Adrian replied. “I met the man in London some weeks ago. We attended Oxford at the same time.”
“Old school ties, eh? Knew each other well, did you?”
“Not well.” Adrian sounded indifferent. “I imagine the captain is rather at loose ends in his new position. Now that Bonaparte is safely put away on Elba, the government cannot seem to make up its mind what to do with the militia.”
“He tells me his father is Viscount Hartford,” Gabrielle said.
“Yes. He is the second—no, third—son,” Adrian said with a shrug. “Good family. The father is not very active now, but he was once quite close to Pitt the younger and the Whigs.”
“Becoming an excise man, chasing hooligans through the marshes, has to be quite a comedown for a Peninsula soldier,” Huntington observed.
“I suppose it is,” Adrian said, barely stifling a yawn. “I want to thank you again, Miss Palmer, for providing such enjoyable entertainment.”
“It was my pleasure, my lord,” she murmured, aware that his own pleasure made this more than merely a polite rejoinder.
The next morning, Adrian was still at breakfast when Miss Palmer came in from her morning walk.
“Good morning, Miss Palmer.”
“And it truly is a good morning, my lord,” she said, her cheeks aglow from the brisk autumn air. “The breeze from the sea is sure to waken all one’s senses!”
“A great day for a gallop along the beach, I daresay,” he responded, admiring what the elements had done to heighten her color. “By the by, do you ride, Miss Palmer?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, my lord, though Anne informs me that riding is not quite the thing for a governess.”
“ ’Tis somewhat unusual for the position. How does it happen that you do so?” He was genuinely curious.
She seemed to hesitate for a moment in answering. “It was another skill my father thought equally important for a daughter as well as a son.” She turned then, busy with the items on the sideboard.
He was thoughtful for a time. How did the daughter of such a father end up a governess? “Would you rather be riding of a morning instead of walking, then?”
“Well ... frankly, yes. But I am not discontent with matters as they are, my lord.” She slid into her usual seat.
“Nevertheless, we shall have to see if you are as talented on horseback as you are at the pianoforte. If Anne is to have a pony, Bess and Geoffrey will have to ride as well. Perhaps you will be willing to supervise their riding when I am absent. You may dispense with the lessons this morning and join me.” His tone was polite, but it was a command all the same.
“Oh, but that would be impossible, my lord.” She looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Nonsense. It will not hurt to cancel lessons for one morning. The children will probably welcome the holiday.”
“No, you do not understand. I haven’t proper attire to go riding. I do not possess a habit.”
“Oh.” He felt chagrined. “Hmph. That should not be a problem. Surely there is a riding habit in this household you could wear. I will speak to Gabrielle about it and you will be prepared to ride with me tomorrow then.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Trenville’s plan to test the riding skills of the governess were delayed. The afternoon following their discussion turned cloudy, with the storm arriving that night. Wind-driven sheets of rain hammered against the exposed windows all the next day. By late afternoon of the second day, the storm had reduced itself to an annoying drizzle.
Tempers were strained by the forced indoor stay. The marchioness was bored, for she could neither make calls nor receive visitors. Apparently preferring male attention to the company of her companion, she demanded that Huntington spend time reading to her. The secretary was clearly torn between this pleasurable task and the more onerous one that his employer had set him to doing, namely, reorganizing and cataloguing the Abbey’s vast library. The
“Old school ties, eh? Knew each other well, did you?”
“Not well.” Adrian sounded indifferent. “I imagine the captain is rather at loose ends in his new position. Now that Bonaparte is safely put away on Elba, the government cannot seem to make up its mind what to do with the militia.”
“He tells me his father is Viscount Hartford,” Gabrielle said.
“Yes. He is the second—no, third—son,” Adrian said with a shrug. “Good family. The father is not very active now, but he was once quite close to Pitt the younger and the Whigs.”
“Becoming an excise man, chasing hooligans through the marshes, has to be quite a comedown for a Peninsula soldier,” Huntington observed.
“I suppose it is,” Adrian said, barely stifling a yawn. “I want to thank you again, Miss Palmer, for providing such enjoyable entertainment.”
“It was my pleasure, my lord,” she murmured, aware that his own pleasure made this more than merely a polite rejoinder.
The next morning, Adrian was still at breakfast when Miss Palmer came in from her morning walk.
“Good morning, Miss Palmer.”
“And it truly is a good morning, my lord,” she said, her cheeks aglow from the brisk autumn air. “The breeze from the sea is sure to waken all one’s senses!”
“A great day for a gallop along the beach, I daresay,” he responded, admiring what the elements had done to heighten her color. “By the by, do you ride, Miss Palmer?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, my lord, though Anne informs me that riding is not quite the thing for a governess.”
“ ’Tis somewhat unusual for the position. How does it happen that you do so?” He was genuinely curious.
She seemed to hesitate for a moment in answering. “It was another skill my father thought equally important for a daughter as well as a son.” She turned then, busy with the items on the sideboard.
He was thoughtful for a time. How did the daughter of such a father end up a governess? “Would you rather be riding of a morning instead of walking, then?”
“Well ... frankly, yes. But I am not discontent with matters as they are, my lord.” She slid into her usual seat.
“Nevertheless, we shall have to see if you are as talented on horseback as you are at the pianoforte. If Anne is to have a pony, Bess and Geoffrey will have to ride as well. Perhaps you will be willing to supervise their riding when I am absent. You may dispense with the lessons this morning and join me.” His tone was polite, but it was a command all the same.
“Oh, but that would be impossible, my lord.” She looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Nonsense. It will not hurt to cancel lessons for one morning. The children will probably welcome the holiday.”
“No, you do not understand. I haven’t proper attire to go riding. I do not possess a habit.”
“Oh.” He felt chagrined. “Hmph. That should not be a problem. Surely there is a riding habit in this household you could wear. I will speak to Gabrielle about it and you will be prepared to ride with me tomorrow then.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Trenville’s plan to test the riding skills of the governess were delayed. The afternoon following their discussion turned cloudy, with the storm arriving that night. Wind-driven sheets of rain hammered against the exposed windows all the next day. By late afternoon of the second day, the storm had reduced itself to an annoying drizzle.
Tempers were strained by the forced indoor stay. The marchioness was bored, for she could neither make calls nor receive visitors. Apparently preferring male attention to the company of her companion, she demanded that Huntington spend time reading to her. The secretary was clearly torn between this pleasurable task and the more onerous one that his employer had set him to doing, namely, reorganizing and cataloguing the Abbey’s vast library. The
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