that
the chances of a similar happiness were few and far between.
What could she
do? Rilla felt that destiny was closing in on her, a destiny most
definitely not of her choosing and one from which there was no
escape.
: There is you
know :
Rilla looked
round, thinking that someone had entered the room without her
knowing but no, she and Zilla were alone.
“Hearing
things,” she said aloud.
: Yes. Me :
Rilla frowned,
there is was again.
“Sitting here
isn’t going to solve anything,” she murmured.
Trying not to
wake Zilla, who did not appreciate being woken up at what she
called ‘that ungodly bell’, Rilla got up, gave her face and hands a
cursory wash, dressed and exited the bedroom. She tiptoed down the
stairs on stockinet feet holding her boots in her hands.
She stopped on
the last step but one and stared … at a pair of boots.
The owner of
the boots shuffled his feet.
Rilla drew in a
breath and held it. Looking at the boots Rilla realised that the
inhabitant of the boots had to be male and the boots; they were, as
Rilla realised, of fine quality, a gentleman’s boots; polished to
within an inch of their lives and made of expensive black leather.
This was no stable hand standing there nor any male inn-servant.
Ostlers and stable hands wore sturdy boots and the inn staff,
shoes. They also had no reason to stand at the foot of the stairs
that led to the family’s private wing. It must be a guest and after
her mother’s words the previous evening Rilla had a pretty good
idea who the guest was. She mouthed a silent meow of frustration.
Her mother or father, or indeed, her brother Zak must have told him
that she always went down to the stables of a morning. He must have
decided to waylay her.
What could she
do? She wanted to push past him, ignore him and run as fast as she
could to the stables. Common sense told her this option was not a
good one. She would only antagonise him, this unwanted suitor, what
was his name again, for the life of her Rilla couldn’t remember and
word would get back to Father about her rudeness. No, she decided
as she let her breath out, she would jump down the last two steps,
give him a fright, he really had no right to lie in wait for her
like this. She could then take advantage of his surprise and
confusion to make a cool apology and remove herself from his
presence.
It didn’t work
out like that.
Rilla did jump
down the last two steps. She did land on the polished wood.
She did
surprise him, almost out of his skin if truth be known and she did
get the satisfaction of hearing him utter a strangled
exclamation.
He smiled and
laughed, a guffaw that he cut short as he realised how early it
still was. He was in no mind to wake up the entire inn.
He looked down
at Rilla’s angry face. Gods, she is a pretty little
thing.
“What are you
doing here?” she asked in a cross pseudo-whisper.
“Your father
said,” began Julean.
“Said what?”
Rilla stared at him with what Zilla described as her ‘withering
look’.
Unfortunately
for Rilla, Julean wasn’t put off in the least. “Your father said,”
he began again, emphasising the second word, “that you would be
pleased to have some company during your morning ride.”
“He did, did
he?”
Julean nodded.
“He also told me that you know the area round here like the back of
your hand. When I realised that we were staying here a few days I
expressed a wish to see the area, I’ve never been this way before.
He offered your services as a guide.”
Rilla didn’t
just look at him, she ‘looked’ and the angry glint in her eye was
beginning to make Julean nervous. He flushed, but as Rilla was soon
to ascertain, he was a difficult person to deter. At this time, his
goal was to spend time with Rilla. He had been smitten both by her
looks and the competent and efficient way she went about her tasks.
When a large china tureen had crashed to the floor, dropped by one
of the flustered maids she hadn’t turned a hair,
the chances of a similar happiness were few and far between.
What could she
do? Rilla felt that destiny was closing in on her, a destiny most
definitely not of her choosing and one from which there was no
escape.
: There is you
know :
Rilla looked
round, thinking that someone had entered the room without her
knowing but no, she and Zilla were alone.
“Hearing
things,” she said aloud.
: Yes. Me :
Rilla frowned,
there is was again.
“Sitting here
isn’t going to solve anything,” she murmured.
Trying not to
wake Zilla, who did not appreciate being woken up at what she
called ‘that ungodly bell’, Rilla got up, gave her face and hands a
cursory wash, dressed and exited the bedroom. She tiptoed down the
stairs on stockinet feet holding her boots in her hands.
She stopped on
the last step but one and stared … at a pair of boots.
The owner of
the boots shuffled his feet.
Rilla drew in a
breath and held it. Looking at the boots Rilla realised that the
inhabitant of the boots had to be male and the boots; they were, as
Rilla realised, of fine quality, a gentleman’s boots; polished to
within an inch of their lives and made of expensive black leather.
This was no stable hand standing there nor any male inn-servant.
Ostlers and stable hands wore sturdy boots and the inn staff,
shoes. They also had no reason to stand at the foot of the stairs
that led to the family’s private wing. It must be a guest and after
her mother’s words the previous evening Rilla had a pretty good
idea who the guest was. She mouthed a silent meow of frustration.
Her mother or father, or indeed, her brother Zak must have told him
that she always went down to the stables of a morning. He must have
decided to waylay her.
What could she
do? She wanted to push past him, ignore him and run as fast as she
could to the stables. Common sense told her this option was not a
good one. She would only antagonise him, this unwanted suitor, what
was his name again, for the life of her Rilla couldn’t remember and
word would get back to Father about her rudeness. No, she decided
as she let her breath out, she would jump down the last two steps,
give him a fright, he really had no right to lie in wait for her
like this. She could then take advantage of his surprise and
confusion to make a cool apology and remove herself from his
presence.
It didn’t work
out like that.
Rilla did jump
down the last two steps. She did land on the polished wood.
She did
surprise him, almost out of his skin if truth be known and she did
get the satisfaction of hearing him utter a strangled
exclamation.
He smiled and
laughed, a guffaw that he cut short as he realised how early it
still was. He was in no mind to wake up the entire inn.
He looked down
at Rilla’s angry face. Gods, she is a pretty little
thing.
“What are you
doing here?” she asked in a cross pseudo-whisper.
“Your father
said,” began Julean.
“Said what?”
Rilla stared at him with what Zilla described as her ‘withering
look’.
Unfortunately
for Rilla, Julean wasn’t put off in the least. “Your father said,”
he began again, emphasising the second word, “that you would be
pleased to have some company during your morning ride.”
“He did, did
he?”
Julean nodded.
“He also told me that you know the area round here like the back of
your hand. When I realised that we were staying here a few days I
expressed a wish to see the area, I’ve never been this way before.
He offered your services as a guide.”
Rilla didn’t
just look at him, she ‘looked’ and the angry glint in her eye was
beginning to make Julean nervous. He flushed, but as Rilla was soon
to ascertain, he was a difficult person to deter. At this time, his
goal was to spend time with Rilla. He had been smitten both by her
looks and the competent and efficient way she went about her tasks.
When a large china tureen had crashed to the floor, dropped by one
of the flustered maids she hadn’t turned a hair,
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