"The Prince, of course. You're in his set now, I suppose, like Morry and Lord Denningham. No wonder the country palls."
He looked wistfully down into the up-turned face. In her gown of flowered silk, with its soft pink kerchief and laces, Gabrielle looked like some dainty fairy from dreamland—in his eyes at least.
"Pardon me, mistress. I love the country. It could never weary me."
"Yet you go to town?"
"It was—necessary."
"Necessary?"
She intended to have an explanation and not be baulked of her scolding, since past weeks had been sadly long and monotonous.
"My father went to town."
She shook her dark curls in disdain.
"And are you so tied to Sir Stephen's apron-strings that you must follow against your will? I'll not believe it."