“G’day, m’lady,” he replied dutifully, taking the reins.
“Would you see to it that my horse is watered? I have an errand but shan’t be above twenty minutes.”
The boy nodded and began to lead the horse into the yard.
“Jory.”
He looked back at her.
“Is Mr. Yorke here?”
“No, m’lady. ’E be out on ’is ’orse.”
Disappointment settled over her. “Thank you.”
Jory waited to ensure she had no other strange questions, then turned and led the horse to the inn yard.
Caroline let out her disappointment in a determined breath and made her way down the lane toward Ruan’s home.
She turned toward the small, narrow house where Ruan and his family lived and rapped on the door gently but firmly. Hoofbeats on cobbles sounded down the street, and she glanced in that direction. Her heart jolted at the sight of Mr. Yorke on his horse, disappearing into the inn yard.
He had not seen her.
The door opened and Ruan appeared there, the sound of children’s muffled voices behind him. He blinked at the sight of Caroline.
Pulling her thoughts to her task, she smiled. “Good day, Ruan. Forgive the interruption, but I have brought these on Mrs. Penrose’s behalf.” She held out the basket of vegetables.
Ruan hesitated, then took it. “Thank ’ee, m’lady. ’Tis kind of ’ee.”
“Not at all. The thanks belongs entirely to Mrs. Penrose. She has done the work of growing such beautiful vegetables.”
He smiled. “I wager that stile be helpin’ ’er a good deal.”
“It certainly is,” she said, slightly surprised he was aware of it. “Did Oswald ask you to help with its construction?”
His brows drew together. “Mr. Oswald? No, m’lady.”
It was Caroline’s turn to frown. “He did not ask for your help, then?”
“No, ’twas—” He cut himself off, then cleared his throat and broke his gaze away. “I oughtn’t to say more, m’lady. Thank ’ee for bringin’ these to we.” He held up the basket and began to turn away.
“Wait.”
He went still but took a moment before turning toward her. His gaze was wary—or guilty, even.
“Did you build the stile?” she asked.
He rubbed his lips together, puzzling her even further.
“You shan’t have any trouble, Ruan,” she reassured him. “I merely wish to understand.”
“I don’t wish to cause ’im any trouble, m’lady. Or me, o’course.”
“Cause who any trouble?”
“Mr. Yorke.”
Caroline stood in silence for a moment. “Why should it concern him?”
