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she stood from the rock she’d perched herself on and gave a curtsy. She ducked her head more to cover her glower than as a sign of respect when departing from his company. Lord Brendall might not know it, but he was not her better. She’d not let him treat her with any condescension. The man was incredibly rude, and she’d not endure his company any longer than she needed to.
    The castle was big enough that they should be able to go a whole year before setting eyes on each other.
    “On that note,” she muttered to herself, then clearer for the company present: “I’ll take my leave, my lord. Mr.
    Harrow, I will meet you at the stables in . . . shall we say, fifteen minutes?”
    Mr. Harrow nodded as he lifted his hat and tipped it forward to her in farewell. “Till then, madam.”
    She gave him a smile before turning on her heel to head back to the stable. As much as she wanted to run, she kept her pace steady. She swore she could feel Lord Brendall’s eyes glaring at her retreating form.
    No wonder Martha had seemed bitter to her. It must be near impossible to work for such an awful man. She clenched her fists at her chest as she held the shawl closed over her. Was this what she should expect as a governess?
    Cruel treatment from employers who thought themselves better than her? Lord Brendall would have to learn to refrain from treating her as though she were no better than a commoner.
    It was deplorable behavior on his part. It wasn’t a wonder she’d never met him at any of the balls she’d been to in London. The man was uncouth, boorish. It shouldn’t matter that she was under his employ. She’d never treated a servant so poorly.
    On reaching the stables, she stepped inside without hesitation, happy to have a reprieve from the cold wind.
    There were six full stalls and a tack section on the far wall. No names adorned the doors.
    The first horse she passed stuck its head out and nudged at her shoulder as she passed. She scratched her hand between its eyes, right along the white stripe decorating its chestnut- brown coat.
    “Have you seen a little boy? I happen to be looking for one. Can’t say as yet what he looks like, since I haven’t had the plea sure of meeting him. I’m told his name is Jacob, and he’s rather fond of you and your brethren.”
    The horse bobbed its big head. The shushing of little feet sounded. Though she was having trouble locating the direction from which it came, she did not move from her position. She’d let the boy come to her.
    “Strange that no one has come forward. I would really like to know your name, horse. Don’t suppose you could tell me?”
    The horse blew out a snort of air. Still, there was no sight of the boy.
    “I suppose I’ll just have to name you myself. How do you like the name Maybelle?”
    “That’s a girl name,” came a soft voice.
    Not wanting to scare the boy off now that she’d made progress, she continued talking to the horse. “Well, if that name is too much like a girl’s, how about Zeus? Why have a masculine name if you can’t be a great Greek god?”
    The shuffling of feet grew louder, then a dark mop-headed boy came and stood close to her. She turned her head to the side and looked at him. He looked rather like his father with all that dark wavy hair.
    There were several things she noticed that seemed at odds with being an heir to the Brendall earldom. Young Jacob needed his hair trimmed. It was a ragged mess. With all the knots, she had to wonder if he had lice. He wore short trousers and a white linen shirt already smeared with dirt. Suspenders held up the trousers, which looked a slight bit big on him. His eyes were as blue as his father’s. And he did not smile. He looked at her as any curious child might.
    Only there was something else in his gaze. Was he afraid of her? Quite possible, being that she was a stranger.
    “His name is Ivan.”
    “Well, Ivan,” she said to the horse, “I think that is the perfect name for such a