A Happy Beginning (Sweet Treat Novellas)

Chapter One

Against all odds, Sophia Pemberton had fallen in love. With Scotland.

For six months she had resided on a large estate with Loch Lomond to the west and Ben Lomond to the east, and she already thought of the wild and untamed countryside as home. The estate was not hers. The land was not hers. Yet somehow she had come to think of the view as belonging to her.

The children she tended, however, were far more difficult to love.

“I will not be spoken to that way by a servant.” Seven-year-old Ella Haddington sniffed at the stable hand holding her pony’s lead. She, along with her brother, was undertaking their riding lessons.

“You were kickin’ the pony, miss,” the beleaguered young stable hand explained. “She don’t like when you do that.”

“It does not matter what I was doing,” Ella snapped. “You are not permitted to order me about.” The girl sounded like her mother.

Sophia had learned early in her time as the Haddingtons’ governess that correcting any of the family in their treatment of the servants only made the situation worse.

Though the servants weren’t overly fond of her, she didn’t want to cause trouble for them.

She’d learned to bite her tongue, no matter how much she wished to speak.

“I do not like this pony.” Nine-year-old Joseph never liked any pony the stable master chose for him. “Give me another, Buchanan.”

Duncan Buchanan, the Haddingtons’ stable master, simply kept chewing on the length of straw between his teeth. “I’m fully certain the animal don’t care for you either, laddie. He manages to endure it, though.”

Sophia bit back a smile as she bounced almost one-year-old Jane on her knee. Duncan never allowed the Haddingtons to run roughshod over him. He never allowed anyone to run roughshod over him.

“Well, I don’t like the pony.” Joseph tipped his chin upward.

The stable master gave a firm nod and pulled the straw from his teeth. “Fair enough.” He tossed the straw aside then stepped up to the boy and pony. He reached up and pulled Joseph from the saddle and set him on his feet.

“What are you doing?” Joseph demanded.

“You can walk,” Duncan said. “A fella who doesn’t appreciate his pony doesn’t deserve to be carried about by the animal.”

“I will tell my parents that you didn’t allow me to finish my lessons.”

“I’ve no doubt you will.” Duncan jerked his head in the direction of the house. “Best get on with your tattling, boy.”

Joseph huffed away from his pony in high dudgeon, slowly making his way toward her, his scowl reaching monumental levels.

He would be impossible for the rest of the day, more so than usual.

Still, Sophia couldn’t begrudge Duncan his scolding.

Joseph deserved the sharp words; he received them far too seldom.

The little tantrum didn’t distract Duncan at all.

He gave a quick, sharp whistle. The pony turned its head in his direction.

He clicked his tongue and motioned for the animal to follow, and it did.

They always did. The animals heeded him.

His stable hands heeded him. Sophia had even seen Mr. Haddington subdued by nothing more than a sharp look of censure from the self-possessed master of his stables.

Duncan never said much to anyone but kept very much to himself. Still, everyone within a several-mile radius knew and respected him. Sophia also kept very much to herself, but all she had to show for it was eating every meal by herself and having no one to talk to.

Joseph reached her and set his fists on his hips. “I am hungry.”

“You may have milk and biscuits after your sister has finished her riding lesson.” Sophia continued bouncing little Jane, hoping to stave off the usual noonday fussing.

Joseph’s fussing generally couldn’t be staved off. “I won’t wait for her.”

“You have little choice.”

His little mouth turned down in a monumental pout. “Why do you never do anything helpful?”

When she’d accepted the position as governess to three young children, Sophia had imagined that her days would be spent imparting wisdom to eager learners, going on morning walks and afternoon outings, singing, and laughing.

Not one of those predictions had proven accurate.

The children disliked her, and she worked hard not to return the sentiment.

“Duncan,” the stable hand called out. “The lassie’s kickin’ her horse again.”

A second stable hand emerged, taking up the reins of the pony that Joseph had been riding.

Duncan turned to face Ella and her mistreated mount. “Am I needing to set you on your feet as well, missie?”

Ella was a bit less blustery than her brother, but only a little. “The pony is too slow.”

“That is because you are practicing riding at a walk today. Of the two of you, only that beast is managing the thing.”

Oh, to have the ability to speak that way to a member of the Haddington family. Duncan Buchanan had an air of inarguable authority about him. She could not imagine Queen Victoria herself arguing with Duncan.

In the early weeks of her employment, Sophia had been rather intimidated by him.

But she’d watched him, likely more often than was seemly, and had discovered something else about the stable master.

He was stern, yes, but he was also kind.

She’d never heard a sharp word spoken to his staff that was not both necessary and deserved.

He had never mistreated the animals in his care, even those whose stubbornness must have been exceedingly frustrating.

Though he told the children in no uncertain terms when their behavior was unacceptable, he never did so with anger or malice.

Duncan Buchanan was something unique and wonderful.

Ella had twitched her chin up to a haughty angle, an expression she had most certainly learned from her mother. “I do not want to ride at a walk any longer,” she told Duncan.

“Very well.”

Quick as anything, Duncan pulled Ella from her saddle and set her on the ground, just as he had Joseph.

Ella approached Sophia’s chair with her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. “I meant I wanted to ride fast.”

“Mr. Buchanan will allow you to ride fast when he feels you are ready to do so.” Sophia had spent much of her six months at Haddington House attempting to teach the children to be concerned with the welfare of others rather than only themselves.

The effort hadn’t yielded results, but she didn’t know what else to try.

Jenny, a maid from the house, arrived at precisely that moment. She always came to fetch the children at the end of their lessons. She must have noticed that Joseph’s ride had come to a premature end.

“Jenny is here,” Sophia told the children. “You are to wash before your milk and biscuits, as always. Cook will not send up your tray until I tell her to, and I intend to check your hands when I reach the nursery. Is that understood?”

They grumbled, which was all they ever did when given instructions to do something they did not find enjoyable.

Sophia handed Jane to Jenny. “Thank you for fetching them.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Pemberton.” She curtsied as she spoke and kept her eyes diverted.

Though Sophia no longer claimed a spot on the upper rungs of Society, the servants at Haddington House treated her as if she did.

Even the upper servants, with whom she was on more equal footing, treated her like a stranger around whom they didn’t quite know what to do or say.

Of course, to the Haddington family, she was every bit as dismissible and lowly as a scullery maid or a knife boy.

She had been warned that such was the plight of a governess, to never belong in either world, but the reality of the situation had proven more difficult than she’d anticipated. She had never in all her life felt so utterly alone.

Usually Sophia spent the fifteen minutes after Jenny took the children up to the house leisurely making her way to the nursery. But this day, she’d come to the paddock with a plan, one she hoped she had courage enough to see through.

She approached the gate, watching as Duncan instructed his stable hands in their tasks.

Her eye couldn’t help but be drawn to him whenever he was near.

He was handsome, yes, but the pull she felt was far more than the appeal of his dark hair and piercing brown eyes.

His posture was one of a man confident in his abilities and sure of his place in the world.

Everything about him told a person that his respect had to be earned and could be just as easily lost. Such an obvious and palpable degree of confidence was an unusual thing in members of the servant class, who were taught to appear subservient even if it went against their natures.

What was it that made Duncan so different from others of his station?

How was it he communicated so much when generally saying so little?

And would he, as she suspected and desperately hoped, prove to be the one person on the entire estate who might be willing to toss aside conventions and treat her like a real person?

A moment later, he spotted her at the gate and stepped over to her. The tiniest change in his expression asked the question he didn’t speak out loud: What was it she wanted?

“May I ask a favor?”

Duncan nodded, a fresh piece of straw moving up and down between his lips. She didn’t know why he did that, nor why it was so mesmerizing.

“I have Friday afternoons to myself,” she said. “And, I—” Heavens, this seemed presumptuous now that she was actually asking. “When I was growing up, I used to ride a great deal. I would very much like to do so again.”

“You would?” He didn’t speak often, but she never tired of hearing his gravelly, Scots voice.

“I never learned how to saddle a horse, and I realize that means one of your stable hands would be inconvenienced. I am, however, able to brush a horse down after a ride. I don’t mean to leave the estate, so I wouldn’t need any help riding, or anyone to accompany me.

I am simply hoping for a moment of. . .” She wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.

She hoped for a moment of enjoyment? Of peace? Happiness?

“How long has it been since you rode?” he asked.

“My father sold the horses four years ago—all but his, that is, but I was never permitted to ride his gelding.”

Duncan leaned against the gate frame. “Was the horse too powerful for you?”

She shook her head. “I am an excellent horsewoman. My abilities were not in question; he was simply never very good at doing without.”

The straw moved about as he watched her, silently. Had she asked too much? Presumed too much?

“So you’ve not ridden in years,” he said. “You’d be wise to keep to quiet mounts early on, until you’ve accustomed yourself again.”

Hope tickled at her heart. “Then you’ll allow me to ride?”

“That favor’s not mine to grant,” he said. “The master and missus dictate such things.”

“Oh.” That was not good news.

She couldn’t ask Mr. Haddington for permission; he had an unsettling way of looking at her.

His presence was only bearable in locations where she knew every possible exit.

With Mrs. Haddington’s tendency to insult and demean, she was not a much better option.

Still, Mrs. Haddington didn’t feel threatening in the same way her husband did. She was unkind but not dangerous.

Sophia would simply have to choose the lesser of the two evils. “I will ask Mrs. Haddington.”

“Truly?” His brows shot upward and his eyes pulled wide.

“It seems the only choice if I wish to ride again.”

Duncan made a deep sound of contemplation. “If Mrs. Haddington says aye, I’ll see to it you’ve a horse to ride come Friday afternoon. Kelpie would give you a fine ride. Mina would as well.”

“Truly?”

He nodded.

“You won’t change your mind?” she pressed. “People are forever breaking their word to me.”

Another communicative nod.

“And please assure whichever of the stable hands assigned to help me that I am far better behaved than any of the children.”

He stepped back from the gate. “Aye. I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Buchanan.”

He offered no words of welcome or farewell. He simply nodded again.

She watched him walk back to the stable, her heart leaping about. She’d found the nerve to approach him, to speak with him on a personal matter. How long she had wanted to do that.

Her mind spun with possibilities. He would see how well she rode, how much she knew of and enjoyed horses.

They would have something to talk about.

Perhaps, sometime in the future, he would even ride with her.

Perhaps she would be permitted to come by the stables to visit with him.

In time they might come to be friends. Perhaps something more than friends. . .

Perhaps.