The Devil's Mistress by David Barclay (summer reads txt) 📗

be stopped. She would not marry Thomas, and she would not be told what she must do in her own home.

She had no notion of where she was going. Her legs carried her all the way across the grounds, out the gate, and to the small pasture where they loosed the horses in the afternoons. Beth and Lily were there, as were several geldings from the stable, all of them chewing lazily in the afternoon damp.

Then, quite unexpectedly, she came upon Jacob. There was a water trough round the bend, and he was washing himself using an old bucket. In spite of the cold, he was naked to the waist, rubbing his knee where the wood met the stump. His shirt and coat hung upon the nearby fence post.

“Oh,” she said.

He glanced up. “My lady.”

The circumstance should have embarrassed her, but given how the morning had turned out, she found herself not the least bit flustered. “All done with the repairs, I see.”

There was a grunt of a response.

“My father means well. He wouldn’t have put you up there if he wasn’t sure you were up to the task.”

Another grunt. “Is that an apology?”

Isabella laughed. “I…no.” Then, “What do you mean?”

Jacob dumped the bucket of water, fetched his shirt from off of the fence, and slipped it over his head. He grabbed the bucket and then began walking purposefully back toward the gate.

“I suppose you’re angry with me, too. I cannot seem to please anyone today, can I?” Isabella had broken down in front of her father. She promised herself she would not break down in front of this boy.

Jacob stopped.

“First, I tell Madam Huxley her son is an unctuous beast, then I tell Father I refuse to marry him, and he tells me I must. My entire life is upside down, and now my own servant boy won’t even speak to me.”

Jacob turned, regarding her with an expression that was part disbelief and part censure. The same look she had been getting all day.

“What?” she said. “Speak it, if it be of your mind.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He had never spoken plainly with her, not in all the years she had known him. It would not be proper, but in that moment, she cared little for what was proper.

“Tell me.”

“My lady, I—”

She crossed the trail and planted a kiss on his mouth before she realized she was going to do it. His lips were rough and moist, and tasted faintly of the apples from the nearby orchard.

He leaned toward her a long moment. Then with no warning, he stepped away. “You cannot do this, Elly.” It was the first time he had ever used her name.

“I can do whatever I like.”

He smiled at her, but there was no happiness in it. “That is the problem, my lady. You may think as such, but the world does not change simply because you will it to be so.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said haughtily.

“You do without care of consequence. What do you think will happen if you do not marry Thomas?”

“I would think you would be glad on such a thing.”

“In another life, perhaps. One where I still had my leg, and I could earn an honest day’s wage without selling my soul to your father.” He smiled again, and this time it was positively miserable. “No matter what the Lady may say, he is not well. When he dies, my servitude shall be pledged to the Huxleys. And you, if you do not end up a beggar, shall be married to someone much poorer and crueler than Thomas. Whatever futures we may have had were etched in stone long ago. That is the consequence you fail to see.”

“But the Lady said—”

“Lies, Elly. Lies meant to take in a young girl in exchange for payment.”

“I paid no coin,” Isabella said, but her mind flashed back upon the moment in the cellar, the moment where the Lady had made her final demands. Let us speak of my payment, child, and then you shall be upon your way. Isabella had told Jacob everything about her encounter, save that.

“You paid something.”

“I got what I wanted.” No matter how handsome Jacob was, he could be difficult sometimes. “And what is it that you want, Mister Reeds?”

He grimaced. It was a most unhandsome expression. “I want a nice, quiet piece of a land. My own stable. My own horses. If I can live out my days in peace, away from this place, I’ll be happy enough.”

Isabella almost choked. It was the silliest, saddest thing she had ever heard. “Well, if you shall not help secure my future, then you should at least offer me distraction. Fetch the carriage.”

Jacob shook his head. “Mister Sands has more work for me yet. I do not think your father would approve either. Do you?”

She almost caught herself with her mouth hanging open. The sheer nerve of the boy. “Then I should like to go riding.”

“In that?” Jacob indicated her dress. For the morning’s errand, Isabella was clad in her best finery: a cream-colored bodice with laced sleeves and a voluminous skirt. Admittedly, not the attire for an afternoon ride.

“I do not wish to argue. Fetch me a saddle.”

“I know not what you—”

“Now, Jacob. Leave me your knife.”

The boy handed over his workman’s blade with a grunt, then began walking toward the stable. As soon as he was gone, Isabella took the knife and cut the skirts from her waist. The rich fabric fell away in strips, leaving her with nothing but a ragged petticoat to cover her legs, and even it did not cover them completely.

When Jacob reappeared at the mouth of the gate, he was carrying a thick red saddle made for a man. He was trying very hard not to stare.

Isabella took the saddle from him and turned at once, climbing over the fence and heading toward Lily, who was the most well-mannered of the mounts.

“Where are you going?” he called.

She waved a