He went to retrieve it, wondering if this was Margaret playing a game. But it could not have been Margaret, would not have made sense...
Because the object that had arrived was a letter addressed to her, already unsealed.
Early afternoon was a much better time for outings, Margaret had to admit.
The sun broke across the Wiltshire countryside, sending a pale golden light over the rye fields past the river. Margaret tightened the strap of her riding glove as she walked toward the stables, her breath misting in the chill. The yard smelled of hay and old wood. A young stable boy was mucking stalls, speaking with the head groom. He bowed for Margaret as she came within view,headed for the mare chosen for her, Selene, who snorted as Margaret approached.
Isadore stood waiting at the edge of the stables, her borrowed riding habit buttoned high to the throat, dark hair tucked neatly beneath her hat. She tugged on the reins of the horse she had selected, trying to calm it.
“Yours has a much fiercer spirit than mine,” Margaret said, taking Selene from the groom and walking her toward Isadore. “My horse seems practically sleepy by comparison.”
“I have ridden Thalia a few times, but she has never been so agitated before.” Isadore looked up at the horse’s dark muzzle. “Makes me a little nervous, if I’m honest.”
“If you like, we could swap,” Margaret suggested, already handing Isadore Selene’s reins. “My riding experience is not as great as some ladies...”
“But definitely more extensive than mine.” Isadore smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Margaret gestured for them to set off, trying to pull Thalia into submission as they walked away from the stables. The horse barely wanted to move. Margaret groaned, asking Isadore to wait. She pulled herself into the saddle with practiced ease, and Thalia complied at last.
“Indomitable beast,” Margaret leaned down to whisper playfully into Thalia’s ear. She looked back, and Isadore trotted toward her. “They all have such pompous names, don’t you think? Lord Somerton must have been responsible for naming them. I can’t imagine His Grace choosing Calliope and Arion for his own stables.”
“I don’t know him enough to say,” Isadore admitted. “Mr. Graham’s dog is named Badger, which is not much better.”
“Badger? A more palatable name than Arion, perhaps, but not by much.” Margaret laughed, directing Thalia through the wooden gate that led off the estate. “You arrived earlier than I did. Were you waiting for me long?”
“No more than a quarter of an hour, must have been.” Isadore stared straight ahead. Riding suited her—made her seem more like a duke’s sister than ever before, almost regal. “I did not sleep particularly well last night.”
Margaret frowned, wondering if it had anything to do with Bastian. “Are your... accommodations not to your liking?” she tried.
“They are no less or more to my liking than yesterday.”
“Right. Then did something else happen to provoke such a restless night, I wonder?”
Margaret was pushing her luck, but if Isadore was suspicious, she didn’t show it. She shook her head with a tepid smile, and Margaret surrendered in silence.
The two women rode without speaking at first, the crunch of hooves on the forest floor filling the quiet space between them. The forest closed in around them, hissing, near-barren trees swaying overhead as they took the winding trail through the woods to the fields beyond.
Margaret had imagined the ride going differently—a chance to speak plainly and understand the girl who might become her sister-in-law. Alexander and Mr. Hawthorne had gone off to Salisbury again, leaving the two of them alone. But the sight of Bastian's face the day before, too close to Isadore's by the river, clouded her thoughts. She had told Alexander that she suspected true love, but the more she thought about, and shehadthought about it, the more she worried something else was afoot.
The edge of the forest came into view, and Margaret looked nervously at Isadore, riding beside her. She couldn’t hold her questions in any longer.
“I was wondering...” She paused, reevaluating her strategy. “It would have been nice if Mr. Hawthorne had accompanied us today. He is an excellent rider from what I hear, and he knows all the paths in this place—and much further afield too.”
"Oh?" Isadore's tone was wary.
Margaret kept her gaze forward.
"Yes, and I thought it would have been especially nice since the two of you seem to have become so close. I imagine it pleases His Grace terribly to see that you have become friends. He does keep Mr. Hawthorne in the closest confidence. And yet, it seems unfair to me that he should have a shoulder to lean on, and not you... So if there was something you wished to say, or someone you wished to speak with, I want you to know that you can trust me, Miss Bell.”
She didn’t dare look at Isadore for a while, worried she had revealed too much. Isadore’s silence unnerved her, and when she finally looked back, Isadore had stopped Selene in the middle of the woods. Margaret tightened the reins, stiff in the saddle. She turned Thalia, waiting.
“Did I say something wrong?” Margaret asked.
“It was just...” Selene twitched beneath Isadore, and she moved down to clap the horse soothingly. “Mr. Hawthorne has been extremely kind to me, Your Grace. And it would be wrong to gossip about him.”
“Yes, but we are not gossiping, are we? That the two of you have become close is a fact.” She could see Isadore tense. Margaret cursed herself, but it was too late to back down now. “Miss Bell, I am only saying this because I saw you yesterday, at the edge of the property... with Bastian.”
Isadore was silent, absently stroking Selene until the motion of her hand stopped. Margaret thought she saw Isadore shiver.
