last governess was scared of horses.”
“I am a little out of practice, but my father sat me on a horse when I’d but three years.”
For the first time, the girl smiled. “Mine too…” Then it dropped. “He’s dead now. And my mama. I don’t even remember her.” She stared belligerently.
“I am so sorry to hear of your loss, Miss Cadogan. My own papa died when I was five. I still feel the sadness.”
“Cousin Elen says it’s been more than a year and that I should cease.” She glanced away, biting her lip.
