But would that change if she knew he was Mr. Malcolm Tate?
Which was how he found himself reading yet the same sentence for the fifth time. Admiral Nelson was a fascinating and captivating fellow, but Malcolm found himself reading the words aloud as though he were learning to read for the first time. And even then, only half his thoughts were on the book.
In truth, he ought to be reviewing his correspondence. There was some bother concerning a few investments that required his attention, and then there was the letter from Mother requesting his opinion on staffing issues at the family’s estate. It ought to be left to the housekeeper and steward, but Father had been adamant that an astute master didn’t delegate all responsibilities, and Malcolm couldn’t help but see the wisdom in that; the quickest way to lose one’s estate was to turn the whole of it over to someone else’s care.
But Malcolm didn’t wish to review ledgers or respond to those inquiries. Apparently, he didn’t wish to read, either, for he couldn’t focus on the book.
A knock at the door had him straightening as he called for the servant to enter. The butler swept in and stood like a regimental soldier awaiting orders.
“What is it, Barlow?”
“You asked the stable staff to inform you if Miss Leigh visited.”
Malcolm straightened, shoving the book aside. “Is she still there?”
The butler cleared his throat, though his stony expression was impossible to read. “As instructed, they informed her Mr. Malcolm wasn’t in the stables at that moment, and she left.”
“How long ago?” he asked, rising to his feet.
“A quarter of an hour.”
“Blast it, man!” said Malcolm with a scowl. “I asked to be informed immediately.”
“You were, sir,” replied the unflappable man. “Even if the stableboy cut across the grounds, it would take some minutes to walk from the stables. Despite their best efforts, Miss Leigh departed the moment she discovered Mr. Malcolm was otherwise occupied.”
“Good,” he replied with a nod, but something in Barlow’s posture seemed to say there was more to the message. “Is there something else?”
“No, sir. You made your instructions quite clear.”
“And you followed them to the letter,” replied Malcolm. “Good man.”
But rather than looking pleased with the praise, Barlow stiffened, his gaze dutifully turned away from his master.
“Anything else?” prodded Malcolm.
“No, sir.”
Despite Barlow’s stoic expression and firm declaration, Malcolm sensed there was something off, but that was the butler’s own business, and Malcolm didn’t have time for the nonsense. Striding towards the sofa, he reached for his jacket and paused. Wearing it certainly wouldn’t convince her he was naught but a groom, but it felt unnatural to stride out the door in his shirtsleeves.
“In which direction did she walk?” he asked, ignoring his discomfort and turning to the door.
“She was driving a gig, sir,” replied Barlow. “And she took the back road to the stables, rather than the drive that passes the house.”
Malcolm cursed his luck. A gig and she had a fifteen-minute lead on him. It would take a miracle for him to catch her.
Hurrying down the stairs, he caught sight of himself in the mirror hanging along the wall and paused. Tugging at his cravat, he tied the rumpled thing in a simple barrel knot, though the white was entirely unsuitable for a groom. A few smudges might do the trick. But then, he would pass the stables on the way there. He might avail one of his grooms of their articles.
Why was he standing here studying his clothes when Miss Leigh was gaining more distance? Snapping his thoughts back into place, Malcolm turned to the front door and ran through it.
***
With a mighty tug, Rosanna pulled at the bridle, growling at the wretched beast to move. But to no avail. Stepping around her gig, she frowned at the rocks wedged firmly about the wheel. Having driven this road many a time before, Rosanna didn’t understand why it was proving so difficult today; one would think the riverbed being dry would make it easier to traverse where the road dipped through it, but today, it decided to be infernally difficult.
Rosanna glowered at the wheel. Ridiculous thing! Clenching her teeth, she longed to kick the wretched contraption, but she had enough sense to know such an action would only damage her foot and leave her all the more frustrated with her situation.
Of course—of course—this would happen now! It wasn’t enough that she’d spent the past hour humiliating herself while delivering these charity baskets, she had been silly enough to call at Boxwood Manor’s stables. And this was her just dessert.
Now she was stuck on the road until someone passed by and helped her.
