Isabella let out a giggle, the musical sound bringing a grin to Octavius’ face. She pointed to the brick and sandstone building next to where the mare was tied up. Hermés had apparently had his fill and was resting in the clipped lawn next to the mare. “I’m not sure that’s what you intended for its use, but when cook received the gift of a lemon tree from a suitor, we made use of it.”
“A suitor?” the duke repeated. Goodness! Were all his servants about to be leg-shackled?
“Only for about a month. When Mrs. Cooper made it clear she wasn’t about to give up her independence, Mr. McDonald married a servant up in Cocking,” Isabella explained as she moved to undo Maia’s tether.
“Here. Let me get that,” Octavius offered as he stepped up to undo the slipknot. The rope came free, and Maia reared her head before turning toward the pasture. Caught off-guard, Hermés struggled to stand up and then hurried off to follow his mother.
Octavius noticed how the rope had been threaded through a metal ring attached to the side of the orangery. A simple slipknot held it in place. Giving it a quick tug, the rope came completely free. He held it out and angled his head. “Did you know she could have escaped had she wanted to?” he asked with an arched brow.
“Of course,” Isabella replied. “I tied it that way on purpose.” She took the rope from the duke and retied it to the metal ring. “She doesn’t even try to break free,” Isabella added with a shake of her head. “She perceives she is unable to escape, so she doesn’t bother to try.”
Arching a brow, the duke gave a shake of his head. “Is anyone else scheduled to learn patience?” he asked with a hint of humor.
Isabella was about to admit she was in need of a lesson, but thought better of saying so to the duke. “Probably Hermés,” she murmured with a grin. She hadn’t yet told the duke what had become of the older Hermés, or about the stud that would be seeing to at least one of the mares in the next few weeks and again in a year or so.
“Come. Let’s get you out of the sun. You’re not even wearing a bonnet,” Octavius admonished her, a bit surprised at how comely she looked with a few freckles sprinkled about her nose and cheekbones.
Isabella gasped and suddenly headed for the stone bench at the edge of the parterre garden. A broad-brimmed straw hat decorated with tiny flowers on one side had been tossed onto the bench. She quickly positioned it on her head and rejoined the duke. “Hermés likes to chew on it,” she complained, her comment enough to explain why it hadn’t been on her head whilst she led the colt about the garden. “How long will you stay this visit?” she asked as she placed her hand on the duke’s arm for the walk to the house.
“I thought to head back tomorrow.” At her mewl of what sounded like disappointment, he added, “Or the day after. Depends on what needs to be done, I suppose.” He opened the back door into the house and stepped aside so Isabella could pass. “I’m never sure how things are here at Huntinghurst until I come in the autumn for the bird hunting.”
“It’s such a beautiful house, I cannot imagine why you don’t come more often,” she countered, and then her eyes suddenly widened as she whirled to face him. “It’s not because I’m here, is it?”
Octavius couldn’t help but see the look of hurt that appeared on his ward’s face just then. That she would even think such a thing set off a twinge of regret. “Of course not,” he said quickly. “Huntinghurst is just one of several houses I own. With the Season already started, though, I must be back in London for Parliament. I do what I can to visit the houses within a day’s journey when I’m able to get away from town.”
The explanation seemed to appease Isabella. “I’ll go pour us some lemonade and meet you in the parlor.”
“What?”
Isabella gave a shrug. “Mrs. Cooper is at market, as is the scullery maid. If we’re to have lemonade and biscuits, then I need to see to it,” she explained. She dipped a curtsy and was about to head for the kitchens when Octavius was suddenly at her side. “I’ll help,” he said when he noticed her look of surprise.
“Have you ever been in the kitchens, Your Grace?” Isabella teased with an arched brow.
Octavius was about to answer when he realized that he hadn’t been. At least, not as an adult. “I used to sneak in there late at night when I was a boy,” he admitted. “Midnight snacks of roast beef or bacon,” he added with an arched brow.
“Ham,” Isabella said, her impish grin giving away her guilt.
“Apple tarts,” Octavius countered, his grin widening.
“Chocolate,” Isabella whispered.
“Chocolate?”
She nodded. “Sometimes cook leaves a pot on the stove when she knows I’m still out in the stables after dark.”
As soon as she made the comment, Isabella realized she had made a mistake. “Which is rare. It only happens when a mare is foaling,” she added quickly.
Octavius suddenly displayed a frown of disapproval. “I employ grooms and a stableboy for a reason, Isabella. You shouldn’t be out in the stables—working—especially after dark.”
Isabella angled her head to one side. “But I don’t mind, really, Your Grace. I enjoy being with the horses.”
Deciding not to argue with her on the point, Octavius changed the subject. “So, where do I find the biscuits?”
She pointed to a ceramic container on a shelf as she took two glasses from a salver and set them on a tea tray. She followed it with a small silver salver. “Biscuits go here,” she said before she turned to open the cold box in which the pitcher of lemonade could be found.
“You don’t expect me to place biscuits onto this little tray?” he half-asked with feigned derision. “Do you?”
Isabella was about to pour the lemonade but instead gave him a shrug. “I suppose not. Just bring the jar,” she suggested as she lifted the tray and took her leave of the kitchens—with the entire pitcher of lemonade.
Blinking, Octavius regarded the ceramic container for only a moment before hoisting it into one crooked elbow. He made his way out of the kitchens, daring a glance in both directions before hurrying after Isabella, as if he thought he might be caught with his hands in the biscuit jar.
Isabella took a seat in the middle of the settee and poured the lemonade. She offered a glass to Octavius, who was contemplating what to do with the biscuit jar. She cleared a space on the tray and he settled it in place before removing the lid.
“What have we here?” he asked as he leaned over and peered into the jar.
“Dutch biscuits, shortbread, and something the cook learned how to make from her grandmama in Norway,” Isabella commented, helping herself to some shortbread.
Octavius examined a serinakaker before finally taking a small bite. His eyes widened before he finished chewing. “Oh, my,” he said with a sigh.
“You’ll not be able to stop at just one, Your Grace,” Isabella warned, a grin splitting her face.
“Good thing there are several in here,” he countered, leaning over to help himself to another. He settled back in his chair and regarded his ward for a moment. “I received a letter from Peters. He is... concerned.”
Straightening at the mention of the butler, Isabella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Although the two had never quarreled, she was quite sure she and the butler would come to blows if they did. Peters obviously didn’t approve of her spending time in the stables, but what else was there for her to do all day? “He has no need to be,” she replied, finally drinking her lemonade. “At least, not about me.”
“Probably not,” Octavius agreed. “But, nevertheless, I thought it best to pay a visit just to see how you’re getting on.”
Angling her head to one side, Isabella allowed a sigh. “I like it here, Your Grace. “I love the stables and most all of the horses—”
“Most?” the duke teased before he suddenly sobered. “You mentioned Hermés is a bit ornery. Is there another you find difficult?”
Isabella’s eyes darted to the side. “Ares, but I think I
will be as stubborn with him as he is with me.”
The duke shook his head. “You shouldn’t be spending any time at all with that beast.”
“He just needs training.”
“And I employ grooms for that,” Octavius insisted.
“They won’t go near him,” Isabella countered. “Besides, they don’t have the time given all their other responsibilities.”
“Then he shall remain a wild horse,” Octavius stated, as if there was nothing else to be said about the horse. “I understand you’ve been receiving a frequent visitor. Is it Miss Fitzsimmons?”
Rather stunned at the sudden change of topic, Isabella blinked. Obviously Peters had been writing of the fact that she had a frequent caller in his missives to his master. “Yes. You’ll remember Lord Norwick’s cousin. Miss Fitzwilliam still comes to ride with me, although not as often these days.”
“Miss?” he repeated.
“She is still unmarried. Three-and-twenty and looking forward to spinsterhood, which I suppose is good since she claims the only bachelors in Boxgrove are monks.”
Octavius furrowed his brows. “If I remember correctly, she is a horsewoman?” he half-asked.
“An accomplished one, yes. She sees to the stables at Fair Downs, and although it is an entailed property of the Norwick earldom, the horses are all hers.”
This had the duke’s eyes widening. “Good God! How can she afford them all?”
Isabella gave her head a shake. “She received a small inheritance when her mother died, and she will inherit her dowry when she reaches her majority,” Isabella explained. “She claims her inheritance will allow her to expand the stables and raise racehorses.”
Octavius regarded his charge for a moment before responding. “You say that as if you think it’s a suitable plan for an unmarried woman,” he accused.
Blinking, Isabella straightened on the settee and wondered if she should tell him the truth or feign indifference. “I cannot say if it is or it isn’t. I know I should like to do it myself.” At the duke’s sudden look of shock, she added, “I would love to have my own stables, Your Grace. My own horses. I wouldn’t necessarily raise them to be racers, but if one or two could run the Ascot or the entire circuit...”
“I cannot believe what I am hearing,” Octavius claimed with a shake of his head. “What about a husband? Children?”
Isabella angled her head first one way and then the other. “I think I should like a husband and a few children—I certainly don’t aspire to be a spinster—but any man I marry will need to be a horseman. An accomplished rider. With enough funds to help me with the expenses of owning horses, of course.”
“Of course,” Octavius agreed, although his words were said with a hint of sarcasm. “And where do you suppose you’re going to find such a man?”
Isabella blinked. Why, right in front of me, she almost said, as shocked by the realization as she knew the duke would be if she put voice to the words.
The Duke of Huntington would make the perfect husband for what she had planned, she thought. He already had the stables, although they would have to be expanded. He owned plenty of pastureland. The perfect house from which to run such an operation. He had the connections to the Jockey Club in Newmarket.
And he was handsome.
“At Tattersall’s, perhaps?” she offered meekly.
It was the duke’s turn to blink. “Perhaps,” he replied, a sudden twinge of disappointment making him wonder why he found the idea abhorrent. “This... plan of yours—”
“It’s just my dream, Your Grace. Something I think of when I imagine how I would like my future to be,” she murmured. She inhaled and let the air out slowly. “Will you be joining us for dinner this evening? Cook will be returning from market soon. I’m sure she’ll have the ingredients for a rather grand meal.”
At the suggestion of having dinner at Huntinghurst, Octavius’ countenance seemed to lighten. “That sounds capital,” he replied. He glanced around the parlor, rather happy to find it appeared recently cleaned. “In the meantime, I have to see to some correspondence, so I’ll be in my study.” He stood and bowed. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he added as Isabella curtsied.
He was about to head toward the door when he remembered the box from Norwick. Pulling it from his topcoat pocket, he gave it a quick glance before handing it over to Isabella. “This is for you. From Lord Norwick.” He didn’t add that he hoped it was the earl’s admission that he was the girl’s father. Even though the man had been married to Clarinda for nearly ten months, he claimed he still hadn’t made his countess aware that her cousin was also her step-daughter.
The coward.
“He and your cousin have finally returned from their wedding trip,” he added, realizing the box might contain something the earl had acquired during his travels.
“Thank you,” Isabella murmured, studying the white pasteboard box. “Should I... should I open it now?”
The duke shrugged. “Whenever you like.” Not particularly curious as to what might be in the box, Octavius took his leave of the parlor.
Chapter 19
A Box Revealed
A few seconds later
Isabella stared after Octavius for a moment before returning her attention to the box. A bit on the heavy side for such a small container, she gave it a shake, quite sure she heard something metallic inside. Her curiosity piqued, she opened the lid. A folded paper popped out and nearly fell to the floor before she could capture it in her free hand. The bottom of the box was littered with a variety of coins.
Setting the box of coins on the parlor table, she unfolded the missive and struggled to read the scrawled words.
Dear Lady Isabella,
I hope this letter finds you in Good Health.
His Grace informs me you have settled into Huntinghurst and continue your appreciation of his stables by riding his horses. Since he seems to have forgotten them, it is fortuitous you are there.
I write from London, where I am finding marriage to your cousin, Clarinda, an agreeable situation. It is as much of a surprise to me as to her, I believe. Brotherton women seem an agreeable bunch, and given you are the daughter of one, you may count yourself among their ilk.
The wedding trip to Italy and Greece was well received by Clare. Unlike me, she didn’t mind the oppressive heat and loved the opportunity to shop for small trinkets to bring back as gifts. (I had to remind her on only two occasions of the size of our trunks, unaware she had included an empty one amongst her luggage. The minx.) One such trinket is included for you. She mentioned how much you would want one.
Having received a letter from my cousin, Constance, expressing concerns that you seem to lack suitable riding habits, I am including some pin money for such an expense. I expect the bit of pin money you once had has probably long since been spent, and I rather doubt Hunt has thought to see to refreshing your funds.
When I am next in Sussex, I hope to pay a call. Until then, I am yours in service.
Norwick.
Isabella reread the difficult script several times before she was sure she understood the earl’s every word. She glanced back in the box, thinking there was probably at least twenty pounds in various denominations of coins.
Riding habits? Why, she could have a local modiste make a dozen or more! Then she thought of her worn riding boots and her lack of suitable dinner gowns and realized she would need to limit what she spent on riding clothes.
As for a modiste, she figured Constance could help her locate one.
Then she remembered his reference to a trinket and searched through the box again. Near the bottom, a gold charm in the shape of a horse revealed itself from among the coins. Holding it between her thumb and forefinger, she nearly teared up when she realized Clarinda had been thinking of her. She was almost about to write a ‘thank you’ letter to her cousin when she remembered she could not.
Clarinda believed she was dead.
But Lord Norwick is my cousin-by-marriage. How
thoughtful of him.
Helping herself to another biscuit, she finished her lemonade and contemplated her future.
Chapter 20
An Unexpected After Dinner Guest
Later that night
Octavius regarded the remains of the dinner he and Isabella had been enjoying for nearly two hours. “You were correct about cook having the ingredients to make a rather grand dinner,” he commented as he set aside his napkin.
“I don’t think I’ve eaten this much since the last time you were in residence,” Isabella replied. Her glass of claret stood empty, and she couldn’t help but notice the duke’s port was gone. “Would you consider a walk? I know it’s dark, but—”
“A capital idea,” he replied, pushing back from the table. “Do you need a shawl or pelisse?” he asked, once again admiring her dinner gown. He knew it couldn’t have been made in London—it was far too plain to have been created by a modiste in the capital. Although it lacked ornamentation, it suited his ward perfectly.
“I do not,” she replied as she stood up. “It’s been rather pleasant these past few nights.” They made their way through the portrait gallery and left the house by way of the door that led to the parterre garden, the duke helping himself to a lantern. “Despite the rather harsh winter, it’s been beautiful here,” she commented as they made their way.
“I often wish I could take all of Huntinghurst and simply drop it into the middle of London,” Octavius said suddenly. “And then I remember how large it is, and realize I would still have a long way to get to Parliament.”
Isabella giggled. “You are speaking of all the lands as well as the house, then?” she asked.
“Indeed. Someday I’ll take you to where it’s possible to see it all,” he said as they entered the garden. The scents of newly-turned earth and greenery assaulted his nostrils as he took a deep breath and grinned. “But for now, this is what I think of when I think of Huntinghurst,” he said as he waved an arm to indicate the parterre garden.
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