Vic intercepted him as he was descending the steps,
unbothered by the rain. “Found the horse. They’re taking care of it in the
stables. It’s not hurt that I could tell.”
“Thank you. I’m sure Mrs. James will be grateful,” Sage
said as he climbed into the carriage. He rapped on the roof and thought about
what he would say to the neighbors.
He knew the story about Mrs. James, of course. Anyone who
mingled in local society had heard the tale. Disgraced and pregnant, she’d
married on her fiancée’s deathbed. She’d lost the baby soon after, to her
in-law’s disgust. “The one thing she could have done properly,” her
father-in-law, Lord James, was known to grumble.
At her late husband’s request, she’d refused to wear black,
further scandalizing her relatives. Sage didn’t care for the mourning fashions
of the day, considered them silly. Through gossip, he knew she’d worn colors of
darkest red, midnight blue, emerald-black and sable with black trim. He
recalled the bit about the trim because one harpy had been particularly
virulent about it.
Mrs. James wore a black veil over her hat, though never
over her face. Also, her father was a down-at-the-heel gentleman of dubious
reputation. A gambler, he was said to be good to her, but not responsible. By
all accounts she’d been the grownup, and had won respect and a certain amount
of sympathy before the scandal.
He frowned. Hadn’t her father died in a carriage accident?
It wasn’t like him to forget details, but it had been an eventful night. He
watched as they left the tall, gargoyle-guarded iron gate and turned onto the
country road. It took only minutes to reach their neighbor’s drive. In kinder
weather he might have walked.
The James property was a staid country manner that would no
more consider changing shape than its owners would permit unicorns to graze the
lawn. The carriage clattered up to the cobbled front yard. Umbrella in hand, he
stepped out and rapped at the door.
Lord James received him promptly. A sober gentleman with a
bit of a belly and thinning hair, he was in his late fifties. He’d shown Sage
to the library, and after he’d been assured that Mrs. James was alive and
whole, he’d been quite put out with his daughter-in-law. “Silly gel! I’ve told
her that gelding was too much for her. She rides pell mell for leather in any
kind of weather, ignoring all sense. What was my son thinking?” It was unclear
whether he referred to the gift of the horse or choice of wife.
Sage let his gaze trail over library, wondering at the
fashion for dark wooden panels and general gloom. “Hm. Well, she’s welcome to
our hospitality while she recovers. Would you care to send some of her things
with me? Lady Griffin won’t hear of moving her until she’s better.”
“Of course, of course. Very kind of her.” Lord James nodded
to his butler, who promptly left, presumably to pack a bag.
Lord James wandered over to the sideboard. “May I interest
you in a brandy? Nasty out.”
“Thank you, no. I must be on my way,” Sage demurred. “Will
Lady James need further assurances?”
Lord James waved a hand. “I’ll tell her what’s happened
after she returns from visiting her sister. I’m sure she’ll call on you soon.”
Sage smiled sardonically and took his leave as soon as a
truck had been packed. If he were Mrs. James, he’d be grateful for the
vacation. It was obvious there was no love lost here.
