Regretfully, Damien pulled himself away from the softness in Isabella’s eyes. It had been oddly comforting to share this moment with her and unexpectedly establish a bond of understanding and respect between them. Damien couldn’t remember if he had ever spoken of his wounding with so little pain at the memory.
“If you ever decide you are interested in learning to ride, I’d be pleased to instruct you, Isabella.” With that said, the earl pushed himself off the bench and stood upright. Before Isabella could muster an appropriate response, he was gone.
Sunday morning dawned gray and overcast. Nevertheless, it was a large group that set out from The Grange bound for the village church. Isabella rode inside the earl’s carriage with Jenkins by her side, while the maids Fran and Penny, accompanied by their husbands, rode on top. Penny’s husband, Joe, handled the ribbons.
“Did you enjoy last evening’s supper with the earl and his children, Miss Browning?” Jenkins inquired politely, as the carriage ambled down the dirt road.
“No food or drink was thrown, Mr. Jenkins,” Isabella replied wryly. “I suppose that marks the occasion as a success.”
Actually, Saturday night’s supper was not quite the disaster afternoon tea had been, but it was not without its mishaps. Catherine upset the gravy boat, which in Isabella’s opinion was no great tragedy, since the gravy was bland and far too thick. But Ian made such a fuss over his sister’s accident that he truly embarrassed her, and Catherine in turn promised retribution.
This time Isabella managed to stop their fight with a quelling look of her own, but overall she was disappointed in the children’s behavior. A stern lecture to them before the meal had not ensured a peaceful dinner. Isabella sighed softly.
“The children are perfectly well behaved when they are alone with me and during their lessons. Yet I’m afraid, Mr. Jenkins, I have yet to devise an effective way to control Catherine and Ian’s unruly behavior when they are in their father’s presence,” Isabella admitted.
“I am certain you will find a solution, Miss Browning,” Jenkins proclaimed kindly.
Isabella gazed with undisguised skepticism at the valet. Her confidence had been shaken during the last two encounters with the earl and his children. Compounding the problem was her own personal desire to succeed. It was fast becoming an obsession to prove her competence to the earl. Isabella did not want to explore her reasons for this need too closely, not ready to deal with the consequences of what she might discover.
Seeing Isabella’s preoccupation, Jenkins sought to distract her by relating some of the history of the village.
“Much of the Norman influence remains in our local buildings,” Jenkins began, as they passed several stone houses, some thatched with mullioned windows.
Isabella obligingly turned her head. Even from this considerable distance she could distinguish the soaring stone shafts of the church, with its massive pillars, round arches, and small windows in thick walls.
“The church was built by a Norman knight, one Ruark De Mohun. In the chapel, an alabaster effigy carved on the coffin lid of the last of the male line of this same family, who was killed at the Battle of Boroughbridge in 1322, is prominently displayed.”
Isabella made an appropriate comment of interest, and Jenkins continued. “Of course, much of the history in the village has been overshadowed through the years by the fascination with Whatley Grange.”
“Whatley Grange?” Isabella echoed, certain Jenkins was about to depart more gossip. “What else can possible be said about The Grange?”
“Have you not yet heard the tale of Lady Anne’s treasure?”
Isabella drew her brows together. “I do seem to recall Maggie making a reference to Lady Anne, but I paid it no heed at the time.”
“The legend of Lady Anne’s treasure is a fascinating tale, Miss Browning.”
Isabella was obviously intrigued, but they were fast approaching their destination and there was no time for an explanation. The carriage drove by a regimented line of clipped yew trees, and Isabella could see the lovely stone archway to the churchyard. They drove through it and as they entered the churchyard, Isabella’s nervous excitement turned to pure shock.
Perched regally upon the church steps, looking every inch the lord of the manor, from his polished Hessian boots and form-hugging breeches to his expertly tailored coat of black superfine, stood the earl.
Chapter Eleven
Damien waited patiently for the carriage to come to a complete halt before swinging open the coach door and reaching inside for Isabella. He was smiling brilliantly.
“Do close your mouth, Miss Browning,” Damien whispered softly, as he held out his arm. “Although everyone in the churchyard is making a valiant attempt to ignore my carriage, I feel certain all eyes are trained upon us.”
The earl’s words gave her pause and Isabella hesitated inside the coach, casting an assessing gaze about the busy churchyard. It was true that everyone stood in small groups, seemingly occupied with their own conversations, but when Isabella caught the eye of a well-dressed matron, the woman abruptly dropped her gaze to the hymnal in her hands.
Isabella felt a faint blush cross her cheeks. Determined to remain unaffected, she placed her gloved hand in Damien’s and gracefully alighted from the carriage.
“Whatever are you doing here?” Isabella hissed at the earl, as she forced a tentative smile toward a portly man who was openly staring at her.
“You didn’t think I’d leave you to face the gossips alone, did you?”
Isabella turned her face up sharply in surprise. Surely he was jesting with her. He had made his feelings about attending services more than plain the other day. Yet here he was.
“Catherine and Ian?”
