And brave.
Her admiration of him rose just as quickly as he bowed and exited the doors, a flurry of snow breezing in after him.
He had not thought it possible. To forgive so easily.
All the journey here, and even more so when he’d neared Sharottewood and galloped along the cliffside, the old and familiar animosity flared against the man he’d believed to be his father.
But as he’d faced his lordship this last time, something had stirred again. Mrs. Shaw’s words perhaps. The now incessant plea, “Forgive dem.”
Or maybe it was just the man himself.
William had seen him not as the father who should have been there to raise William—but as a man, nothing more. One who had much at stake, a daughter he adored, a reputation passed down to him for centuries.
Forgiving him was easy.
And freeing.
Untying the reins from a horse-head hitching post, William wiggled his numb toes in his boots. The sooner he reached the village, the better. A warm bowl of mutton and hot milk would be heaven.
“Mr. Kensley!”
He turned, frowned, as Isabella Gresham raced down the left stairs without shawl or cape. When she reached him, her nose was already pink with cold, and she rubbed her arms with both hands. Why follow him?
She seemed at a loss too, as if she were not certain herself. Her eyes bequeathed pity. The last thing in the world he wanted. “You must come back in the house and warm yourself. It is far too cold to travel without respite, and it shall be dark soon.”
“Duke would not hear of it.” As if in agreement, the animal brayed. “Besides, we shall reach the village before sunset. A room is already waiting for us.”
“Does your horse make all decisions for you?”
A grin stretched. “Indeed. Everything from the books I read to the clothes I wear, I leave to Duke’s discretion entirely.”
She laughed, a light and fading sound, as white snowflakes stuck to her cheeks and hair. But when he led Duke forward, she hurried in front of him, urgency draining the humor. “Mr. Kensley, please spare me a word.”
“You are shivering.”
“I must apologize for my father. He is frightened, but very unjust and—”
“You need not worry yourself. I bear no ill will against him or you.” He nodded back toward the manor. “Now run along inside before you catch your death of cold.”
“I cannot see you go this way.”
What was she saying?
“If everything you say is true—”
“You doubt me?”
More pink suffused her cheeks. “No, I do not. But as such terrible circumstances have befallen you, I cannot imagine where you might go … or what you might do.”
He lifted his eyes to the snow-laden gate in the distance. “You need not worry after me. I have funds enough to keep me comfortable and two strong hands to work with.”
“If they must work somewhere” —her eyes fell to his hands— “I wish they would work here.”
Was she in earnest?
“I know Father. He is angry and temperamental today, but tomorrow he shall feel regretful of his behavior and be sorry he treated you so terribly—”
“It would not work, Miss Gresham.”
