He had a feeling she was lying. “I’m glad.”
On the other hand, he’d crashed into a slumber deeper than anything he’d recently enjoyed in London. He loved his work, but over the last year, a strange restlessness had possessed him. The days passed in their usual busy whirl, but he was aware of a lurking dissatisfaction that grew with every success. Ridiculous at twenty-nine to feel like he’d climbed all the mountains, but he definitely needed some new challenge.
His family would say he was discontented because he needed a wi
fe. Devil take them.
Margaret bent to scratch the cat’s ears. “How are you this morning, Smith?”
“Smith?”
“When my mother was a girl, Miss Smith was her governess.”
A governess? He was right about Margaret being born to higher things than housekeeping. “Did she like her governess?”
“Oh, yes. She liked the cat, too.”
The stables were warmer than outside. Marginally. The only other occupants, apart from his mare, were a stocky piebald pony and a Jersey cow that Margaret had already fed and watered, if the animal’s contented munching was any indication. He gave the first bucket to the pony, then entered his horse’s stall. As he filled her water trough, Emilia nickered in welcome and nudged him with her noble head.
“Hello, my old darling.” He rubbed her nose and let the familiar scents of animals and hay and leather soothe his senses. “I hope you’re feeling a bit more like yourself this morning.”
Last night, poor Emilia had been completely beaten down and hadn’t shown much interest in the oats he’d found for her. Now he patted her chestnut flank and noticed Margaret had replenished her manger. “There’s no need for you to look after my horse.”
Margaret came and leaned on the door. “I think she might be lame. She’s favoring her right foreleg.”
“Blast,” he muttered, going down on his haunches to check. He immediately saw the swollen fetlock. No wonder Emilia had been limping. “I led her the last few miles to save her carrying me, but it mustn’t have helped.”
“You faced that blizzard on foot?”
He shrugged and began to run his hands down his mare’s legs. Only the front one was in trouble. Not good news, but it could be worse. “Needs must.”
“You won’t be going anywhere today.”
Unable to fathom Margaret’s tone, he lifted his head to study her—no great chore. “I could take your pony and go to the village.”
She shook her head. “He’s too old to deal with the snowdrifts. And there’s more snow on the way.”
He didn’t bother questioning her statement. She’d lived here long enough to know the weather. “No trips to Little Flitwick?”
“You’re stuck here until the weather improves.”
Hurrah. “And when is that likely to be?”
Her lips twisted. “May.”
He released a grunt of laughter as he stood. “I’ll see what I can do with Emilia.”
“Emilia?”
“I bought her in Emilia Romagna when I was on my grand tour. She’s served me well since.”
“Italy?” she breathed as if he’d offered her the key to heaven. He realized with no great surprise that this restricted life chafed at Margaret.
She was young and vital and beautiful. Of course it did.
“I’ll tell you about it, if you like.”
Hell, if he had his wish, he’d transport her there in a flash. The thought of a carriage ride to view the Colosseum by moonlight was damnably appealing. Or gliding along the Grand Canal in a Venetian gondola. Or taking a private box at La Fenice. By God, he’d make sure she didn’t see much of the opera there.