The Scots tended to fight things out; the English preferred irritating their enemies into submission with ceaseless propriety. Miss Pemberton would come to the stable, not to ride a horse but to apologize for not coming to ride a horse, or something equally English.
“You ought to have put a bit of blunt on that wager, Duncan. You’d’ve won handsomely.” Aiden motioned with his head toward the doors.
Miss Pemberton was but a few steps from the stable. She always wore dark, subdued colors. One would think she was forever on her way to a funeral.
She stepped inside, and her eyes immediately found him. He’d never seen her smile. For reasons he couldn’t yet identify, that bothered him. She seemed like the sort who ought to smile.
“Mr. Buchanan.” She stepped up to him, meeting his eye without hesitation. “I am sorry to have not come sooner. No doubt someone has gone to trouble on my behalf, but I have only just received Mrs. Haddington’s answer regarding my ride this afternoon.”
“And are you to ride?”
Though her shoulders remained squared and her demeanor calm and collected, unmistakable disappointment flickered through her dark, expressive eyes. “She feels my time would be better spent on less frivolous pursuits.”
“Isn’t Friday afternoonyourtime to spend as you choose?” he asked.
“It is, but the mares arehersto lend out asshechooses, and in this case, she chooses not to.”
So Miss Pemberton was to be denied this simple pleasure. Even the stable hands were permitted to ride now and then in the name of exercising the mounts or cooling them when the family didn’t care to take the time to do so.
How could the family treat her with less consideration than they did their lower servants? She was English, after all. And well-born. Refined.
“Would you mind terribly, Mr. Buchanan, if I stayed a moment and simply looked?”
Looked?“You mean at the horses?”
“Yes, please. I do like horses.” Her gaze slid to Barnaby and lingered a moment, admiration and eagerness touching the planes of her face. “I will be no bother; I’m particularly good at keeping out of the way.”
What an odd sort of lady she was, putting forth her invisibility as an asset when her class generally found being unnoticed a disagreeable experience. That, he felt certain, was the reason the other governesses had worn their forced quietude with such discomfort. Miss Pemberton seemed determined to bear it with pride.
As a governess, she was more than merely a surprise; she was a niggling question, tickling the back of his mind. She was a mystery.
“I’ll show you about m’self,” he said.
She shook her head without hesitation. “I could not ask that of you.”
“You didn’t. I offered. If you’d asked, I’d likely have turned you down.”
She accepted his reply with neither offense nor humor. On first acquaintance, one could be excused for thinking her rather emotionless. She hid her emotions well; that was all. He sensed that despite the thick aura of England about her, Miss Pemberton had a bit of fire smoldering beneath the surface.
He jerked his chin in the direction of the gelding. “This here’s Barnaby.”
“His markings put me in mind of Odin, the stallion at Tockwith Grange,” she said.
She’d seen Viscount Cattal’s famed stallion? And at Tockwith, it seemed. Perhaps she came from a more exalted family than he’d suspected. That might explain why she never seemed wholly intimidated by anyone. People were forever puzzling over his reasons for being so sure of himself. He’d wager his reasons and hers were one and the same: despite the current state of their employment, they’d both experienced moments when they were the most important people in the room.
He took her from one stall to the next, to whichever animal she indicated a wish to visit. He gave her the name of each animal and a few details. She asked insightful, intelligent questions and actually listened to his answers, something the Haddingtons and their occasional guests seldom did.
He stopped in front of the stall housing Miss Ella’s pony. “I believe you recognize this tortured soul.”
“I do, indeed. Poor creature must relish the days when Miss Ella does not have riding lessons.”
Will, one of the younger stable hands, approached, but at the sight of Miss Pemberton, stopped abruptly. He hung back, eyes diverted like a lower servant approaching a member of the fine and fancy elite.
“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I only meant to ask what you’re wanting me to do now that I’m done with the tasks you gave me.”
When was the last time anyone on his staff had waited for instructions? Duncan made a rule of keeping a close eye on what each hand was doing so he could assign another job before the first was finished. He’d ushered Miss Pemberton all around the stables when he had a load of other work to do. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so fully distracted.
She must have sensed the direction of his thoughts. “It appears I have interfered with your work, Mr. Buchanan.”
