Page 46 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

The park was moderately crowded for a weekday afternoon, with fashionable carriages proceeding at a stately pace along the main drives and elegantly dressed pedestrians strolling the footpaths.

Several gentlemen on horseback wove between these slower-moving visitors, their mounts displaying varying degrees of breeding and training.

Elizabeth noted how Anne’s gaze occasionally followed these riders, a fleeting interest quickly masked by her habitual reserve.

They had just rounded a curve in the path when collective gasps from nearby pedestrians drew Elizabeth’s attention.

Approaching along the bridle path was the most magnificent horse she had ever seen.

A stallion, dappled grey with a flowing mane and tail that seemed spun from silver, moved with such perfect grace that it appeared to float rather than trot.

Its rider, a tall gentleman in impeccable riding clothes, sat with the easy confidence of one born to the saddle.

“Good heavens,” Kitty breathed, stopping in her tracks to stare. “What a beautiful creature.”

Elizabeth was about to agree when Anne’s voice, clearer and more animated than it had been in weeks, broke in:

“He’s Iberian stock, imported from Spain or Portugal. Look at the arch of his neck and the set of his ears, the way they almost touch at the tips. And his movement shows classical dressage training, not merely English riding.”

All three of them turned to Anne in surprise. She had stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the horse with an expression of genuine admiration, all her usual reticence momentarily forgotten.

“The high knee action is characteristic of the breed,” she continued, seemingly unaware of their astonishment, “but few achieve that perfect balance between collection and forward movement. His rider has excellent hands not to interfere with the natural carriage.”

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Kitty and Georgiana, all equally startled by this unexpected display of knowledge from the usually quiet Anne.

Before any of them could comment, however, the rider himself noticed their attention.

To Elizabeth’s surprise, he guided his magnificent mount toward them, stopping a respectful distance away but clearly intending to speak.

“You have an excellent eye, miss,” he said to Anne without preamble, his manner direct but not impolite. “Most people simply exclaim over Aristotle’s colour, but you’ve noted his gaits and breeding.”

Anne flushed slightly, seeming to suddenly realise she had spoken aloud and drawn attention. However, her interest in the horse overcame her natural reserve. “He’s a remarkable example of the breed,” she replied. “Spanish-bred, I would guess, rather than colonial stock?”

The gentleman’s face lit with enthusiasm. “Precisely! Straight from the Royal Stud at Jerez. You know horses well, I see.”

This encounter was, of course, entirely improper. The gentleman had not been introduced to them and had no social right to address Anne directly. Under normal circumstances, Elizabeth would have discouraged such forward behaviour with a cool nod before moving her party onward.

Yet these were not normal circumstances.

The animation in Anne’s face, the first genuine spark of interest she had shown in anything since Lord Joseph’s death, made Elizabeth hesitate.

The gentleman himself, though forward, appeared respectable, his manner that of an enthusiast rather than a rake seeking improper acquaintance.

Making a swift decision, Elizabeth stepped forward. “You must forgive us for admiring your horse so openly,” she said with a polite smile. “He is indeed exceptional.”

Taking her cue, the gentleman immediately dismounted and made a polite bow, before turning to the stallion and gesturing to its knee.

To Elizabeth’s astonishment, the horse flung its leg forward at this cue and lowered its nose, making a kind of bow too.

All three of her youthful companions exclaimed in delight, Kitty briefly applauding, and the gentleman turned back to them with a proud smile.

“Timothy Hislop, ma’am, at your service. And I assure you, no forgiveness is necessary. Aristotle deserves every admiration.”

Elizabeth performed a slight curtsy in return, unable to suppress her smile. It was a clever, entertaining trick. “Mrs. Darcy. My sister, Miss Bennet, my sister-in-law, Miss Darcy, and our cousin, Miss de Bourgh.”

Mr. Hislop bowed again to each lady in turn, his gaze lingering with particular interest on Anne. “Miss de Bourgh, your knowledge of horseflesh is impressive. Few ladies, or gentlemen for that matter, can distinguish the finer points of Iberian breeding at a glance.”

Anne’s cheeks coloured slightly, but her voice remained steady. “My father kept several Spanish horses at Rosings when I was a child. He was particularly fond of their temperament and classical lines.”

“A man of excellent taste,” Mr. Hislop declared with genuine approval. He patted his stallion’s gleaming neck affectionately. “Would you care to make Aristotle’s acquaintance more closely? He’s gentle despite his size.”

Anne glanced at Elizabeth, a silent request for permission that touched her deeply; she nodded permission at once and Anne stepped closer to the magnificent animal, extending her hand with surprising confidence.

The stallion lowered his proud head, velvety nostrils flaring slightly as he investigated her scent.

“He’s beautiful,” Anne murmured, stroking the horse’s nose with gentle fingers. “And so well-mannered. You must be very proud of him.”

“I am indeed, though I can claim no credit for his breeding,” Mr. Hislop replied, watching Anne with evident appreciation for her proper approach to the horse. “I purchased him two years ago and have been working to perfect his training in the classical style. He has remarkable natural talent.”

“The passage trot you were showing requires tremendous strength and balance,” Anne observed, continuing to stroke the horse’s sleek neck. “Have you attempted the more advanced airs above ground with him?”

Mr. Hislop’s expression brightened further at this technical question. “We’re working on the courbette, though he finds the capriole more to his liking. He has a natural spring in his movement.”

Elizabeth watched this exchange with growing amazement.

Anne, who normally spoke in brief, carefully measured sentences, was engaging in animated conversation about equestrian matters with a complete stranger.

More striking still was the natural confidence in her manner, so different from her usual hesitancy.

Georgiana and Kitty appeared equally astonished, though Kitty’s expression held a hint of mischievous delight at this unexpected development.

The four of them stood watching as Anne questioned Mr. Hislop about his training methods, the horse’s diet, and various other details that revealed a depth of knowledge none of them had suspected she possessed.

The spring sunshine caught the silver in the horse’s coat and the sudden light in Anne’s eyes, creating a moment of unexpected beauty that Elizabeth found deeply moving.

Here, at last, was a glimpse of the person Anne might have become had she not been confined by her mother’s restrictive care and overpowering personality.

This knowledgeable, confident young woman discussing complex equestrian matters showed a passion and intelligence that had been hidden beneath layers of enforced invalidism and social reticence.

Elizabeth allowed the impromptu conversation to continue longer than propriety strictly dictated, unwilling to extinguish this rare spark of genuine interest in Anne’s demeanour.

Mr. Hislop, for his part, seemed equally reluctant to conclude their exchange, responding to Anne’s questions with enthusiastic detail while showing none of the condescension that gentlemen often displayed when discussing technical matters with ladies.

Only when she noticed Mrs. Jenkinson’s unmistakable figure approaching rapidly along the path, catching up to them despite an errand Elizabeth had manufactured to dispose of her company for a short period, did Elizabeth reluctantly prepare to end the encounter.

This brief glimpse of a more animated Anne was too precious to have immediately suppressed by her ever-vigilant companion.

“We should continue our walk,” she suggested gently. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Hislop.”

The gentleman bowed again, his expression suggesting he understood the social necessities. “The pleasure has been entirely mine, Mrs. Darcy, ladies. Miss de Bourgh, I hope we might have the opportunity to continue our discussion of classical dressage another time.”

As he mounted up and guided his magnificent stallion away with a final nod, Elizabeth observed the brief shadow that passed over Anne’s face as she watched horse and rider depart.

For a few precious minutes, the grief that had become her constant companion had receded, replaced by genuine enthusiasm for a subject close to her heart.

Now, as Mrs. Jenkinson’s approach threatened to bring reality crashing back, Elizabeth determined to protect and nurture this small spark of recovery however she could.

Mrs. Jenkinson descended upon their small party, her thin face flushed from hurrying, and her expression combined alarm with disapproval as she took in the retreating figure of Mr. Hislop on his magnificent stallion.

She immediately positioned herself at Anne’s side, her voice pitched low but carrying clearly to Elizabeth’s ears as she addressed her charge.

“Miss Anne, I was most concerned when I could not find you on our usual path,” she began, her tone suggesting a child had wandered off rather than a grown woman having walked a few yards away. “And to find you conversing with an unknown gentleman! Who was he?”

“A Mr. Hislop,” Kitty said brightly, and Mrs. Jenkinson sneered.