Love Springs Anew by Isabella Thorne

Author:Isabella Thorne [Thorne, Isabella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mikita Associates
Published: 2019-04-08T04:00:00+00:00

* * *

The next morning Philippa broke her fast with Charlotte and her father, and afterwards retired to the garden with another book. She sat with her back to the great stone fountain, and held the volume open with one hand in her lap. The early morning spring air was a bit chilly. She pulled her shawl close as a breeze caused her to shiver.

“There is going to be a bit of rain,” a deep voice called, “Perhaps a thunderstorm.”

Philippa startled as she looked up from her reading to see The Duke of Chesney approaching. She stood quickly, tucked her book under her arm and curtseyed to him, before replying. “Certainly not, Your Grace.”

“You do not think we are in for a thunderstorm?”

“No. It shall pass,” she said with confidence. “See, the wind is already blowing away the clouds.” She gestured as the sun peeked through the billowy shroud.

“I bow to your expertise,” he said after kissing her hand. “Another book?”

“Indeed,” Philippa said.

“Poetry?”

Philippa grinned and held the book up. “Mathematics.”

“Mathematics?” the Duke laughed. He shook his head slowly from side to side. “You are surprising.”

“I cannot be interested in maths?”

“You can certainly. Just, most women are not.”

“Most women are rattlebrained ninnies,” Philippa said. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I thought of you, and I wished to know if you would like to accompany me today to my holdings.”

“Your holdings.”

“It is really but a farm. The true lands are north of London.”

“You have a farm nearby?”

“Of sorts. A small property my mother owned, and now I own it. I do not have much with it day to day, I have a good man who lives there. He sees it through.”

“What do you grow?”

The Duke laughed. “I don’t know.”

“You do not know what you grow on your own farm?”

“It’s been close to three years since I’ve been there. There is a stable there as well, I intended to ride for the afternoon, not help with the current crop.”

“I love to ride,” Philippa said.

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“Then you must join me,” the man requested. Philippa gave it a little thought, and then nodded.

“I shall then,” she said.

She considered asking Charlotte to come or perhaps Lydia, but neither were very fond of horses and riding. Of course, she could coerce either one of them into chaperoning her, but she was Charlotte’s chaperone, not the other way around.

She doubted her father would raise an eyebrow at her going with the Duke, no matter how irregular it was, but he was not at home to object. Anyway, he was concerned with Charlotte, not with her. She was no blushing flower. Surely she did not need a chaperone, when she was one herself!

It was a longer trip than she expected, and by the time the carriage stopped at the end of a long path, just outside a large white farmhouse, Philippa’s backside was sore from the coach jostling over the rutted road. The Duke helped her down from the carriage, and led her to the home. Inside a man named Mr.

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