Page 24 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
“Do you think they are Belten’s men?” she asked. Apprehension pummeled her gut.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’ll find out.” He hovered by her chair, hesitant to leave.
“Is there something else, Mr. Jackson?” Meg didn’t like it when Jack was concerned. He usually took any situation in stride, confident of his ability to protect her.
“I wondered if ye’d mind not going out on your own. I know ye like to take walks in the morning and ride yer mare.” He frowned. “I’ve got a bad feeling about ‘em. Would ye mind if I stuck close by when ye leave the big house?”
This wasn’t good. Jack rarely had “feelings.” Meg would be a fool not to heed the man’s warnings. “Of course, whatever you think is best. Would you mind sharing your concerns with Mr. Farrell? He can inform the staff, so we are all prepared for anything amiss.”
Jack bowed, a smile of relief spreading across his wide face. “Thank ye, ma’am. I’ll report back as soon as I know more.”
Sunday
“She did a fine job, milady,” said her stable master. Jones was a short, stocky man with a weathered face from years spent under the sun. “He’s a stout colt, already showing his spunk.”
“With you raising him, I’m sure he’ll be an excellent horse.” Meg stroked the slender neck of the midnight colt. She looked over her shoulder at Tommy. “What shall we name him?”
The boy rubbed his chin in serious thought. “Da says ye waited to name his mama, and when she hopped about the paddock, her name just jumped out at ye.” Tommy laughed and slapped his knee.
Meg laughed and rubbed Bunny’s nose as the mare patiently allowed the foal to nurse. “Yes, that’s true. So you think we should wait and choose a name according to his personality.”
“Yes, ma’am. If’n ye don’t mind.” Tommy shuffled his feet, stirring up dust and causing Chipper to bark.
“It’s a grand idea. We shall wait and see, little one,” she said to the foal, rubbing the star on his forehead.
“Tommy, would you please let Mr. Jackson know I’ll be taking a walk within the hour?”
The boy nodded and scampered off, Chipper on the lad’s heels.
Meg returned to the house and spoke with Mrs. Fanby, the housekeeper, about the menu for the coming week. She liked the middle-aged woman. Meg had hired her on the spot, a fellow widow from the village.
“How long will you be staying, my lady?” asked Mrs. Fanby. She sat across from Meg in the study, paper and pencil in hand. Her brown hair was smoothed back into a practical bun, her clothing prim but colorful. She wore bright shades and never failed to cheer Meg. Today, Meg approved of the azure muslin with a darker blue ribbon at the waist.
“I’m here until summer, I believe,” answered Meg. “I won’t be needed in London again until July.” She discussed the meals and budget, allowing Mrs. Fanby to make the minor decisions, satisfied with the housekeeper’s abilities.
“It’s a pleasure to have you back, Lady Drake,” said Mrs. Fanby, a warm smile crinkling the corners of her light-brown eyes. “Cook said there was leftover cottage pie if you’d like some later.”
“That would be lovely. I’m going for a walk and will have an appetite when I return.” Meg went to the entryway and donned her coquelicot spencer. She added a white scarf and mittens and a red bonnet to match the spencer.
“Mr. Jackson is waiting outside, my lady,” said the butler, opening the front door. “He wasn’t sure which path you would take today.”
“Thank you, Mr. Farrell.” Meg left the house. She was free again. Free from prying eyes, judgmental stares, and society’s rules. She whistled for Chipper, his bark echoing from the stable. “Shall we take the path to the woods? The temperature is mild, and the sun is bright.”
“You lead, ma’am, and I’ll follow.”
She sighed, knowing Jack wouldn’t walk beside her. Meg remembered the night he had carried her away from the fire and to the carriage. He must have been truly frightened for her to have acted in such a familiar manner.
The path was manageable, and she breathed in the scent of pine as they made their way toward the woods. Chipper sniffed along the edge of the path, occasionally venturing into the thin layer of snow to dig at something he’d caught scent of. The pup would always return to his owner with a bark to announce his arrival.
“Milady,” called Jack after they had turned to go back. “Could we stop for a moment?”
Meg looked over her shoulder to find him studying the snow. “What is it?”
“Hoof tracks coming from the woods. They lead toward the house and stable. I’d like to see where they end.” He rose from his squatting position and lifted his cap to scratch his head. His wool greatcoat was black against the white ground, creating a looming shadow over the snow. “I don’t like this.”
Meg swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. They hadn’t noticed any tracks when they’d left. Mr. Jackson walked parallel with her as he studied the hoofprints. “There’s three on horses. They stopped here and then headed back to the woods.”
“What do you think it means?” Had they been watching her? A chill ran through her at the thought.
