The observer was a dark-haired young man, tall and fit. He was elegantly dressed in a fine gold waistcoat and dark riding coat paired with fawn colored buckskins. His top boots had brown uppers, the gleam of their polish evident even from a distance. And he was staring fixedly at her, not the children.
Isobel’s breath caught. She could feel the stranger’s gaze as if it was a physical thing, pressing in on her until her heart raced in response. She stifled a wild impulse to jump to her feet and run away into the woods. But instinct told her that would have been a grave mistake.
He would hunt her down.
What was wrong with her? The man was just looking at her. There was nothing threatening about that. From this distance she couldn’t be sure of his expression, but it looked benign. He was probably simply wondering who she was.
You are being ridiculous.
After what seemed like an interminably long time the elegant man inclined his head. She was debating on returning his greeting when he turned on his heel and disappeared into the stables.
Was that the count’s son?
She couldn’t think of who else it could be…but the stranger was no invalid. He had stood without aid and walked with determined steps into the stable.
Confused and unsettled, Isobel changed her mind about a visit to see Martin’s pony just now. She would take the children to the stables after lunch, once she was sure their guest was gone.
***
Amelia’s eyes shined as Martin proudly demonstrated his little chestnut’s many virtues. The girl hung on his every word, their heads were close together in conversation. She reached out to pet the horse that John, the head groom, had brought out for their inspection. He in turn watched Isobel, trying to catch her eye. She pretended not to notice.
“Can Amelia ride him, Miss?” Martin asked hopefully.
The little smile she’d been wearing fell away.
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Amelia doesn’t have a saddle.”
“She can use mine,” Martin said.
Isobel shook her head. “Amelia can’t use your saddle because she can’t ride astride. Young ladies need a sidesaddle,” she said, trying to sound firm.
Amelia looked crestfallen, and Isobel was flooded with guilt. She clearly remembered all the times she’d ridden without a saddle at all, back when her father had been alive. He’d been a mischievous sort, who’d turned a deaf ear whenever her mother had complained about letting their only child run wild, cavorting in the woods and riding astride with him on his horse. The fact she’d been wearing the stableboy’s breeches at the time was a secret her father had taken to his grave.
Stirring from his position leaning on one of the stall doors John leaned forward. “It’s all right, Ms. Sterling. Little Amelia’s saddle arrived earlier this week.”
“Her saddle?” Isobel asked blankly.
“Yes, Miss,” John said, nodding at the stable boy who ran to fetch the saddle. John leaned closer while the children began to whisper excitedly. “It is her saddle,” he added in a low voice. “She used to have a pony too, but Sir Clarence said it was too expensive to keep.”
Isobel suppressed a frown and nodded. She had heard the rumors from the other servants when she had started her position. The only reason Clarence Montgomery had taken in Amelia, the daughter of a distant cousin, was because she was an heiress. Though her father had been in trade and the head of the household disdained all those who had to work for a living, the fortune Amelia was to inherit someday had apparently been sufficient enough inducement for him take her in.
Unfortunately, Amelia’s sizable inheritance did not mean she was treated with any degree of warmth. For the most part, she was ignored the way she would have been if she’d been a poor relation. But Isobel was grateful for Martin, a sweet and conscientious child who was completely unlike his parents. Amelia would always have a friend in him—and possibly a doting husband if Sir Clarence pushed for a match between them.
At least Isobel hoped that was where the baronet’s intentions lay. It was the most benign of the possibilities she’d considered for her youngest charge.
“It can’t be a long ride, especially as Amelia isn’t wearing a habit. We have another lesson upstairs in a quarter hour,” Isobel called after the children as John helped little Amelia to the mounting block.
“Master Martin can lead the little Miss around the paddock for a few minutes,” John said as he opened the gate for the pair.
She nodded and Amelia beamed at her, a genuine and grateful smile. The little girl primly adjusted her skirts while Isobel went to stand at the paddock fence, crossing her arms on the top rail.
Martin led the chestnut in a slow circuit inside the fenced off area. John joined her at the fence, smiling broadly.
“Pretty as a picture, aren’t they?” he asked warmly.
Isobel nodded but didn’t say anything. It would not do to encourage him, and he always stared at her a touch too long when she came to the stables with the children.