lead.
"Aren't you the darling lady?' Izzy crooned. "Aren't you just the prettiest little girl?"
Stepping close, she breathed gently into the inquisitive mare's nostrils. The horse shook its head, then lipped Izzy's tousled coif. Chuckling, Izzy caressed the mare's nose and began running knowledgeable hands over her body.
Well, she certainly knew horses. Julian studied her for a moment.
Izzy looked different, somehow. It was not the gown, for this one was even worse than the last, and filthy from gardening to boot. Perhaps it was that he had never seen her working out of doors before. She looked windblown and relaxed, the faint blush across her cheeks a sign of how long she had been out without a bonnet.
There, he had it. She wore nothing on her head but a great mussed cap of pinned locks. Her hair gleamed, even in the pearly light of the clouded afternoon. He gave himself a moment, but could come up with no word to describe the varied hues of her hair.
Brown, yes, absolutely. Also bronze, red, and perhaps even some black. She looked very different without the hideous cap, younger and not quite so plain.
Stepping closer, he cleared his throat. As amusing as it was to be ignored by a woman, enough was enough.
Looking up sheepishly from her examination, Izzy smiled.
"I am sorry, Julian. I am glad to see you, you know. I was simply a bit distracted."
Still trailing her hand over the mare's back, Izzy approached him.
"She's lovely. A touch of Arab, yes? Those dainty hooves, the nose—she's perfection."
He shook his head, wondering why he was surprised. If Izzy was predictable at all, it was in always doing the unexpected.
"How do you know horses, Izzy? I thought the Marchwells didn't keep a stable."
"Oh, my mother was quite the horsewoman. I began riding before I could walk."
Seeing his startled expression, she laughed.
"Really, Julian, did you think I sprang half-grown from the earth? I did have a childhood, you know. A wonderful childhood." Her smile turned wistful.
Actually, he had not given her past a thought. He could see her as a child, all pointy elbows and pixie smiles. "How did you come to live at this house, Izzy? Was there nowhere else to go?"
"No, though not for lack of wishing."
She lay her cheek against the mare's, then took an eye-closing breath.
"I love the smell of horse, don't you?"
Julian almost let her change the subject, then decided he really wanted to know. "What happened to your parents, Izzy?" he asked gently.
She opened her eyes and raised her gaze to his.
"They died crossing the Channel. I was just turning twelve. They had gone to Paris to bring home a birthday present. I wasn't to go, so to be surprised, of course.
"I was in the kitchen, teasing Cook about my cake, wanting a taste. Two men came and told me my parents were never coming back."
Pain flashed in her eyes, and for a moment she seemed very far away.
"Do you know, I have never felt the same about birthdays since."
She looked so sad. Julian felt an unfamiliar ache within him at the thought of that elfin child being left so alone.
Seeing his face, she patted his hand.
"It's quite all right, Julian. It was many years ago."
"Comforting me, Izzy?" He smiled crookedly at her. "Ought it not be the other way about?"
"No. Tears are not for a beautiful day and such good company."
She caressed the mare's neck and grinned mischievously. "And you, as well, Julian."
He laughed, letting it go. He could satisfy his curiosity later. He decided to have his man-of-affairs ask about her family. He smiled at her. "Do you still dislike birthdays, my dear? I'd hate to offend you by offering a gift if you refuse to celebrate them."
Looking up at him, admiring the way the slight breeze mussed his unruly hair, Izzy thought back to her last birthday. That day had begun with nothing more unusual than arriving at a house party by belated invitation.
Young Sarah Cherrymore had decided her newest bosom friend, Millie Marchwell, must join
"Aren't you the darling lady?' Izzy crooned. "Aren't you just the prettiest little girl?"
Stepping close, she breathed gently into the inquisitive mare's nostrils. The horse shook its head, then lipped Izzy's tousled coif. Chuckling, Izzy caressed the mare's nose and began running knowledgeable hands over her body.
Well, she certainly knew horses. Julian studied her for a moment.
Izzy looked different, somehow. It was not the gown, for this one was even worse than the last, and filthy from gardening to boot. Perhaps it was that he had never seen her working out of doors before. She looked windblown and relaxed, the faint blush across her cheeks a sign of how long she had been out without a bonnet.
There, he had it. She wore nothing on her head but a great mussed cap of pinned locks. Her hair gleamed, even in the pearly light of the clouded afternoon. He gave himself a moment, but could come up with no word to describe the varied hues of her hair.
Brown, yes, absolutely. Also bronze, red, and perhaps even some black. She looked very different without the hideous cap, younger and not quite so plain.
Stepping closer, he cleared his throat. As amusing as it was to be ignored by a woman, enough was enough.
Looking up sheepishly from her examination, Izzy smiled.
"I am sorry, Julian. I am glad to see you, you know. I was simply a bit distracted."
Still trailing her hand over the mare's back, Izzy approached him.
"She's lovely. A touch of Arab, yes? Those dainty hooves, the nose—she's perfection."
He shook his head, wondering why he was surprised. If Izzy was predictable at all, it was in always doing the unexpected.
"How do you know horses, Izzy? I thought the Marchwells didn't keep a stable."
"Oh, my mother was quite the horsewoman. I began riding before I could walk."
Seeing his startled expression, she laughed.
"Really, Julian, did you think I sprang half-grown from the earth? I did have a childhood, you know. A wonderful childhood." Her smile turned wistful.
Actually, he had not given her past a thought. He could see her as a child, all pointy elbows and pixie smiles. "How did you come to live at this house, Izzy? Was there nowhere else to go?"
"No, though not for lack of wishing."
She lay her cheek against the mare's, then took an eye-closing breath.
"I love the smell of horse, don't you?"
Julian almost let her change the subject, then decided he really wanted to know. "What happened to your parents, Izzy?" he asked gently.
She opened her eyes and raised her gaze to his.
"They died crossing the Channel. I was just turning twelve. They had gone to Paris to bring home a birthday present. I wasn't to go, so to be surprised, of course.
"I was in the kitchen, teasing Cook about my cake, wanting a taste. Two men came and told me my parents were never coming back."
Pain flashed in her eyes, and for a moment she seemed very far away.
"Do you know, I have never felt the same about birthdays since."
She looked so sad. Julian felt an unfamiliar ache within him at the thought of that elfin child being left so alone.
Seeing his face, she patted his hand.
"It's quite all right, Julian. It was many years ago."
"Comforting me, Izzy?" He smiled crookedly at her. "Ought it not be the other way about?"
"No. Tears are not for a beautiful day and such good company."
She caressed the mare's neck and grinned mischievously. "And you, as well, Julian."
He laughed, letting it go. He could satisfy his curiosity later. He decided to have his man-of-affairs ask about her family. He smiled at her. "Do you still dislike birthdays, my dear? I'd hate to offend you by offering a gift if you refuse to celebrate them."
Looking up at him, admiring the way the slight breeze mussed his unruly hair, Izzy thought back to her last birthday. That day had begun with nothing more unusual than arriving at a house party by belated invitation.
Young Sarah Cherrymore had decided her newest bosom friend, Millie Marchwell, must join
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