Lady Vivian Defies a Duke - By Samantha Grace Page 0,79
heady aroma of fresh hay and horseflesh.
She scanned the area, searching for the groom assigned to escort her.
“Is anyone here?” she called out.
Her inquiry was met with the soft snort of a horse and a swish of a tail from one of the closer stalls. She strolled down the aisle, craning her neck to peer inside each stall as she passed. The first two were empty, but the next held one of the finest horses in England. It was pure white and surely belonged to one of the ladies of the house.
The horse shook out its mane, preening for her benefit, no doubt, and pushed its nose against the opening in the stall gate. Vivi moved closer to stroke the horse’s nose.
“My, but you are a beauty. And just look at your lovely eyelashes. I’m positively jealous.”
A noise at the stable doors drew her attention. The figure of a man stood silhouetted in the entry.
“At last, someone arrives. I am Lady Vivian. Do you know if my mount has been readied?”
The man froze, poised as if to spin on his heel and dash away.
“Hold there.” She stepped forward, her hand raised in greeting. “You need only point me in the appropriate direction. Unless you are the groom assigned to accompany Miss Truax and me.”
He squared his shoulders and walked toward her. His deliberate footsteps struck the stable floors in an angry staccato.
Dear Heavens. Had she said something wrong? She began to back away until he moved into a shaft of light and his features were revealed.
“Owen?”
Her former groom’s glower could have reduced even the bravest of hearts to a quivering mess. Yet she knew Owen well. He was a harmless sort.
His golden brown eyes maintained their warmth, although his anger might account for the glow somewhat.
He had every right to be infuriated with her. She had caused him to lose his position and necessitated his move from Dunstable. After Mrs. Honeywell had spread the gossip around the village, no self-respecting family would hire him.
“My lady,” he said through clenched teeth.
“What are you doing at Irvine Castle? Are you employed by the duke?” It seemed too coincidental by half.
He stopped a foot in front of her. “Nay. I’ve a decent position with the dowager Countess of Stanwood, thanks to your cousin. Lady Brighthurst made certain I left with a letter of reference.”
“Oh?”
This was a much better outcome for his life than she had imagined. Why hadn’t Patrice told her Owen hadn’t been turned out without a reference?
She looked him up and down, unable to determine anything from his clothing. He dressed just as he had when he was a groom in her cousin’s stables. Even though he had crow’s feet and a weathered face now, she could still see the handsome youth he had been.
“What is your position?” she asked.
His frown deepened, and she realized she had been ogling him.
“Pardon me,” she mumbled and shifted her gaze to the ground.
“I’m an outrider.”
Her head popped up. “Truly? How marvelous. Do you often travel with the countess? I can’t imagine how exciting it must be to see the countryside from high on your perch.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Forgive me, my lady, but I should steer clear of you. Wouldn’t want you to cry foul again.”
“Cry foul?”
He tried to slip past her, but she halted him with a hand on his arm.
He recoiled.
“I never said a word, Owen. What is your meaning?”
“We can’t speak in the open if you refuse to let me go,” he whispered harshly.
Looking both directions and apparently determining all was clear, he grasped her elbow and pulled her into an empty stall. She almost laughed at his absurd solution. This was what had gotten them into trouble from the start.
His manner was too bold for a servant, but she had always considered him a friend. She could never take him to task for his presumptuous behavior. In truth, as a young girl she had thought they would marry and had told him as much. He had chucked her on the chin good-naturedly and said he would never marry a knobby-kneed twig like her. His comment had hurt her tender feelings, but later he had offered to help her climb the big oak tree she’d been pestering him about. She had forgiven him at once and renewed her determination to win his regard.
It wasn’t until two years later she had come to realize the truth. A lady of noble birth couldn’t marry a servant.