Page 19 of The Burdened Duke (Willenshires #4)
For one awful, heart-stopping moment, William thought that she was going to suggest that he ride the stallion.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he would have done if she did. Faint, perhaps? Was he going to swoon, right there on the stable courtyard?
The panic only lasted a second. Lavinia headed back towards the stable, jerking her head for him to follow.
“We can’t go alone,” William said, finding himself following. “I’ll ask a groom to accompany us.”
“If you like.”
He flagged down a passing stable boy, the lad’s eyes betraying his surprise when he saw William and Miss Brookford.
“This one should suit you,” Miss Brookford said, leading out a sedate-looking chestnut mare. He vaguely recognized the horse as an old favourite of Katherine’s.
“I… I am not sure I can do this, after all,” William stammered, eyeing the mare’s high back.
“Well, I shan’t insist, to be sure,” Miss Brookford said briskly, fetching a saddle down from its hook. “But let’s just saddle up the mare and go outside, and see how you feel, then. What do you say?”
He bit back a sigh. “Very well, very well.”
It was easiest to step back and simply let her get on with saddling up the mare, who stood mildly by. Miss Brookford’s horse – Stepper, wasn’t it? – watched in interest.
At last the mare – somewhere in his memory he recalled that her name was Cinnamon – was saddled up and ready, and waited patiently for her rider.
“Well, there it is,” Miss Brookford said. Lavinia. Her name was Lavinia. For some reason, it seemed more important to think of her as Lavinia than as Miss Brookford. “Why don’t you try and sit on her back, at least?”
He drew in a breath. She’d told him that she wouldn’t insist, and he was fairly sure that she would not. If he decided to return to the house now, she would not say a word.
Life is short. What will I have achieved if I turn back now?
Suddenly, William knew that if he did not climb on the horse now, today, he would never climb one again.
Drawing in a breath, he took a step towards the mare. She did not rear or roll her eyes, only watched his progress with mild interest. Miss Brookford slid a small mounting block towards the horse with her foot. He glared at her.
“I can get up without a mounting block, Miss Brookford.”
“I’m sure you can,” she answered, cheerfully. “But it will make things easier, don’t you think? Why don’t you give the mare some treats?”
“I haven’t anything.”
“Don’t worry. I thought ahead.”
She dug into a pocket and withdrew some browning apple slices, handing them over to William. The mare’s ears flicked in interest. He extended his hand, a piece of apple resting on his palm. The mare leaned delicately forward, lipping at his skin, and seemed to inhale the piece of apple. She crunched happily, and William held his breath and touched the soft, warm hair along her nose.
“Hello, there, girl,” he managed at last, in the sort of soothing tone he thought that horses were meant to enjoy. “You’re a pretty one, eh?”
He was vaguely conscious of activity behind him, a groom preparing a horse to follow them, but the mare didn’t seem distracted at all. She watched him with large, liquid eyes, patiently waiting for what came next.
“You can do it, your Grace,” Miss Brookford said softly. “If anyone can do it, you can.”
Your Grace. What a clunky title. It wasn’t really a name at all. He’d heard her use his name before, and how wonderful it had sounded, coming from her.
Stop it, he thought angrily, pushing away the thoughts. This is about you getting on that wretched horse.
He immediately felt guilty for thinking of the poor mare in such angry terms. It wasn’t her fault.
Drawing in a deep breath, he placed one hand on the warm leather of the saddle, put his opposite foot in the stirrup, and hauled himself up, just like he’d done a few times in the past before his father died.
The mare barely shifted under his weight. He wondered briefly if she knew that he was on her at all. Heart pounding with dread, William clutched at the reins, hastily fitting his other foot into the other stirrup.
And then it was done. He was on the horse. Cinnamon twisted around to look at him, then ducked her head to crop at a patch of grass.
“Nicely done,” Miss Brookford said. She did sound genuinely impressed. “You seem to be a good rider.”
“How can you tell that from my sitting in the saddle?”
“Ah, a good seat on a horse is the key to it all.”
She climbed nimbly up onto her own horse, who pranced with delight at the prospect of finally setting off.
“Shall we?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows at William.
He paused, glancing down at the horse’s neck. The creature seemed entirely content to stand still. She made no sudden movements, no signs of irritation that he was on her back, and certainly no bucking or jerking.
Tentatively, William tapped his heels against the horse’s sides. She moved forward at once at a slow, rolling walk. Despite himself, he gave a squawk and clutched at the reins.
Miss Brookford chuckled, falling into step beside him.
“And how do you feel?”
“Well, I don’t feel excellent. I feel a little sick, to be frank, but it’s… it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be.”
“I’m glad.”
They followed the fence which encircled the courtyard, all the way to where the gate gaped open, and a gravel path led up towards steep hills. He glanced over at Miss Brookford, whose profile was turned towards him and her gaze fixed on the road ahead, and a wave of powerful affection washed over him.
I love you.
No, I mustn’t. I mustn’t.
Perhaps sensing his gaze on her, she glanced over and gave him a smile.
“Do you feel up to something a little faster?”
“I… I don’t know…” he stammered.
Behind them, the groom gave a squawk. He had barely begun saddling up the horse, and seemed a trifle horrified to see Miss Brookford and his master moving away.
“Wait a moment, your Grace, wait a moment!”
Miss Brookford met his eye and grinned mischievously.
“Shall we?”
There was no time to ask what she meant. Miss Brookford tapped her horse’s flanks with the heels, and immediately the creature broke into a run, head straining joyfully forward.
William could have stopped Cinnamon from following. He remembered enough about how to check a horse, how to handle the reins, and how to sit.
He didn’t.
Cinnamon lurched forward, following her new friend, and William sucked in a deep, surprised breath.
How long had it been since he’d ridden a horse? He hadn’t always hated it. Fear sparked sharply in his gut, and he leaned forward automatically, clutching the reins. The horse sped up, faster and faster until he knew without a doubt that it was the mare who was in control, not him.
Miss Brookford and Stepper raced ahead, her skirts and hair billowing out behind her.
Abruptly, the path levelled out, and William realized with a pang of surprise that they were there, they had reached the summit.
And, of course, that they were alone. The shouting groom was long gone, left behind. William couldn’t see any signs that they were being followed.
Miss Brookford slowed her horse to a brisk trot, and Cinnamon slowed accordingly. William let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding, his lungs burning. Sweat beaded on his forehead, sticking his hair down to his scalp. Lifting a shaking hand to his face, he wiped away sweat.
They slowed even more, finally stopping when the summit flattened out into a plateau.
“Well,” Miss Brookford said, sounding breathless, “You did it. Here we are.”
Letting out a shaky breath, he risked a look around. The view was spectacular, his own grounds spreading out below, the eaves of the houses far, far below. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He wanted to say something, but his words seemed to have deserted him.
In the end, the decision was made for him. The overcast clouds seemed to give a shudder, suddenly darkening with rain. Miss Brookford glanced up and winced.
“Oh, dear. I think perhaps we’d better head down again, before we get caught in the rain.”
A lock of her hair had come loose, hanging around her face. William couldn’t help but stare at it.
“Yes,” he managed at last. “Perhaps we should.”