After riding down to the seashore, then back up the craggy slope to the road, William slowed the horse to a trot and made his way back to the stables in approaching darkness. Humming, he pushed open the door, then slapped the rear of the animal. “In with you, Browny-the-Beau.”
The animal neighed and hurried to his stall, just as a flash of pink caught William’s eye in the lantern light.
His chest tightened as Isabella stepped forward. “I rode after you, but Camilla could not catch up,” she said.
“Something is wrong?”
“No.”
“Then you should not have ridden after me.” He went to Browny-the-Beau’s stall and started brushing down the chestnut Arabian stallion. “At least not alone.”
“You are terrible.” Her voice cracked. “As terrible as Mrs. Morrey and Father and …” She pressed herself to the other side of his stall, hands clamped on the edge, fire in her voice. “How dare you treat me the stranger, as if I had done something wretched to you.”
“You have done nothing against me.”
“Then why do you treat me this way?”
“Why should I not?” He dropped the brush, turned to face her, the stall wall between them. “We would be fools to pretend there were not bulwarks between us.”
“Because you are no longer wealthy?”
“Yes.”
“Because you are Father’s stable hand instead of his son?”
The words trailed a line of fire through him. “Yes.”
Her jaw jutted. “Then you lied to me.” She started away, but he circled the stall and grabbed her elbow.
“How have I lied to you?”
“It is no good to speak of it. I must go—”
“Isabella, please.” He realized too late. Why had he spoken her Christian name? When had he begun thinking of her as Isabella instead of Miss Gresham?
Her face colored in the orange glow of lantern light. “You said a man is not what he possesses, but what he does with himself.”
“I spoke in truth.”
“As a gentleman, you were not too good to aid Mrs. Shaw in her rags and poverty, or visit Mr. Abram in his lowly cottage. Yet you have deemed that I cannot be a friend to you. Why?”
“It is … uncustomary.”
“No more than your actions to Mrs. Shaw and Mr. Abram.” She slid free of his gloved hand. “It does not matter. I misjudged you and thought more of our friendship than I should have.” She hugged her cloak tighter. “I shall not bother you again.”
He stood braced as she walked to the stable doors, and pride should have allowed him to watch her walk through them without stopping her.
But she was right.
“Isabella.”
The door creaked as she eased it open, and a cold wind stirred at her cloak and pink dress.
“Forgive me.” He smiled. “And promise me one thing.”
“What is it?”
“That you shall retract your promise.”
