“She knows what concerns her, which of course this does not.”
“And what, pray tell, concerns you?”
George did not answer immediately. He thought of Cassandra again, elusive, infuriating, impossible to anticipate. The truth was that his fiancée concerned him greatly, but of course he could not say that.
“What concerns me,” he said finally, “is ensuring that this house is not governed by someone that never belonged in it.”
“You are very certain of yourself.”
“I have to be.”
“Yes, well then… Then I shall not trouble you further.”
“That would be wise.”
She looked at him, and he was quite convinced that she expected him to change his mind, to apologize and to ask her to stay, but he did not. She turned and left without another word.
George remained where he was for a moment longer, irritation in his chest.
He had not found Cassandra. Instead, he had been reminded of everything he refused to become, but the day was not over yet and neither, he suspected, was the pursuit. He had to leave it be and go to his study at that point, but at worst he would see her at dinner.
George was midway through his correspondence when the knock came. It was not the discreet, measured sound he expected at that hour, but something sharper, more urgent.
“Enter.”
His butler stepped inside, expression carefully neutral, which in itself was cause for concern.
“There has been an incident in the lower paddocks, Your Grace.”
George set his quill down.
“Define incident.”
“All of your horses have been let loose.”
Silence followed, and then George rose slowly.
“All of them?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“How long ago?”
“Less than half an hour.”
George reached for his coat once again, throwing it on and following his butler through the household at a fast pace.
“Do we know how?”
“Not as yet. The gate bolts were lifted deliberately, and there is no damage and no sign of struggle.”
That narrowed the list considerably.
“And the staff?”
“Already searching the grounds.”
“Is there anything else?”
