Isabelle and Alexander, Rebecca Anderson [nonfiction book recommendations .TXT] 📗

The desire to touch his arm startled her, and she took a small step backward but retained her smile so as not to appear disinterested.

“Perhaps we can share this simple pleasure after our ride.”

A momentary flash of sympathy suggested to her that perhaps his silence in the carriage was brought on by nervousness. Was it possible he had been worried his gesture would be unappreciated? Did he, as Mrs. Burns seemed to think, fear her censure?

He’d remembered a few of the silly things she’d said on that first visit to the country. How many other things did he recall? She’d spent the past several months convinced that he didn’t even notice her in his home. That she was an item he needed to collect to ensure his acceptability in Manchester society. But here, in the country, he seemed to recall even things she’d forgotten about herself.

It caused her to wonder about the less-pleasant parts of her conduct. Did he notice her sighs? Her glances of disappointment? What else that she was certain he’d ignored had he actually attended to?

She set the pear on a table. “I look forward to sharing it with you.”

“Come, then, if you will, and meet your Destiny.” He held out his hand, and she took it, bringing to mind the evening earlier in the week, the one that prompted him to invite her here. She was once again comfortable in his grasp.

“Meet my destiny? That sounds formidable.”

He chuckled. “Not at all. Destiny is your horse, if she suits you.” With that small laugh, his worry and coldness seemed to peel away, and he became once more the charming Mr. Osgood she glimpsed now and then.

As they walked to the stable, he explained that in the past, he’d boarded the horses in the town and hired a young man from the village to act as groom when he’d come to Wellsgate to stay. “If it will please you, I could arrange for someone to come care for the horses during our visit.”

If it will please you? Isabelle felt a shiver of giddiness run up her arms. He wanted to please her.

“As we’re staying only a short time, I’d like to tend to the horses myself.” She felt his posture change, sensing a stiffness. “If that’s not improper, of course.” The difference between her childhood and their new life together was clear when she had to ask questions like that.

She felt his arm relax around hers. “I don’t care if it’s proper or not. If you want to brush and curry and fork hay and pour oats, I’ll not stop you.”

She turned her head in time to see his smile.

They stepped inside the stable, the slats in the wooden boards letting in beams of afternoon sunlight in which dust and straw filaments danced. Isabelle inhaled. She loved the scents of a stable.

Alexander led her to a stall where an enormous stallion, eighteen hands high if he was an inch, stamped and snorted. His black eyes shone like polished stones in a stream, and he pulled his lips back to show his huge teeth.

Isabelle attempted to be brave. “This is Destiny?” She dared not reach her hand out toward the beast for fear he might bite it off. She felt her heart race. What could she say that was both true and kind? “He’s magnificent.” She was certain Alexander could hear the terror in her voice. She hadn’t any reserves to hide it.

Alexander shook his head. “This is Allegro. It is a friendlier name than he deserves.”

Relieved that this was not the horse he’d chosen for her, Isabelle said, “What would be a better name?”

“Something like Diavolo or Tempesta.”

“Do all your horses have such descriptive names?”

“Not all of them. Goblin is my favorite,” he said, pointing out a dappled gray. He gestured over his shoulder to a white horse in the stall behind them. “She’s Prancer. And Destiny is here.” He walked her to the stall of a beautiful chestnut.

“She’s small,” Isabelle said, grateful for the difference in size between this horse and the first one.

“But she’s fast and strong,” Alexander said, possibly misinterpreting her comment for complaint.

“‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’ My cousin used to say that about me.” Isabelle chuckled at the memory.

“I believe it,” Alexander said. “Shakespeare. Your cousin is a scholar?”

Isabelle shook her head. “I believe he would like to be known as a great reader, but in truth, he only studies what strikes his fancy.” She reached over the top of the stall door and opened her palm so Destiny could get used to her scent. Surprise filled her at the joy she felt as Alexander invited confidences about Edwin. “He is not anyone’s idea of a great scholar.” She remembered some of the tantrums Edwin’s tutor would throw when Ed refused to be entranced by the Greats. “He detests Latin. We shall never speak of mathematics. He completely fails to grasp any of the nuances of the astronomical sciences. But he does enjoy a good book: novel, essay, policy, religious text.

“Sometimes I think he should write one of his own,” Isabelle mused as the horse nuzzled her hand. “He could become a writer. He does well at the initial burst of creativity. But he’d likely rather despise the mundane nature of revision.”

“And you?” Alexander’s voice was quiet, casual. The formality was gone. “What will you become?”

Shocked, Isabelle could barely keep her hand on the horse. Become? She was a wife. That was her contribution. Upon marrying, she had relinquished all childish thoughts of becoming anything other than a lady of her husband’s society. Somehow, in this moment, she felt the possibility that he might believe her capable of more. Was it possible he saw something in her beyond how she appeared beside him? Before this moment, she had never supposed any such thing. Were circumstances changing? Was Alexander changing? She gathered herself and turned to him with a smile. “Perhaps one day I’ll defeat the injustice in the