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was overruling her common sense. Well, that, and the fact that the man was the most handsome servant she’d ever seen.
    When they reached the stables at last, the door was ajar. The strong odor of horse manure assaulted her nostrils, and she found Donovan standing beside Beauregard. The young boy wore a furious expression, and he was covered in filth. Perspiration had dampened his shirt, and he shoveled another pile of manure while the Irishman watched.
    “Nearly finished, lad. You’ve paid the price for your folly, I’d say. If you’re wanting to tell me where my ring is, you can stop.”
    Beau didn’t respond to the comment, but instead continued shoveling. It was the first time she’d ever seen him engaged in any kind of labor. His face was thunderous, but he had filled a wheelbarrow with droppings. The coachman, Nelson, was busy trimming one of the horse’s hooves near the far end of the stable.
    Mr. Donovan turned when he heard them enter. “Lady Rose, it’s glad I am to see you once again. Although I’m not so very presentable at the moment.” He sent her a rueful grin. She noticed, then, that he was wearing a different coat. It was still dirty and a bit worn, but it did have more of the look of a nobleman than the rags he’d worn earlier.
    “Why is Beauregard working in the stables?” she asked. And why was the Irishman overseeing the boy’s efforts? It wasn’t his place to do so if he had been ordered to leave the estate.
    “This young lad robbed me of my horse and belongings when I arrived here,” Mr. Donovan explained. “He agreed to muck out the stables as punishment for his mischief. And in the morning, he will bring back everything that belongs to me. That is, unless he wishes to clean the stables again.”
    Rose doubted if Beauregard had “agreed” to anything. But strangely, he had completed the task. She studied his face, but the boy refused to meet her gaze. Instead, he shoveled another heap of dung, ignoring both of them.
    “Where is your father, Beauregard?” she asked the boy.
    At that, he turned, and shot her a glare. “He was supposed to return three days ago.”
    Mr. Donovan caught her gaze, and Rose understood his silent nod. She had the feeling that he had also promised not to tell Sir Lester of his son’s misdeeds. For a moment, his green eyes lingered upon hers, and she could almost sense his thoughts: The boy needs his father.
    They all knew it. Beauregard constantly caused trouble, due to his father’s lengthy absences. Most of the folk were thankful when he returned to school after the holidays. Which made her wonder why Beau was here, instead of at Eton. She didn’t voice her suspicions, but instead remarked, “Won’t your family be looking for you, Beau?”
    “There’s naught to be worried about,” Mr. Donovan said. “I sent word to his household that he was paying a call upon you and your sisters and would be back at nightfall.”
    Beauregard shot him a sullen look, and rested his shovel against the stall. “My father will be angry at you for this when he returns. I told you, I wasn’t the one who stole from you.” He grumbled beneath his breath, muttering something about a horse that had followed him.
    Mr. Donovan ignored the threat and added, “You missed a spot in the corner, lad. Finish it, and then we’ll bring you home. After you’ve washed up, that is.”
    “We?” Rose asked.
    “Aye, a chara. You can accompany us when I take the lad home again. Then we’ll talk, and you can ask me all the questions you’re wanting to.” He strode over to the end of the stables and brought out Molly, one of the older mares. “Bring Calvert as a chaperone, if you’d like.”
    “That would be Mister Calvert to you,” the footman corrected with a glare. Iain only ignored the man.
    But the coachman stepped away from the horse he was tending and intervened. “Lady Rose needn’t go anywhere,” Nelson argued. “Especially with the likes of you.”
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