your brother might be about, do you?”
Isabel stifled a sigh. Once Phillip chose a bride and married, she wondered whether she would have half as many female friends as she did now. At least a quarter of the current group seemed to have become acquainted with her merely as a way to gain an introduction to Earl Chalsey, and even the ones of whose friendship she felt assured seemed rather enamored of him. “He’s gone out with some of his friends today,” she supplied, “unless you’re referring to Douglas. I’m certain he’s about somewhere.”
Barbara laughed, so the answer was apparently self-explanatory. Yes, Phillip had another admirer. She’d stopped telling him about his conquests, because it only gave him a big head. A bigger one than he already had.
As they reached the stable yard, she slowed. A stableboy led a large chestnut gelding about the yard while Phipps, a piece of straw clenched in his teeth, watched critically. As he saw her, the head groom straightened and spat out the straw. “My lady,” he said, tugging at his forelock. “Mr. Waring ain’t arrived yet. Is there anything I can do for you?”
She’d probably seen more of Phipps over the past day thanshe had in the previous two years. No wonder he didn’t know what to make of her. “Lady Barbara wanted to see my new mare,” she said.
“I’ll have her brought right out for you. Delvin!”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Isabel broke in hurriedly, fighting the urge to turn and run. “She’s in her stall?”
“Aye. Fourth one back on the left.”
“I remember.” Taking a deep breath, Isabel walked into the stable. She only lagged a step or so behind Barbara, but inside she felt miles away from anyone—except for the two dozen horses blowing and nickering around her. Steady , she told herself. You don’t have to touch any of them or anything.
“Oh, Tibby, she’s lovely! Might I give her an apple?”
Forcing a smile, Isabel spotted the apple barrel and dug in to hand one over to her friend. “Certainly.”
Barbara took it. “Here you go, Zephyr,” she cooed, holding it out and then patting the gray on the nose with her free hand as she took the apple. “With that build and a name like Zephyr, she must run fast as the wind,” Barbara continued. “Promise me that you’ll let me try out her paces once she’s broken.”
Fast as the wind? Good heavens, what had she gotten herself into? “The—I—”
“I prefer easing a horse into accepting a saddle rather than breaking its spirit,” a low voice drawled from directly behind Isabel.
So he’d arrived on time. Isabel turned around to find ice-green eyes regarding her, one of them obscured by the ubiquitous straying lock of light brown hair. “You are very nearly late,” she said, unable to conjure anything more witty than that.
“I call it being prompt,” he returned. “As you requested…my lady.”
Barbara made a small choked sound behind her. Belatedly Isabel stepped aside, annoyed—and not for the first time—that she continually had to look up to meet Mr. Waring’s gaze. He had to be at least two inches over six feet.
When Barbara cleared her throat again, she shook herself. Pay attention, Isabel . “Mr. Waring, Lady Barbara Stanley.”
He inclined his head. “Lady Barbara.”
“Mr. Waring. You served with Lord Bramwell Johns on the Peninsula, didn’t you?”
Isabel hid an annoyed frown. Obviously she should have asked Barbara her questions about Waring.
“I did.”
“I’ve heard some of the tales he tells. They called the two of you and Phineas Bromley the Musketeers, did they not?”
“Among other things.” His tone polite but cool, he shook out the lead line he carried. “If you ladies don’t mind, I have some work to do.”
“Of course.” Isabel pulled Barbara back, and they watched as Mr. Waring attached the lead line to a buckle on Zephyr’s halter and led her out of the stall.
As soon as he passed by them, Barbara
Isabel stifled a sigh. Once Phillip chose a bride and married, she wondered whether she would have half as many female friends as she did now. At least a quarter of the current group seemed to have become acquainted with her merely as a way to gain an introduction to Earl Chalsey, and even the ones of whose friendship she felt assured seemed rather enamored of him. “He’s gone out with some of his friends today,” she supplied, “unless you’re referring to Douglas. I’m certain he’s about somewhere.”
Barbara laughed, so the answer was apparently self-explanatory. Yes, Phillip had another admirer. She’d stopped telling him about his conquests, because it only gave him a big head. A bigger one than he already had.
As they reached the stable yard, she slowed. A stableboy led a large chestnut gelding about the yard while Phipps, a piece of straw clenched in his teeth, watched critically. As he saw her, the head groom straightened and spat out the straw. “My lady,” he said, tugging at his forelock. “Mr. Waring ain’t arrived yet. Is there anything I can do for you?”
She’d probably seen more of Phipps over the past day thanshe had in the previous two years. No wonder he didn’t know what to make of her. “Lady Barbara wanted to see my new mare,” she said.
“I’ll have her brought right out for you. Delvin!”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Isabel broke in hurriedly, fighting the urge to turn and run. “She’s in her stall?”
“Aye. Fourth one back on the left.”
“I remember.” Taking a deep breath, Isabel walked into the stable. She only lagged a step or so behind Barbara, but inside she felt miles away from anyone—except for the two dozen horses blowing and nickering around her. Steady , she told herself. You don’t have to touch any of them or anything.
“Oh, Tibby, she’s lovely! Might I give her an apple?”
Forcing a smile, Isabel spotted the apple barrel and dug in to hand one over to her friend. “Certainly.”
Barbara took it. “Here you go, Zephyr,” she cooed, holding it out and then patting the gray on the nose with her free hand as she took the apple. “With that build and a name like Zephyr, she must run fast as the wind,” Barbara continued. “Promise me that you’ll let me try out her paces once she’s broken.”
Fast as the wind? Good heavens, what had she gotten herself into? “The—I—”
“I prefer easing a horse into accepting a saddle rather than breaking its spirit,” a low voice drawled from directly behind Isabel.
So he’d arrived on time. Isabel turned around to find ice-green eyes regarding her, one of them obscured by the ubiquitous straying lock of light brown hair. “You are very nearly late,” she said, unable to conjure anything more witty than that.
“I call it being prompt,” he returned. “As you requested…my lady.”
Barbara made a small choked sound behind her. Belatedly Isabel stepped aside, annoyed—and not for the first time—that she continually had to look up to meet Mr. Waring’s gaze. He had to be at least two inches over six feet.
When Barbara cleared her throat again, she shook herself. Pay attention, Isabel . “Mr. Waring, Lady Barbara Stanley.”
He inclined his head. “Lady Barbara.”
“Mr. Waring. You served with Lord Bramwell Johns on the Peninsula, didn’t you?”
Isabel hid an annoyed frown. Obviously she should have asked Barbara her questions about Waring.
“I did.”
“I’ve heard some of the tales he tells. They called the two of you and Phineas Bromley the Musketeers, did they not?”
“Among other things.” His tone polite but cool, he shook out the lead line he carried. “If you ladies don’t mind, I have some work to do.”
“Of course.” Isabel pulled Barbara back, and they watched as Mr. Waring attached the lead line to a buckle on Zephyr’s halter and led her out of the stall.
As soon as he passed by them, Barbara
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