Jenny bobbed. “Miss Harrismith, sir. The governess.”
Bright blue eyes smiled into hers. “Do they allow you to ride, Miss Harrismith?”
“No, sir.”
“You must be allowed some measure of freedom. Perhaps you might show me the rose garden.”
“I’m afraid the roses are not at their best this time of year, sir,” she replied.
“Ivo, come away. Let the domestic be,” the baroness called in a cross voice. “Please accompany me to the breakfast room. I fear only English food awaits me, but I declare I’m famished.”
With one last glance at Jenny, which took her in from head to foot, Herr Von Bremen nodded and went to take his sister’s arm. “It is inelegant for a lady to mention her stomach,” he rebuked her. “I hope you don’t do it in the duke’s company. Where did he ride off to, by the way?”
“He’s gone in search of his son,” the lady’s voice drifted back as they left the stables. “I do hope the boy doesn’t demand too much of his time.”
Jenny stood stunned. Well, how rude, but the comment was not meant for anyone’s ears. Anyone that mattered, at least. Was the lady about to marry the duke? She didn’t seem the sort who would make the children a good mother. Surely the duke was too smart to be fooled by a beautiful face and elegant figure. But men, even clever ones, could so easily be taken in by sapphire blue eyes and a tiny waist. While ladies, she admitted, might be caught by Ivo’s handsome smile.
*
Andrew rode outof the woods into a clearing. His son sat on the bank throwing pebbles into the river. Nearby, Storm Cloud cropped at the grass. William glanced anxiously up at him. As Andrew’s rapid heartbeat eased, he buried his intention to chastise him.
William stood. “Have I made you angry, Father?”
Andrew dismounted, still patently aware of the governess’s remark. There was condemnation in her tone, which irritated him, because he knew she was right. He reminded himself of his own youthful misdemeanors as he walked over to his son. “I was worried, William. That horse is called Storm Cloud for a good reason. A good hunter, but needs a strong hand. I’m relieved you’re not hurt.”
“I can ride him, Father,” William said eyeing Andrew’s stallion. “I can ride any horse, even Cicero.”
“Perhaps you can,” Andrew said mildly. “But I’d rather you didn’t until you’re older. Please don’t do it again.”
William glanced down at the smooth pebble in his hand. “Very well, Father.”
It was pleasant here with a shaft of sunlight warming the ground, the familiar smells of mud and water and wet reeds stirring up memories from his past. For a moment, some of Andrew’s concerns eased, as he focused on William. “Do you come here often?”
William turned and skimmed the pebble over the water. It bounced several times before it sank a fair way across the river. “I ride every day before lessons. Ben usually accompanies me, but he’s hurt his leg.”
Andrew hunched down and selected a perfectly smooth flat pebble. He stood and spun it over the water as he’d done as a boy. It bounced three times then sank just short of William’s.
The boy’s face lit up. “I say, I beat you, sir.”
“Fair and square,” Andrew said with a smile. “Time to return to the house. I’ll give you a leg up.”
William backed away, offended. “No need, Father.” He untied the horse’s lead from a branch and was up on the horse’s back as fast as a jockey at Ascot. Storm Cloud turned his big head, his black eye fixed on William while he chewed on a mouthful of grass, but put up no objection when William walked him toward Andrew’s horse.
Chuckling, Andrew mounted, and after William rode on ahead, turned Cicero’s head for home. He would join Greta for breakfast and apologize for missing their ride.
Andrew found Greta and Ivo in the breakfast room dawdling over their coffee. While he ate his kidneys, eggs, and bacon, Ivo drawled on about the delights of Viennese society, which made Andrew wish the man would go back there. He drank down the last of his coffee, made his apologies and rose. After noting Greta’s pout, he invited her to meet the children that afternoon, then returned to the library and his letters.
His temper flared again. This time it was directed at a letter which had just been delivered by a mounted messenger, recalling him to London to address a problem at Whitehall. He would be forced to leave his guests to their own devices for a day or so.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Come.”
The governess entered, just as the mantel clock struck eleven. Well, she was nothing if not punctual.
“Ah, Miss Harrismith.” Andrew put down his pen and nodded to her as she came to stand before his desk. He was reminded again of how she’d called after him as he’d ridden off to find William. While he approved of her defense of his son, he did not like the implication, however slight, that he needed advice. Presumptuous! His gaze roamed over her. He couldn’t fault her tidy appearance, but the demure forest green gown was ill fitting. The bodice strained across her bosom, and as if aware of it, her fingers toyed with a brooch there. He averted his gaze. For some reason, he found Miss Harrismith unsettling.
Andrew did not invite her to sit. He needed to deal with any problems swiftly and be on the road within the hour. And there was one large problem. Greta would be most displeased, shut away here with little society for two days. He toyed with the idea of inviting her to come with him and sighed. No doubt she would expect him to squire her about Town, and then it would be a week before they returned to Oxfordshire. Still, he would welcome time to spend in her company. After all, it was a chance to get to know Greta better away from the distractions of society, and her brother.
