“Has that dashing Mr. Smith finally spoken for you?” asked Miss Hodwell.
“Dodie,” scolded Mrs. McGovern. “I told you that we don’t trust Mr. Smith’s intentions.”
“Oh, I forgot,” said Miss Hodwell with a crestfallen sigh. “But if it’s not Mr. Smith making Miss Oliver smile so brightly, then what is it?”
“If you must know, it is Mr. Smith I’m smiling about.”
“I thought so!” said Miss Hodwell.
“Has he spoken for you, then?” asked Mrs. McGovern.
“We’ve spoken of marriage and our families, and while he expressed a desire never to marry, I do believe that I can change his mind.”
“Ah. And why do you believe that?” Mrs. McGovern asked with a frown.
“I know it deep in my heart.” His kiss had beena passionate promise as surely as any elegant proposal. She was sure of it.
“Have you been alone with him?”
“Perhaps.”
“My dear, I must warn you about good-looking, well-spoken men who—”
“There’s really no need, Mrs. McGovern. My mother has given me all the warnings I could require.”
And Sandrine had thrown caution to the wind and ignored her mother’s rules and warnings in the garden, but she didn’t feel guilty about it because she knew that her mother would approve of Mr. Smith once he proved himself to be worthy.
“Then, where is Mr. Smith?” asked Mrs. McGovern. “He was supposed to be here a half hour ago.”
“I’m sure he’s been delayed at the inn. Perhaps his horse needed another shoe. I’ll begin the reading, shall I?”
The two elderly ladies exchanged worried glances. Sandrine ignored them, blithely opening the history book she’d brought, and began to read.
Four long chapters later her voice and her spirits were beginning to flag. What could be keeping him from their appointment?
She closed the book. “I think I’ll just run round to the Squire and ask after Mr. Smith.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Hodwell with a gentle smile. “Perhaps that’s for the best.”
Sandrine kept her gait sedate, though shelonged to run the short distance to the inn. She stopped in at the stables to speak with Big Harold.
“Miss Oliver,” said the gentle giant of a man, doffing his cap. “And how are you this fine afternoon?”
“I’m well, thank you. And how are your children?” He had six young children and another on the way.
“Lively as ever. They keep the missus busy, and that’s no lie. How might I help you?”
“I don’t see Gladiator in the stalls. Is Mr. Smith out riding?” She tried to keep her voice nonchalant, but Big Harold gave her a searching look.
“You don’t know?” he asked.
“Know what?”
“Mr. Smith left two days ago. Rode off in great haste with a huge thundering beast of a man nearly as tall as I am.” Big Harold shook his head. “Poor fellow had scars crisscrossing one side of his face. I heard the punters whispering that he was a duke and a war hero.”
Danny had a friend who was a duke? Then Sandrine remembered the story he’d told her about his friend, who’d been both injured and jilted during the war. It could have been him. “Did they say where they were going?”
“I don’t think so. The war hero had Mr. Smith’s bags all packed and Gladiator ready to go. He wouldn’t even allow Mr. Smith a moment to have a pint before he left.”