Page 48 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)
Chapter Seventeen
Anne guided her chestnut mare along the bridle path, her back straight and her hands steady on the reins.
After three days of gradually increasing rides, she had regained much of her former confidence in the saddle, though her muscles protested at the unfamiliar exercise each evening.
Beside her, Kitty bounced slightly on her quiet bay, while Georgiana maintained perfect posture on her gentle grey.
All three young ladies wore modish riding habits, Anne’s deep emerald green contrasting elegantly with her mare’s glossy coat, and a groom from Darcy’s stables followed at a discreet distance behind them.
“This was an excellent notion of Elizabeth’s,” Kitty said brightly, gathering her reins as her mount attempted to snatch at a patch of grass. “Though I fear Pepper thinks himself too fine a gentleman to listen to my commands.”
“You must be firmer with your hands,” Anne advised, demonstrating the steady contact she maintained with her own mare’s mouth. “Rosalind responds better when I maintain consistent pressure rather than alternating between slack reins and sharp corrections.”
Georgiana smiled at this exchange, her own mount plodding along placidly. “Moonlight requires no correction at all. My brother selected her specifically for her gentle temperament.”
Anne felt a quiet pleasure at being able to offer riding advice to her companions.
After years of being the one constantly instructed and corrected in all matters, it was refreshing to share knowledge on a subject where she felt genuine confidence.
Her mare, temporarily named Rosalind after the heroine in the Shakespeare play she had been reading when the horse arrived, moved with easy grace, responding to the slightest pressure of knee or rein.
“You ride beautifully, Anne,” Georgiana observed. “One would never guess you had been away from the saddle for so many years.”
“The body remembers even when the mind believes it has forgotten,” Anne replied, allowing herself a small smile.
She did not add how liberating it felt to be astride a horse again, away from Mrs. Jenkinson’s constant hovering.
Her companion had been horrified at the notion of Anne riding without her supervision, but Elizabeth had been firm, insisting that a groom’s discreet attendance was sufficient.
As they rounded a bend in the bridle path, Anne caught sight of a familiar figure ahead, Mr. Hislop atop his magnificent Aristotle.
The silver-grey stallion gleamed in the morning light, his proud neck arched as his rider guided him through a series of lateral movements that demonstrated both horse and rider’s exceptional training.
Mr. Hislop spotted them almost immediately, a smile of pleased surprise spreading across his face as he recognized Anne. He guided his stallion toward them, executing a perfect halt and a respectful bow from the saddle.
“Miss de Bourgh! Miss Darcy, Miss Bennet,” he greeted them, his eyes returning quickly to Anne. “What a delightful surprise. I had no idea you were a rider, Miss de Bourgh, though given your knowledge of horseflesh, perhaps I should have guessed.”
“I have only recently returned to the saddle after many years’ absence,” Anne explained. “My cousin was kind enough to arrange suitable mounts for all of us.”
“And a fine mount you have there,” Mr. Hislop remarked, his expert eye appraising Rosalind. “Good depth to the chest, strong hindquarters. Thoroughbred stock, I’d wager, though perhaps crossed with something a bit sturdier.”
Anne nodded, gratified by his assessment. “My thoughts precisely. She has the refinement of thoroughbred ancestry but without the excessive nervousness that can make such horses challenging for those returning to riding after a long absence.”
As they spoke, Rosalind began to show unusual interest in Aristotle, pricking her ears forward and arching her neck in a manner Anne initially attributed to normal equine curiosity.
Within moments, however, the mare’s behaviour shifted from mere interest to something more pointed.
She began to sidle closer to the stallion, nickering softly and swishing her tail in unmistakable invitation.
“Oh dear,” Mr. Hislop said, his cheeks colouring slightly as he recognized the mare’s intentions. “I believe your Rosalind finds Aristotle rather appealing.”
Anne felt heat rise to her own face as she realized what was happening; her mare was in season!
“I do apologize,” she began, attempting to guide Rosalind away, but the mare had other ideas.
She tossed her head, resisting the rein pressure, and let out a whinnying call that could only be described as flirtatious.
Aristotle, for his part, responded with predictable interest, his posture stiffening as he trumpeted a reply that echoed across the park, drawing the attention of several nearby pedestrians.
The stallion began to dance in place, his previous perfect training temporarily overwhelmed by more primitive instincts.
“Perhaps we should create some distance between them,” Mr. Hislop suggested, struggling to maintain control of his increasingly excited mount.
Before Anne could respond, Rosalind executed a graceful pirouette that would have impressed any dressage purist and positioned herself directly in front of Aristotle, her tail raised and swishing in blatant invitation.
The mare’s movement was so unexpected that Anne nearly lost her balance, clutching at the pommel to remain mounted.
“Goodness!” Kitty exclaimed, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and amusement as she guided her own mount safely away from the unfolding drama.
Georgiana had turned bright red, clearly understanding the nature of the horses’ interaction despite her sheltered upbringing. “Should we... should we call for the groom?” she asked uncertainly.
The groom was already approaching at a trot, his expression suggesting he had witnessed similar equine romantic entanglements before and knew exactly what was transpiring.
“If you’ll pardon me, miss,” he called to Anne, swiftly putting his sturdy gelding in between the two misbehaving horses, “I think we’d best separate these two before matters progress further. ”
Mr. Hislop was now fighting to back Aristotle away, the stallion resistant to leaving his new acquaintance. The magnificent horse, so perfectly behaved minutes earlier, now arched his neck and pawed at the ground, sending divots of turf flying in his eagerness to remain near Rosalind.
“Come along now, you great lovesick fool,” Mr. Hislop muttered to his mount, loud enough for Anne to hear. “This is hardly the time or place for such declarations.”
It was this comment, coupled with the absurdity of the situation – the previously dignified Aristotle now whinnying passionate equine endearments while a scandalized elderly couple hurried past averting their eyes – that broke through Anne’s embarrassment.
A small giggle escaped her lips, quickly followed by another, until she found herself laughing openly, the sound as surprising to her own ears as it clearly was to her companions.
“I do apologize,” she gasped between bursts of laughter, “but they are rather... direct in their intentions, are they not?”
Mr. Hislop’s initial embarrassment gave way to his own hearty laugh. “Aristotle has always believed in expressing himself clearly,” he agreed, finally managing to back the stallion a safer distance away. “Though I had hoped he might display slightly better manners in the presence of ladies.”
The groom leaned over and took hold of Rosalind’s bridle, assisting Anne in guiding the mare away from her would-be suitor. “These things happen with horses, miss,” he assured her, his matter-of-fact tone somehow making the situation even more amusing.
“Indeed they do,” Anne agreed, still smiling broadly as she regained control of her mount.
In that moment, with morning sunlight warming her face and the honest humour of the situation still bubbling through her, Anne realized she was happy – truly, genuinely happy – for the first time since Lord Joseph’s death.
The realization brought an immediate pang of guilt that dimmed her smile.
Was it disloyal to his memory to feel such uncomplicated joy so soon after his tragic passing?
She glanced away, her laughter fading, though the warmth of the moment lingered. Mr. Hislop seemed to sense the shift in her mood, his own expression growing more subdued, though his eyes remained kind.
“I should very much like to continue our conversation,” he called across to her. “Perhaps we might dismount, and walk together a while, if your groom would lead your mare?”
“Yes,” Anne agreed. “I should very much like that.”
“We’ll go around the lake,” Kitty suggested. “Martin, if you’d lead Rosalind with us, that should create a safe distance.”
With the equine romance temporarily thwarted by this plan, Anne dismounted and joined Mr. Hislop, walking along the path as the others took a different route.
The morning had warmed pleasantly, and Anne found herself reluctant to end this unexpected encounter, despite the lingering embarrassment of the previous scene.
“Your seat is remarkably good for someone who claims to have been away from riding for years,” Mr. Hislop observed, his admiration evident. “Most people require weeks to regain such composure and control.”
“My father was a demanding instructor,” Anne replied, a fond smile touching her lips. “He believed that proper form was inseparable from safety. Even when I was quite small, he would correct the slightest error in my posture or hands.”