Banishment (Daughters of Mannerling 1) Read Free Page B

perhaps to the house later.’
    ‘Then we will see whether I can manage your choice of mount.’
    Isabella was wearing a pale-blue velvet riding dress frogged with gold. On her head was a jaunty little hat with a chiffon scarf wound round it, the ends being left to float out from the back. He was in a well-cut black jacket, doeskin breeches, and boots with brown tops.
    They rode away from the Mannerling estate at a sedate canter, which was all Isabella’s mare could manage. As they approached the stables of Perival, the name of Lord Fitzpatrick’s estate, Isabella began to look curiously about her. There seemed to be a great deal of activity everywhere. Men were working on the roofs of cottages, men and women were working in the fields. She had expected everything to be run down and so it was, but energetic efforts appeared to be underway to put everything right.
    ‘I bought it cheaply,’ he said as if reading her thoughts, ‘although the repairs and work to be put in on the fields will come to quite a bit.’
    She wanted to say that she thought Irish peers never had any money at all but did not because it would be impolite. When they arrived at the stables, she had a clear view of the house, a fairly modern mansion; she remembered hearing that it had been built in 1750. It was solid and square without ornament or even creeper to soften its lines, but it looked sturdy and well-built.
    The viscount had brought servants from Ireland, particularly stable staff, and he was amused at the effect on them of the beauty of Isabella Beverley. His head groom stood open-mouthed and had to be gently called to order. A tall, rangy-looking hunter was brought out for Isabella’s inspection. ‘His name is Satan,’ said the viscount. ‘Do you think you can handle him?’
    The pride of the Beverleys came to Isabella’s rescue. ‘Of course,’ she said haughtily.
    Her side-saddle was taken off the mare and put on the hunter, which was led out to the mounting-block. She was helped up into the saddle. The ground seemed an awful long way below her. ‘Ready?’ asked the viscount and she nodded.
    They set off and then the viscount turned off down a bridle-path lined with trees. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘let’s see how fast we can go.’
    Her heart in her mouth, Isabella spurred Satan to a gallop. He went off like the wind. At first it was terrifying, then it was exhilarating, then she felt like singing for joy as the great horse flew like a bird straight down the path and then across open fields. She finally reined in beside the viscount at the top of a rise, her eyes shining and her face flushed. ‘Well done, Miss Beverley,’ he said with a touch of surprise in his voice.
    ‘You play a dangerous game, my lord,’ she said lightly. ‘What would you have done had I not been able to handle the brute?’
    ‘You forget, I am an Irishman. I could tell by the very way you sat on Satan as we rode out from the stables that you could hold him. Besides, he’s safe enough. Neither a biter nor a bolter.’
    ‘I would like to buy him,’ said Isabella.
    ‘My regrets, lady, he is not for sale.’
    ‘I would give you a good price.’
    ‘That is one of my favourite horses and I would not part with him for money . . . or for love.’ His blue eyes glinted at her. ‘Anyway, there are things that are not for sale, O rich Miss Beverley.’
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘Such as warmth and loyalty and friendship. Most of my servants would opt to work for me without wages should I fall on hard times.’
    ‘As would ours, I hope,’ said Isabella.
    ‘Would they now? Care for them, do you? Look after them when they’re sick?’
    ‘We have an excellent butler and housekeeper. The welfare of the servants is their business.’
    ‘I have heard it said in the county that Sir William expects the servants to make themselves scarce when he approaches, or to turn their faces to the wall. You know, that sort of master does not often command loyalty, and one never