Chapter One
Stirlingshire, Scotland, 1850
Against all odds, Sophia Pemberton had fallen in love. With Scotland.
For six months she had resided on a large estate with Loch Lomond to the west and Ben Lomond to the east, and she already thought of the wild and untamed countryside as home. The estate was not hers. The land was not hers. Yet somehow she had come to think of the view as belonging to her.
The children she tended, however, were far more difficult to love.
“I will not be spoken to that way by a servant.” Seven-year-old Ella Haddington sniffed at the stable hand holding her pony’s lead. She, along with her brother, was undertaking their riding lessons.
“You were kickin’ the pony, miss,” the beleaguered young stable hand explained. “She don’t like when you do that.”
“It does not matter what I was doing,” Ella snapped. “You are not permitted to order me about.” The girl sounded like her mother.
Sophia had learned early in her time as the Haddingtons’ governess that correcting any of the family in their treatment of the servants only made the situation worse. Though the servants weren’t overly fond of her, she didn’t want to cause trouble for them. She’d learned to bite her tongue, no matter how much she wished to speak.
“I do not like this pony.” Nine-year-old Joseph never liked any pony the stable master chose for him. “Give me another, Buchanan.”
Duncan Buchanan, the Haddingtons’ stable master, simply kept chewing on the length of straw between his teeth. “I’m fully certain the animal don’t care for you either, laddie. He manages to endure it, though.”
Sophia bit back a smile as she bounced almost one-year-old Jane on her knee. Duncan never allowed the Haddingtons to run roughshod over him. He never allowedanyoneto run roughshod over him.
“Well, I don’t like the pony.” Joseph tipped his chin upward.
The stable master gave a firm nod and pulled the straw from his teeth. “Fair enough.” He tossed the straw aside then stepped up to the boy and pony. He reached up and pulled Joseph from the saddle and set him on his feet.
“What are you doing?” Joseph demanded.
“You can walk,” Duncan said. “A fella who doesn’t appreciate his pony doesn’t deserve to be carried about by the animal.”
“I will tell my parents that you didn’t allow me to finish my lessons.”
“I’ve no doubt you will.” Duncan jerked his head in the direction of the house. “Best get on with your tattling, boy.”
Joseph huffed away from his pony in high dudgeon, slowly making his way toward her, his scowl reaching monumental levels. He would be impossible for the rest of the day, more so than usual. Still, Sophia couldn’t begrudge Duncan his scolding. Joseph deserved the sharp words; he received them far too seldom.
The little tantrum didn’t distract Duncan at all. He gave a quick, sharp whistle. The pony turned its head in his direction. He clicked his tongue and motioned for the animal to follow, and it did. They always did. The animals heeded him. His stable hands heeded him. Sophia had even seen Mr. Haddington subdued by nothing more than a sharp look of censure from the self-possessed master of his stables.
Duncan never said much to anyone but kept very much to himself. Still, everyone within a several-mile radius knew and respected him. Sophia also kept very much to herself, but all she had to show for it was eating every meal by herself and having no one to talk to.
Joseph reached her and set his fists on his hips. “I am hungry.”
“You may have milk and biscuits after your sister has finished her riding lesson.” Sophia continued bouncing little Jane, hoping to stave off the usual noonday fussing.
Joseph’sfussing generally couldn’t be staved off. “I won’t wait for her.”
“You have little choice.”
His little mouth turned down in a monumental pout. “Why do you never do anything helpful?”
When she’d accepted the position as governess to three young children, Sophia had imagined that her days would be spent imparting wisdom to eager learners, going on morning walks and afternoon outings, singing, and laughing. Not one of thosepredictions had proven accurate. The children disliked her, and she worked hard not to return the sentiment.
“Duncan,” the stable hand called out. “The lassie’s kickin’ her horse again.”
A second stable hand emerged, taking up the reins of the pony that Joseph had been riding.
Duncan turned to face Ella and her mistreated mount. “Am I needing to set you on your feet as well, missie?”
