“Very well. I shall leave departure to Mr. Kensley’s discretion. Excuse me.” He left quicker than he had arrived, and Isabella turned back to face William.
“I shall walk with you upstairs. Here. Give me the books and hold on to my arm.”
He did neither, but did not protest when her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow. As they passed from the library to the hall, she offered a slight squeeze.
As if in sorrow for Lord Gresham’s scorn. As if in understanding of his pains, external and internal. As if in care of him. Sweet, guileless care of him.
The one thing he needed more than anything else.
“I should like to borrow a carriage.” William stood fully dressed in his bedchamber doorway, having waited for Isabella’s morning visit.
She was punctual as ever. At his words, though, she strode faster down the hall and frowned. “You insisted you should like to leave on horseback.”
“I am not leaving yet.”
“But the carriage—”
“I want to see the man. The Mr. Abram you spoke of.”
Her dark brows lifted. “He is but a mere farmer. He would not expect you to visit, nor would he expect thanks. Especially when you are still so very weak—”
“I don’t care if he’s a ragpicker or a king. He saved my life. I want to see him.”
Isabella hesitated, pink flooding her cheeks as if she understood the haughtiness of her words. Didn’t she realize a pauper was of no less value than a man of wealth? Why did it seem as if she always placed the poor beneath her? Were those the morals Edward Gresham had taught his child?
William went back into the bedchamber, retrieved his hat, and left the hall with her following after him.
“I shall go with you.”
“I do not imagine your father shall approve.”Theirfather, that is.
“But you shall need assistance.”
“Hardly.” In the last fortnight, he’d been traveling down to the library twice a day, and the journey through the house, each time, seemed to increase his strength. Within days, he would be ready to leave. Perhaps sooner, if the carriage ride went well.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Isabella latched on to his arm. “Please wait one moment and I shall gather my bonnet and gloves. I daresay, I shall not consent to sending for a carriage if you do not take me with you.”
Conniving little vixen. Did she always get her way?
“Very well.” He nodded her away. “Hurry off with you then.” Soon they were seated in a phaeton and driving through the impressive Sharottewood gates.
His nerves twitched as they followed the road along the cliffside. He scanned the area. Where had the assailant hidden? Had the man with the continental hat already rushed back to William’s aunt and delivered the news?
Or was it Horace who wanted him dead?
William would know soon enough. As soon as he was able to stay atop a horse, he would return to Rosenleigh and do what he should have done all along. Fight without running.
“Mr. Kensley?”
“Hmm?” When she said nothing, he glanced at her. A blue-green sea rippled behind her, and the sweeping breeze stirred the black ringlets at her chin.
“Have I said something amiss?”
“What?”
“To make you angered with me.” She swallowed. “Or disappointed.”
Did it matter so much to her? His approval or disapproval?
