Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

" S teady on!" the Earl of Fernside, known to Frederick simply as George, called out after Frederick, who was pushing his mount a little harder than usual. "What is the rush!"

"I told you that today was going to be a short ride," Frederick responded without looking back.

"Yes, but when you said short, I did not think that we would be racing the entire time. I might have skipped that second helping of breakfast if I had known."

Frederick chuckled. "Perhaps you should have skipped it anyway."

"I shall pretend I did not hear that! Now—" George kicked his legs into the side of his horse, bringing himself in beside Frederick. "Will you please slow down. It is far too hot to be moving at such a pace. A leisurely ride was what I expected today. Leisurely being the operative word."

On the horizon, across the meadow that the two men were riding, Frederick could just now see his manor growing into the sky as if rising from the dirt. It brought him some relief to see, knowing he was so close to home which was the only reason that he heeded his best friend's command.

"Fine…" he sighed, pulling back on the reins and forcing his horse back to a slow trot. "Is that better?"

"Much." George exhaled and wiped the sweat from his brow, clearly relieved by the new-set pace, one which allowed him to lean back comfortably on the saddle and relax. "Honestly, man, you ride as if you have somewhere you need to be. Which I know for a fact that you do not."

"Perhaps I am simply growing tired of your company."

"Ha!" George chuckled. "We all know that is not true. I am a delight. Ask anyone who knows me."

"I do not need to ask. I am here, bearing witness to it firsthand. And for your information…" Frederick looked to his friend and grinned. "Your company is nowhere near as pleasant as you may think. Even your horse is tiring of you."

"Oh, you do not mean that…" He reached forward and stroked his horse's mane. "He loves me."

"Maybe it is just the extra weight it is forced to bear. Again…" A click of the tongue, and he eyed George's belly. "You really do need to get that appetite of yours under control. Your seamstress must be beside herself with all the work she has to do every time you tear open the backside of your pants."

George levelled a glare at Frederick. "Well, somebody is in a mood today. Such that I am willing to overlook these snarky comments about my weight—it is all muscle! You will remember that as a lad, I used to be able to pin you down with an arm tied behind my back."

"Muscle, of course," Frederick agreed lightly. "Simply in hibernation. Although winter has long since passed, George. So, I am wondering when said muscle will reappear."

"It is for you that I remain this way," George said with a good-hearted chuckle. "If I was to return to my former glory, I fear that the shame you would feel just to be seen beside me would damage your ego beyond compare."

"Is that right?"

"You are most welcome," George added with a wink.

Frederick chuckled as he went back to looking ahead, his stare trained on his manor as it came closer and closer. He and George had been out riding for three hours now which was only about half as long as they often rode—Frederick loved riding, and if he had his way, he would spend days doing as such; the freedom it brought was unlike anything else in this world.

Sadly, Frederick could not spend days riding. As things stood, even three hours felt like far too long a time to be away from home, such that he very nearly cancelled on his friend this morning and just may have if he did not want George to cause a fuss.

As to the reason for this need to be home so soon? That pestering sense of worry that sat in the back of his head, needling away so that he fidgeted in his saddle? The desire to ignore his friend, kick in his heels, and take off at a gallop so that he might be home sooner?

Miss Dowding was the reason… although, not for the reason some might think.

"Are you going to tell me?" George asked, watching the way that Frederick stared at his home as they came closer and closer. "Or am I going to need to guess?"

"Tell you what?" Frederick said dismissively.

"Guessing then…" George pushed his lips together and tapped them with a finger. "You have developed a rash around your thighs, and every second you spend in that saddle itches such that you might lose your mind."

"Funny."

"Perhaps a new maid has caught your eye," he winked, "and you wish to spend the day watching her as she dusts the head of your bed."

"Do not be ridiculous."

"You suspect one of the staff is stealing from you, and you want to be home to catch them in the act?"

Frederick looked flatly at his friend. "Are you quite finished?"

"Are you going to tell me what is troubling you?" he shot back, raising both eyebrows in warning.

"Urgh…" Frederick groaned and rubbed his forehead. "It is nothing that exciting, I promise you, but…" He eyed his home, wondering how best to explain the circumstance to his friend without raising any unwanted questions. "… I have recently hired a new governess for my daughter?—"

"Another one?! You go through them like bottles of wine!"

" And —" he emphasized over his friend, "I wish to be close to home to keep an eye on her. That is all. If anything goes wrong—you know how my daughter is. I wish to be there, just in case."

George did not speak for a while, and as they rode, Frederick could feel his eyes upon the back of his neck. He knew what was coming, for he knew his friend well which had him regretting that he'd said anything in the first place.

"A new governess is it?"

"That is what I said."

"Huh." A beat. "Is she a beauty?"

Frederick groaned. "That is neither here nor there."

"Ah, so she is, then." He chuckled. "And you wish to keep an eye on her is it? Very dotting of you, Your Grace…" He chuckled further. "The care you have taken in your daughter's education is truly a marvel that other fathers should look to as inspiration for?—"

"Oh, enough of that!" Frederick snapped. "It is the truth. I did not want to hire the woman—my grandmother forced my hand is why. And while she is certainly fit for the role, I do not trust her."

George snorted. "Somehow I doubt that your grandmother would be able to make you do anything you did not wish to do."

"Meaning?"

"Oh, you know my meaning." He grinned. "That your grandmother is not nearly as at fault as you wish for me to believe."

Frederick scowled at him. "I could hardly say no—she is the daughter of a viscount, if you believe it. She is also verbose in the way she speaks, rude to a point yet seemingly unaware of it. The type of woman who enjoys testing the limits of what a lady of the ton can get away with for fun and—what? What is that look?" he accused his friend, noting the smile behind his eyes.

"I did not say anything!"

"She is trouble," Frederick emphasized with finality. "And if any trouble should arise, I wish to be there to see it. For my daughter surely will not tell me…" He muttered bitterly, knowing that to be the truth.

Trouble… it felt like the perfect word to describe Miss Dowding. For so many reasons…

For three days, she had worked as Isabella's governess, and for three days, Frederick had spent more time thinking about her than he cared to admit. Oh sure, it was easy for him to repeat the lie he had just told George, that it was his daughter's education he cared about only and that was why she refused to vacate his thoughts. But that was only half the reason… less than half.

Frederick could not stop thinking of that kiss! And not just the kiss but everything that happened before it. The way they had argued. The manner in which she had defied him—speaking to him in ways that nobody, anywhere, had ever dared to speak. The effect that this had on his self-control, the urges it boiled up inside of him, and his inability not to act on said urges.

Frederick prided himself on his control. He had spent a lifetime molding himself into the perfect bastion of the ton and everything it stood for. And yet all it took was being alone in a room with that woman, and his walls had come crashing down around him.

Even worse, deep down, he wished for it to happen again. Not that he would ever say such a thing out loud.

"You know," George began carefully, "it is not such a bad thing to find a woman attractive."

"What are you talking about?" Frederick snapped.

"I am just saying, if this governess is as beautiful as you said?—"

"I never said that."

"Implied then," he corrected. "Is that such a bad thing? You are single. She is single. You need a wife. She needs a husband?—"

"I never said anything of the sort," he dismissed.

"But you do need one," George pointed out. "And before you snap and snarl at me, even you must admit that it is high time that you married again. With but one daughter to your name, an heir is what you need, Your Grace. And what better way to produce one than through wedlock."

Frederick turned in his saddle and glared at his best friend.

George held his hands up as if to surrender. "Just something to think about is all."

Frederick had thought about it. For years now, in fact, he had thought long and hard on the subject of marriage. As a Duke, it was expected that he marry again if for no other reason than to produce an heir. But did he want to do that? His last marriage was such a disaster that he didn't much relish the idea of going through such an ordeal as that ever again.

Although—and this was a thought that had come to him these last few days—if he could find the right woman—one who cared not just for him, but for Isabella also—it might not be the worst thing. Certainly, it would be something to consider.

"Come on." Frederick gave his head a shake, dismissing those thoughts as he kicked his heels into the side of his horse, taking off. "It is time we got back."

"Urgh!" George did the same, muttering under his breath as he tried to catch up to Frederick. "My stomach!" he groaned. "I really should not have had that second helping…"