“I do—honust.”
“What was your idea of coming into the drawing room on a horse, anyhow?”
“I wanted to show Mr. Christiansen something. He understood it all right.”
“Made your mother hopping.”
“Oh, well, she’s always hopping. Why didn’t you ask Mr. Christiansen up?”
“Against orders. No one admitted. He sent a note,” he added, handing it over.
Isabelle read:
Dear Captive Isabelle:
Do you languish in your dungeon cell? Your true knight points an arrow with this missive, and shoots it in at your window. (I trust your father will not resent this poetic license.) I was thrilled at the sight of you as an Amazon, and I agree about the riding breeches!