Page 63 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

“Too big,” she whispered.

Ramsay nodded. “Aye. That’ll do it.”

There was a pause, and he suddenly knew the right thing to do.

Then he stood, dusted off his hands, and said, “Only one way to fix that.”

Penelope looked up.

Eleanor blinked. “Ramsay?—?”

He was already heading for the door. “She doesn’t trust them. So we start small.”

Eleanor frowned. “Small how?”

He looked over his shoulder. “You’ll see.”

Eleanor extended her hand to Penelope, who hesitated for only a second before taking it. The sight made something snag unexpectedly in Ramsay’s chest. He turned back around before either of them noticed.

They stepped outside together, Penelope keeping a tight grip on Eleanor’s fingers, shoes crunching against the gravel path as they made their way around the side of the stables. The early sun sat low over the paddock, casting long shadows and gilding the tops of the grass in gold.

“She doesn’thaveto touch it,” Ramsay muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Just look. That’s all. Looking’s an achievement.”

Eleanor gave him a sideways glance. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he said. “I just prefer my failures indoors.”

At the far end of the paddock stood the pony.

Ramsay had led her out earlier that morning and tied her to the low post beneath the chestnut tree, just beyond the gate. He’d gotten her a week before the wedding for Penelope but hadn’t had the chance to show her, and now, it was the perfect—or worst—moment to.

She was nibbling indifferently at a hay net, the picture of unbothered calm, her round belly rising and falling like a bakery on legs.

Penelope halted.

Ramsay saw it—the full-body pause, her shoulders stiffening, her fingers clenching tight around Eleanor’s.

The girl did not speak, but her feet anchored to the ground.

Eleanor bent slightly. “Oh, she’s very small,” she murmured.

“She won’t come near us,” Ramsay added. “She’s offended we interrupted her breakfast.”

Penelope’s eyes flicked toward the pony. Then to Ramsay. Then quickly back down to the grass.

“She won’t throw you,” he said. “You could sneeze, and she’d fall over before you would.”

“I don’t want to ride her,” Penelope whispered.

“You won’t,” Eleanor said gently. “We’re just visiting.”

A long silence.

Then Penelope gave a slow, reluctant nod and took another step forward.

Another.

Ramsay stayed where he was, arms folded, letting them approach first. Penelope stopped just short of the fence. The pony flicked an ear.