Isabella's Heart

By Diane Merrill Wigginton

In this follow-up, to Wigginton’s (Angelina’s Secret), the focus is on Isabella Deveraux, the daughter of Lady Angelina Marguerite Amelia Deveraux, the heroine of the first book. As the story begins, Isabella experiences a disturbing dream about her twin brother, Charlie, on the eve of her 19th birthday. We quickly learn that Isabell

• Language: English
• Publisher: independent Author
• Release date: Apr 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781946146052

Diane Merrill Wigginton

Diane Merrill Wigginton was born in 1963, in Riverside, California and moved to San Diego when she was eight years old. She enjoyed spending her summers in Burley, Idaho, with her mother's parents, Florence and Orval Merrill, and it was during her time on the farm, riding horses, herding cattle and taming the wild kittens born in the haystacks every year, that Diane developed a love of storytelling and dreamed that one day she would tell her stories to others.

Book preview

Prologue

JANUARY 29, 1783

LONDON, ENGLAND

A Pub on the Wharf

letter HE NIGHT WAS RIPE FOR celebration as Charlie and his two companions set out for what they all hoped would be a pleasant adventure. It was Charles Philippe Deveraux’s nineteenth birthday and he was going to show his buddies how the son of a duke celebrated in style.

The White Boars Pub, a somewhat unseemly establishment, sat in the middle of the busy London Wharf District, with a reputation for attracting a most unsavory clientele.

Stepping through the well-worn doors of the dimly lit pub, Charlie and his two companions were nearly overwhelmed by the initial stench of sweat and piss emanating from the unclean rabble assembled within.

It was almost too much for the three young noblemen, but they were determined to find what they came this far to find: excitement!

Charlie Deveraux, Thomas Swift, and Ashton Longmire had left the university earlier that day, determined to break free of all conventional constraints and find some trouble, come hell or high water. And if trouble was not to be found, it would not be for lack of trying.

Oxford was a prestigious university, but Charlie found the constant constraints and protocols suffocating. He missed his home, and the freedoms he had enjoyed growing up. But most of all he missed me, his twin sister.

His mind wandered momentarily back to a simpler time, when we climbed the large, old trees that surrounded our chateau in France. Hiding in the large branches, we lay in wait to bombard our two younger siblings, Honore and Nicolette with our ammunition of rotting fruit.

What mischief we always seemed to find ourselves in, Charlie recalled. He allowed the memories to flood his mind only briefly, because they were just too painful otherwise.

He and I had always been close. In fact, he couldn’t remember a moment in his life when I hadn’t been by his side, until the day we had been loaded into carriages and sent to separate schools, several hours apart, three years ago.

He had taken a lot of ribbing from the other boys in his dorm when he first arrived at his boarding school. He would sit at his writing desk and pen lengthy letters to me every other day, then wait with anticipation for my reply.

Before he knew what had happened, one of the young men he roomed with ripped a letter from his hands and began reading it aloud to everyone that would listen.

Charlie had been humiliated and shamed by all the young men in the dorm. After that, he just stopped writing all together and concentrated on his studies.

But that was then and this is now. Charlie was out with his two best friends. They were there for one reason, to have some fun and just maybe, if they were lucky, find a little trouble to get into.

1

SPRING, 1787.

DUBLIN, IRELAND

letter GREW UP IN A LOVING home, overlooking the Bay of Biscay, in France.

Our lavish home and lands were awarded to Father for services rendered to the crown during the Seven Years War, a battle fought throughout Europe for political domination. My brother Charlie and I were blessed to grow up in this loving home, with plenty of sunshine, sand, and room to run free. Of course, we had the normal teachers, siblings, and parents who occasionally tried to come between us, but Charlie and I always managed to thwart their best efforts.

Charlie was named after my mother’s brother, who died at the age of five, when Mother was just an infant.

I was named after a beloved grandmother of my father’s.

As twins born of one womb, I often felt as if we were of one mind. I would think of something and Charlie would know exactly what I was thinking and vice versa. We had a strange connection that gave us an advantage over other children. I always knew where to find Charlie, even when he didn’t want to be found. In turn, Charlie always knew how I was feeling, even when I insisted that I was fine, when I truly wasn’t. We each shared an intuition about the other that some felt was abnormal or not of this earth, and yet I never gave the matter much thought because this was just the way our minds worked. I guess I always knew we were different from other children, and I was all right with that because I considered it a gift we were given, not a curse.

Charlie was very handsome, with dark auburn hair like Mother’s and striking blue eyes like Father’s. He was blessed with a natural athletic ability and physical appeal that drove all the young ladies around him to distraction.

I, on the other hand, had dark hair like Father’s, with streaks of red running through it that showed up when I spent too much time in the sun. My eyes were the same jade green as Mother’s, but from time to time, tiny flecks of blue would appear when I was distraught or scared. I was also blessed with my mother’s curves, which I found vexing when I wanted to keep up with Charlie, or run free through the countryside, masquerading as a boy.

Eventually, I learned to use my God given gifts to my advantage when it came to my male counterparts. I found that it was infinitely easy to sway them to my way of thinking, when it suited me, by simply pouting or giving them a well practiced look. Charlie said it was the devil in me that made me so good at it. But I say it was the need to survive in a male dominated world that made it necessary for me to resort to such tactics.

Our parents had a strong loving bond that often manifested itself in ways that embarrassed Charlie and me. We especially despised their public displays of affection when they were anywhere near us. We made funny faces and acted as if the life was being sucked from our very souls. This was done in hopes of distracting them, but it never seemed to work. Mother and Father ignored our antics, choosing instead to stare longingly into each other’s eyes and laugh like children sharing a private joke.

Mother referred to us as her little angels when we were born. Yet it didn’t take long for us to earn reputations as petits diables, titles we earned because of our devious or creative minds. It really was a matter of perspective. We had a way of coming up with new and innovative ways of tormenting our younger siblings, Honore and Nicolette.

Honore was named after Father’s best friend and confidant who was a permanent fixture in our home. We affectionately referred to our little brother as Honore the Younger, a nickname he despised for some reason, so we never missed the opportunity to take our digs. Honore was three years our junior, while Nicolette was two years younger than Honore.

Nicolette was a pleasant child but a bit quiet in comparison to the rest of us, and it often felt wrong to torment her as we did. But Charlie and I dealt out our brand of torture to our two siblings equally. Unfortunately for Honore and Nicolette, Charlie and I had a little sibling rivalry of our own going on, and it knew no bounds. When I say sibling rivalry, I mean we both tried to out do the other, especially when it came to annoying our younger siblings.

That was, until that dreadful day when our parents came to a decision that changed everything. They decided that our education was better served abroad, at separate boarding schools in London.

We were told it was in our best interests, and that we needed to develop healthy relationships with other young men and women outside of our small, but intimate circle of two.

To say that my life was turned upside down would be an understatement.

I broke down and clung to Charlie as if my world had just fallen apart. This did nothing to sway our parents’ decision. I felt off kilter and my life took on a new direction altogether, one fueled by anger and general mistrust of all people who weren’t my brother, Charlie. I will say that the unfortunate experience did teach me a few things that came in handy later on. I learned to think and to do everything for myself. I became strong, self sufficient and independent minded.

There were some harsh critics among my peers who called it something else altogether. They said I was tough, inflexible, and far too stubborn for my own good. There were even those who claimed I possessed a few severe character flaws that would prove to be of detriment to me later in life. Yet, I was deaf to their criticisms, as it didn’t serve my purpose at the time.

My challenges and problems stemmed more from a broken heart than anything else. I felt incomplete, as if a part of my vital organ had been ripped from my chest, while it was still beating.

Most children our age might have pleaded with their parents to reconsider, but not Charlie. He resigned himself to his fate, obediently stepping into the waiting carriage and graciously waving farewell as it pulled away.

It was safe to say that I was not like most children.

As I looked into my parents’ eyes that day, I vowed I would never forgive them for their betrayal. Then I took it one step further, like the proverbial knife to the heart, some would claim and I swore to them both that I would never again darken their door step.

I was fearless. But I think we are all fearless, until the unthinkable happens. Straightening my spine and drying my tears, I climbed into my waiting carriage, alone, with nothing but my sheer determination to keep me warm. I steeled myself against the urge to glance back at my appalled parents, standing in the drive, clinging to one another.

I’m sure the consensus between them was that I would come to my senses soon enough, that I was merely being a dramatic sixteen year old girl, and that the entire matter would blow over quickly enough and all would be forgiven with time. Instead, my resolve was only strengthened with each passing mile, and determination became the air I breathed.

To say that I was shaped into the person I’ve become today and that it can all be traced back to that one defining moment in time is a valid, but far too simple explanation.

So now I tell you my story, as I recall it.

2

JANUARY 30, 1783.

The Sisters of Our Lady’s Finishing School For Young Ladies Located in the English Countryside

letter HEARD THE CLOCK IN THE hallway chiming 4:00 a.m. as I tossed and turned restlessly. Unusual visions clouded my normally peaceful dreams.

I saw three young men sitting in a tavern drinking ale, as the foul stench of urine and unwashed bodies assaulted my senses. An overwhelming feeling of dread and fear coursed through my veins as I twisted in my sheets. I tried to study the young men enjoying themselves while they celebrated their special occasion, but I couldn’t see their faces clearly. They were seated next to others, and people were mingling around them.

I asked myself, ‘why do I feel so ill at ease if the young men are having a good time? But more importantly, why am I having this dream at all?’

I had never stepped foot into such an establishment. So why was this happening? I felt sick to my stomach and I didn’t like the crude behavior I was forced to witness, but I couldn’t turn away. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead, and an image of a white pig kept running through the tavern, between my feet, when I looked down. It was as if I was there with the men who were laughing and having a good time. That was strange that a pig was allowed to run free in a place where people were gathered and food was being served. Nothing in this dream made any sense to me.

Suddenly, one young man excused himself and staggered to the back of the tavern. He began to heave up the contents of his stomach and I felt a sharp pain in my own stomach at the same time. Wrapping my arms about my middle, I tried to comfort myself.

Making his way back to his companions, the young man placed his hand on the shoulder of one of his friends, Hey, Tommy, I think I’ve had enough celebration for one day. I’m going to find our room and sleep off this pounding in my head, he said, throwing a few coins onto the table, before he headed for the door.

Hey, Charlie, wait up, I’ll go with you, Tommy shouted after him. Ashton, the party is over, let’s go, he called to the third man seated across the table from them.

Slowly looking up from the woman’s neck he was nuzzling, the young man acknowledged his companions.

Why had that man called out my brother’s name? Again, nothing made sense to me. My brain seemed to be in a fog. I felt nauseous and dizzy.

Downing the contents of his mug, Ashton kissed the cheek of the young woman seated on his lap. Well, sweetheart, you heard the man, party’s over and I’m going to need my leg back, Ashton retorted, immediately standing up and unceremonious dumping the scantily clad woman onto her ample backside before she could get her footing. Staggering toward the door behind his friends, Ashton trotted to catch up, while slipping his coat on.

The three men came together half way down the block, laughing about the crazy night they had just had. Propping Charlie up between them, they stumbled their way down the street, as they looked for the sign of the Royal Crown Inn, where they had secured lodgings for the night.

Realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. The man they kept calling Charlie was my Charlie, my twin brother, whom I hadn’t seen in three years. He was celebrating his nineteenth birthday with his school chums and I was a witness to their garish self indulgence.

The clarity of colors in which I was now seeing everything seemed to pop out at me, as if I were standing right next to them. The fog had lifted from my befuddled mind, and now I felt as clear as day. It was as if I was the fourth person standing alongside the noisy, rambunctious trio. I had always been aware of Charlie and his whereabouts in the past, but in an intuitive way. This was definitely very different than that.

As I was digesting this new information, I again felt a shroud of darkness as thick as London fog descend upon me. My insides began to twist into a knot, and it felt like a fist to the gut.

Five, very rough looking men had been watching the antics of Charlie and his companions, and suddenly appeared, seeming to come out of nowhere, surrounding the three of them.

You boys need some help finding lodgings for the night? The larger man asked with a thick Irish accent.

We know our way around just fine, Ashton answered curtly, his blond good looks contorting into a grimace, as he tried to focus his eyes on the man speaking to them.

"You heard my friend, Monsieur. Casse-toi!" Charlie asserted, as his natural French accent came out stronger than his English.

Now, now, my young friends, there is no call for you to be so unfriendly. We just thought that maybe you gentlemen needed some assistance finding some accommodations. The large man spoke again, trying to sound friendly and genuine, as he took two more steps toward the three men in the center.

But there was nothing genuine or friendly about him. There was something in his stance and overall demeanor that spoke volumes to me.

My friend just told you. We are fine, and truly don’t require your assistance, so bug off, Tommy chimed in, as an uneasy feeling began to crawl up his spine.

Suddenly, Charlie sobered up, looking directly at me, as if I was standing next to him. I felt his fear and uneasiness, as his heart and mind raced. He was trying to send me a message. Had he felt me beside him all along?

Charlie stood a little taller and turned to look at the large man. I could tell he was simply posturing, in hopes that his full height of six feet three inches would be of some deterrence to the intruders. If you are looking for money, we spent it in the pub tonight, he responded, while reaching into his trouser pocket. He fished around for a moment, hoping that he had remembered to place his dagger in it before he left his dorm room earlier that day. I felt the same sickening feeling he got when he realized the dagger wasn’t there. My heart sank, and his fear now became my fear.

Trying to think fast, Charlie decided to take another approach, What do you know? I seem to have a few coins left over. This should be sufficient for your needs, boys. Why don’t you have another round of drinks on me? Charlie suggested, pulling three silver coins from his pocket and flipping them at the large man, who let the coins land at his feet and roll into the gutter.

Now is that any way to treat a Good Samaritan, who just wants to help you find a comfortable place to lay your pretty little heads down for the night? Someone else said, standing directly behind Charlie, causing him to jump in surprise.

Now look what you’ve gone and done. You’ve insulted my friend and hurt his feelings by throwing money at him, another man chimed in, as he took two steps closer, tightening the circle around the boys. Two large rats scurried from the gutter where the coins landed. I noticed that the salty sea air was especially pungent and thick at that moment, and it assaulted my senses. I felt myself physically shiver as if someone had just walked over my grave.

I cried out to Charlie and his hapless companions, but the sound froze in my throat, and my blood felt like ice as it tried to move through my veins. I wanted to warn them, or scream that they should run!

But it was already too late. The men were closing in on Charlie, Ashton and Tommy, and I could feel my stomach churn, as tears bathed my cheeks.

Charlie once again turned and looked directly at me. I could hear his words even though his lips didn’t move. "I feel you there. I know you can see me. If we survive this fight, you have to find me. I know you can find me, Bella."

Turning away from me now, Charlie got into a defensive position and the three of them placed their backs together in a triangle formation. This was the classic stance of the Musketeers. Charlie and I had learned it when we took fencing lessons from a man we called Uncle. He had taught many a Musketeer how to fight at the academy.

I was suddenly struck by Charlie’s loyalty to his two friends. He had obviously cared enough about them to teach Ashton and Tommy what to do in a situation such as this.

I didn’t want to witness what came next, but like a carriage mishap on the side of the road, it was impossible not to stare and wonder if anyone lay dead next to the overturned wreckage.

Punches began to fly as fists connected with solid bone. The sickening sound of a grown man’s fist connecting with another man’s jaw made me clench my stomach as the taste of bile lingered in my mouth. The smell of desperation hung heavily in the air, and I cried out for my brother as he fought for his life.

3

SPRING 1787.

DUBLIN, IRELAND

Just Between Friends

letter Y VISION STOPPED THERE AND I was left to wonder how it all turned out. A scream that had been stuck in my throat the entire time suddenly erupted from my mouth, as I bolted upright in bed. Fear and pain gripped my chest as tears streamed down my face. Charlie! Oh God please, not my Charlie.

My sweat drenched sheets clung to my body and convulsive shivers shook me to my core. I couldn’t think, nor could I stop shaking. Fear gripped me by the throat, zapping every ounce of strength I had. My limbs felt weak, like noodles that sit too long in a pot of boiling water. My face felt swollen and my ribs hurt like I had just been through a terrible accident. I couldn’t explain why I was no longer connected to Charlie, or why my vision started, then abruptly ended.

It was as if Charlie shut me out of his mind, shielding me from the horror that was about to befall him.

I sat on my bed for the longest time, consumed with grief and fear, trying desperately to form a coherent thought. Finally, I leaned over, fumbling in the dark, to light the candle that sat on my bedside table. Climbing from the bed, I stumbled before opening the doors to my armoire, then began to rummage about until I found what I was searching for. Pulling out a pair of boy’s trousers, a shirt and a cap, along with the bandages I used to bind myself up, I quickly dressed. Fumbling about, I found the old jacket and boots I kept in the back corner of my dressing closet. I always kept them safely tucked away for those times I wanted to ride without being recognized or bothered by social convention.

If Charlie had been killed, surely I would have felt something by now, like the splitting of a mighty oak tree by a bolt of lightning, I would have felt the confirmation of such an act. But I didn’t feel myself split in two. I simply felt consumed with grief for the horrific act perpetrated against my brother. Slowly the feeling of rage began to stir inside of me, becoming all consuming as it mixed with desperation and the need to be whole again. My emotions propelled me forward, placing one foot in front of the other.

Slipping everything but my boots on, I extinguished the candle and piled my hair under the cap. My disguise was now complete. Ducking quietly out the door and down the hall to the back staircase, I listened for a moment, making sure that no one was wandering about this part of the hall.

The only noise I heard was coming from the kitchen as the cooks prepared the bread for baking. I exhaled, realizing that I had been holding my breath, and my heart felt like it was going to pound its way through my chest. Tiptoeing down the stairs and past the cooks was no easy task, but I waited for the right moment and made my way to the side door. Silently lifting the latch, I opened the door just wide enough to slip through, then closed the door behind me. I froze when the top hinge squeaked slightly, quickly closed my eyes, I said a little prayer. Then easing the latch back into place, I said another prayer that my absence wouldn’t be discovered for hours. By then it would be too late for anyone to do anything about it.

Stopping long enough to slip my boots on, I stayed in the shadows, just in case anyone was up rummaging through the garden for fresh herbs. Finally, making my way to the barn, I eased the heavy wooden door open, and listened for any noise of men moving about.

When I was satisfied that the only noises were those of the horses shuffling about in their stalls, I pushed the door open wider. Growing up with horses, I knew how to saddle one for myself, and didn’t require the help of a stable hand. The only thing left to do now was to pick the right horse for the long ride to Oxford. I needed a horse with lots of heart, and not one that had gone barn sour, or become fat and lazy. No, I needed a horse that was willing to run and not stop until I had reached my destination, and I had just the right horse in mind.

Making my way along the wall of closed doors, I peeked into a darkened stall, trying to make out the horse standing in the shadows. Third stall on the right…oh sorry, Rosy, wrong stall, sorry girl, I whispered shutting and latching the top of the door. Must be the forth stall on the right. I whispered to myself as I gingerly unlatched and opened the next stall door to check. Yes. Good morning, Dodger, my handsome lad. I have an important mission for you today, I whispered, greeting him with a gentle pat on the nose and a cube of sugar, before slipping a feedbag over his head so I could saddle him quietly.

Hey, what do you think you are doing, young man? the farrier, Tucker Parker, growled as he grabbed me by my coat, spinning me around. If it had not been for his strong grip on my collar, I would have hit the ground hard.

Shhh! I said, almost jumping out of my skin. Tucker Parker, you scared ten years off my life, I scolded pushing him off of me, as I leaned down and picked my hat up off the ground. Keep it down before you awaken the entire place, I groused, while dusting the hat off and placing it back upon my head. Then narrowing my eyes at him, I began tucking my hair back under the hat.

Sorry, Isabella, I didn’t realize it was you. I thought someone was stealing a horse, he replied, in a hushed tone. Which begs the question, where exactly do you think you are going at this hour of the morning? he asked, standing in front of me with his hands on his hips.

I have to take care of something and I don’t need the entire Order of Saints coming down upon my head, if you must know. So you can help me, Tucker, or get out of my way, I said in a loud, angry whisper.

Why didn’t you come and get me to help you? he asked. Then taking a second look at me, as if he was truly seeing me for the first time. And why are you dressed like a boy, if you don’t mind me asking?

I have a long ride ahead of me and I don’t want to attract any unwarranted attention, if you get my drift, I added as quietly as I could, while throwing the blanket and saddle over Dodger’s back. And why I didn’t seek you out at this wee hour of the morning is a silly question. You have known me for three years now and you know my history and general mistrust of men, I replied, struggling to secure the saddle properly.

Taking hold of my arm, Tucker pulled me around to face him. He had a strange look in his eyes, before he stepped in even closer, as if he intended to kiss me.

Panic set in and I suddenly experienced a strange ringing between my ears. Bringing Tucker up short, I placed my hands against his chest, and gave him a hard shove, to stop any further advancement. Have you lost your mind, Tucker Parker? I cried, sounding a little harsher than I intended.

You use to like it when I kissed you, Isabella Deveraux.

That was a long time ago. I said, brushing him off as I turned back around to finish saddling Dodger. I’m not that scared little girl any longer, trying to figure out which way is up.

Taking a hold of my arm gently, he forced me to stop and look at him, Then I will go with you, to make sure nothing happens to you.

No, you can’t, I answered rather sternly.

Why Izzy? he asked, with that hurt look he always gets when I said or did something he didn’t quite understand.

The sound of pain in his tone almost made me feel bad for being so harsh. But dealing with Tucker’s delicate ego is not something I could handle, so I did what I always do in a situation like this, I pushed him even further away. Tucker, I don’t have time for this, I replied, irritated he was distracting me from my task.

Oh now, look here, he said, pointing at the strap, as if I had never saddled a horse in my life. You’re doing it all wrong, he said, shoving my hands out of the way.

Keep it down, before you wake the entire stable up, I scolded with just a hint of derision in my voice.

Tucker proceeded to undo the leather strap, and then cinch it back up exactly as I had done it in the first place, only tighter. If you don’t do it tight enough from the beginning, the saddle will slip and you will end up on the ground a mile down the road. You know Dodger is a prankster, Tucker continued to pull on the strap until Dodger voiced his distain, by stomping his hoof and swatting Tucker with his tail. Dodger always inflates his belly when you slip the saddle on his back.

Thank you for your unwarranted assistance, but I really must be on my way, I stated flatly, changing out the feedbag for a bridle.

I can’t let you go off on your own, willy nilly through the countryside. What if something happens to you? I would be responsible, Tucker countered, stepping in front of me, trying to impede my progress. Then reaching up, he took a hold of Dodger’s bridle, and refused to let go.

As if you have anything to say about the matter, I stated under my breath. Gingerly stepping around him, I placed my booted foot in the stirrup and swung myself up onto the saddle. Leaning over, I secured my other foot in the other stirrup, while avoiding eye contact with him.

Grabbing a hold of my leg, Tucker squeezed it tightly, until I finally turned giving him my full attention. Only when I looked down at him and smiled, I patted the jeweled encrusted dagger in my pocket and said with a dangerous glint in my eye, I am fairly confident that anyone who is stupid enough to get in my way will be dealt with, in a swift and deadly manner, if you get my meaning.

To emphasize this bold statement, I leaned over even closer to his face, If you and I were ever truly friends, this would be where you turned loose of my horse and wish me a safe journey.

Shock, surprise, and then finally hurt showed on his handsome face once again. You’re not coming back are you, Izzy? he quietly stated. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, and then shook my head no. What do I tell them, when they find you missing? he asked, still hanging onto the bridle.

Just lead Dodger out of the barn quietly and go back to bed. You don’t have to tell them anything. Just feign ignorance. That’s what I would do, I said, deciding to change tactics. Please, Tucker, I truly have to go now, before they discover me missing, I quietly pleaded for his cooperation.

Just be safe and don’t take any unnecessary chances, he said gently.

Tucker’s brown eyes clouded over, before he turned away to hide the feeling he was experiencing. Quietly, he led Dodger from the stall and out into the courtyard before regaining control of his tangled emotions, I could see a physical change come over him as he closed himself off to me behind a wall of civility. Slowly looking up from the ground, but not directly at me, he asked, before I turn loose of this horse, Isabella Deveraux, just tell me the general direction you will be traveling should I be called upon to point the search party in the right direction. Of course, only if something should happen to you and you are never heard from again, Tucker concluded morbidly, as he turned his soft brown eyes toward me again. Should there be a need to go in search of your cold, lifeless body along the roadside somewhere, he concluded dryly.

Oh, now you’re just being obtuse and trying to get under my skin, Tucker Parker, I replied, slightly put off by his coldness. I am heading for Oxford.

That is almost two and a half hours away, he cried as his face registered shock and alarm all at once. He couldn’t decide whether to turn loose of Dodger’s rains after all, so I made the choice for him. I could read Tucker like a book, and regardless of my desire to spare his feelings, I had neither the time nor the inclination to coddle him.

I will only ride Dodger an hour and a half, tops. Please, Tucker, stop worrying. I will be fine, but I really have to leave now, I said, kicking Dodger in the side