what she
was trying to protect.
A
low rumble of a voice cut through the haze of frustration and
resentment thickening in her head.
"If
your bailiff is incompetent, Miss Oldridge, why do you not find
another? Do you keep him out of sentiment? It cannot be for his
skill, if he wants so much managing."
Her
gaze swiveled sharply to him. Her astonishment must have shown,
because he smiled and added, "Did you think I wasn't attending?"
It
was a small, crooked smile, and it made her heart go a little
crooked, too, and beat erratically.
As
though sensing Mirabel's agitation, her mare Sophy edged away from
Mr. Carsington's gelding.
"I
thought you had gone to sleep," Mirabel said.
"I
was thinking," he said.
"Remarkable,"
she said. "That never occurred to me."
"I
admit it is unusual," he said. "Those who know me will say
I'm inclined to act first and think later. But I'm trying to mend my
ways."
"I
was unaware you had ways in want of mending," she said. "I'd
thought all the Carsingtons were paragons."
"The
paragons are my two older brothers."
"But
you are the famous hero."
His
mouth twisted. "I merely contrived not to disgrace myself during
the short time in which I fought."
"You
are far too modest. You risked your own life several times, to save
others."
He
gave a short laugh. "That's what men who don't think do. We
plunge in without considering the consequences. It hardly seems right
to call sheer recklessness 'heroic.' However, considering my complete
lack of experience; I will take credit for not getting in anybody's
way or killing any of my compatriots by accident."
Mirabel
wondered why he was so deeply uncomfortable about any mention of his
wartime experience. Though he kept his voice light, she'd caught the
bitter undertone. She studied his face, but he was on guard now, and
his strongly sculpted features told her nothing.
"You're
impulsive, you mean," she said. "That is the fault you are
trying to mend."
"If
only that were the sum total of my faults," he said. "I
fear I'm not one of the Carsington paragons, and not likely to become
one."
"I
hope you do not," she said. "You are trouble enough as it
is, even in your desperately flawed state."
He
was a greater trouble than Mirabel was prepared for.
This
day's journey was futile. He'd never see what she'd achieved or have
any inkling of what she'd sacrificed to achieve it. He wouldn't
understand why she'd bothered. She didn't know how to explain about
her bailiff, why she supervised him so closely. She was not about to
delve into ancient history or explain an anxiety even she wasn't sure
was completely rational. Those were private matters, and he was a
stranger, a London-bred stranger.
He
was incapable of seeing the value of a place like Longledge Hill, and
so could never comprehend the harm his canal would do.
But
this wasn't the worst of her troubles.
While
he'd looked and seen nothing, Mirabel had caught a glimpse of the man
behind the flawlessly groomed exterior.
The
glimpse made her want to know more.
She
knew this was a bad sign, and ordered herself not to probe further.
"Have
you seen enough of Longledge Hill?" she said. "We can turn
back any time you like."
"I
doubt I've seen enough," he said.
"Very
well." Mirabel gave Sophy leave to walk on. The gelding and his
rider promptly followed suit, and her groom Jock trailed behind at a
discreet distance. • • •
ALISTAIR
meanwhile was regretting his recent impulse. He was beginning to wish
he hadn't challenged Miss Oldridge to take him on this tour. She was
muddling him horribly, and this time it wasn't completely the fault
of her clothes, though they were maddening enough.
Her
slate blue riding dress was five years out of date, her round cork
hat was losing its trimming—which didn't match the dress—and
her green boots clashed with everything.
The
ridiculous rig was all the more vexing because she was a skilled and
elegant horsewoman. Though he knew any number of women who rode well,
he
was trying to protect.
A
low rumble of a voice cut through the haze of frustration and
resentment thickening in her head.
"If
your bailiff is incompetent, Miss Oldridge, why do you not find
another? Do you keep him out of sentiment? It cannot be for his
skill, if he wants so much managing."
Her
gaze swiveled sharply to him. Her astonishment must have shown,
because he smiled and added, "Did you think I wasn't attending?"
It
was a small, crooked smile, and it made her heart go a little
crooked, too, and beat erratically.
As
though sensing Mirabel's agitation, her mare Sophy edged away from
Mr. Carsington's gelding.
"I
thought you had gone to sleep," Mirabel said.
"I
was thinking," he said.
"Remarkable,"
she said. "That never occurred to me."
"I
admit it is unusual," he said. "Those who know me will say
I'm inclined to act first and think later. But I'm trying to mend my
ways."
"I
was unaware you had ways in want of mending," she said. "I'd
thought all the Carsingtons were paragons."
"The
paragons are my two older brothers."
"But
you are the famous hero."
His
mouth twisted. "I merely contrived not to disgrace myself during
the short time in which I fought."
"You
are far too modest. You risked your own life several times, to save
others."
He
gave a short laugh. "That's what men who don't think do. We
plunge in without considering the consequences. It hardly seems right
to call sheer recklessness 'heroic.' However, considering my complete
lack of experience; I will take credit for not getting in anybody's
way or killing any of my compatriots by accident."
Mirabel
wondered why he was so deeply uncomfortable about any mention of his
wartime experience. Though he kept his voice light, she'd caught the
bitter undertone. She studied his face, but he was on guard now, and
his strongly sculpted features told her nothing.
"You're
impulsive, you mean," she said. "That is the fault you are
trying to mend."
"If
only that were the sum total of my faults," he said. "I
fear I'm not one of the Carsington paragons, and not likely to become
one."
"I
hope you do not," she said. "You are trouble enough as it
is, even in your desperately flawed state."
He
was a greater trouble than Mirabel was prepared for.
This
day's journey was futile. He'd never see what she'd achieved or have
any inkling of what she'd sacrificed to achieve it. He wouldn't
understand why she'd bothered. She didn't know how to explain about
her bailiff, why she supervised him so closely. She was not about to
delve into ancient history or explain an anxiety even she wasn't sure
was completely rational. Those were private matters, and he was a
stranger, a London-bred stranger.
He
was incapable of seeing the value of a place like Longledge Hill, and
so could never comprehend the harm his canal would do.
But
this wasn't the worst of her troubles.
While
he'd looked and seen nothing, Mirabel had caught a glimpse of the man
behind the flawlessly groomed exterior.
The
glimpse made her want to know more.
She
knew this was a bad sign, and ordered herself not to probe further.
"Have
you seen enough of Longledge Hill?" she said. "We can turn
back any time you like."
"I
doubt I've seen enough," he said.
"Very
well." Mirabel gave Sophy leave to walk on. The gelding and his
rider promptly followed suit, and her groom Jock trailed behind at a
discreet distance. • • •
ALISTAIR
meanwhile was regretting his recent impulse. He was beginning to wish
he hadn't challenged Miss Oldridge to take him on this tour. She was
muddling him horribly, and this time it wasn't completely the fault
of her clothes, though they were maddening enough.
Her
slate blue riding dress was five years out of date, her round cork
hat was losing its trimming—which didn't match the dress—and
her green boots clashed with everything.
The
ridiculous rig was all the more vexing because she was a skilled and
elegant horsewoman. Though he knew any number of women who rode well,
he
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