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When Mary woke the next morning, Andrew was not in bed. The room smelt delicious, of bacon, fresh bread, brewing coffee and warm chocolate. She got up and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, her hair loose and wild. She had not plaited it last night because they made love again. Her stomach rumbled as she walked to the bedroom door.

Andrew must have risen and washed quietly, she could see the shaving brush and razor in the dressing room were wet.

Mary opened the door, rubbing sleep from one eye, her cheeks still warm from the bed.

Andrew stood beside the table that was full of plates of food. ‘Good morning. Come and sit down. I ordered chocolate for you to drink, as well as the meal.’

She sat at the table in her nightdress with her favourite paisley shawl draped over her shoulders.

He poured her chocolate while she buttered bread, the soles of her bare feet resting on the rung of the chair.

He sat in the chair closest to her.

They ate in silence. What she did last night, to teach Andrew a lesson, had made him think. She knew when he made love to her in bed later, there was repentance in his tenderness.

It made her think about things too – about how happy John and Kate were; how happy all her married cousins were with their husbands. She wanted a marriage like theirs. That is why she cried last night.

She looked at him. His cheeks reddened with a blush, then his gaze dropped to his food, as though he were unable to look at her this morning.

He was trying to prove that he cared again today, by ordering breakfast to please her.

‘Will you ride in Hyde Park this morning?’ she asked.

He looked up and shook his head. ‘It is raining.’

She looked at the window. It was only drizzling. ‘That is not rain. You cannot even call it a shower. It is falling dew. I have been out riding in a deluge with Robbie. Riding in the rain is fun. Can we not go together? I have my habit in my trunks.’

‘And when I take you to your papa’s later and you have caught a chill, it will be me he blames.’

‘Papa knows me well enough to realise who to blame, and I have a far better constitution than to catch a chill from a pathetic attempt at rainfall such as that.’

His eyes shone with amusement. ‘I ride my carriage horses. I have no others. They are spirited…’ he warned.

‘I can handle a spirited horse. I would be bored on a tame animal.’

He laughed. ‘Well, that explains much.’

‘Can we ride then?’

‘Yes, we will ride.’

‘Thank you.’

She smiled through the rest of their breakfast, as they talked about things they would add to their shopping list to make his rooms more comfortable for her.

When she had finished eating, she said, ‘Will you help me dress?’

‘Yes. Find your riding habit, I shall be there in a moment.’

Their ride was exhilarating, the fine rain only served to keep her cool. Though it dampened her hair and habit, the rain meant they had Hyde Park virtually to themselves, so they rode across the grass at a gallop, laughing and shouting. She felt as happy as when she rode at home with Robbie.

Andrew’s horses were fast. She rode Athena, he Hera. There was no need for a whip to make Athena run. The horses had wonderful temperaments, because he spoiled them with affection. When he greeted them in the stables, he petted them and whispered to them. Every day she learned something new about her husband. He had told her his horses were important, now she knew they were as important as his friends.

She watched him as they rode back at a trot, side by side. His eyes were gleaming. His wet riding coat clung to his body, but he did not seem to care. He sat a horse well, his strong thighs and calves pressing against the animal’s flanks, his back straight and his hold on the reins relaxed. If she saw him from a distance across a field, she would think him handsome, without even seeing his face. He radiated strength and masculinity.

A smile lifted her lips – it seems I like spirited men, as much as spirited horses .

When they reached the stables, he swung down from the saddle, dropping to the cobbles. Then came to help her dismount. His hands held her waist.

She rested her hands on his shoulders. ‘I understand another fragment of you, Andrew Framlington.’

‘Do you?’ He took her weight and lifted her down. ‘Should I be concerned?’

‘You are an escapist.’ They faced one another, her hands still on his shoulders, his lingering at her waist. ‘I have found you out. You hunted an heiress rather than settled on an occupation, so you could ride not work.’

He smiled. ‘I suppose that is not a compliment, but you can hardly judge, you are the same. I would guess you would rather be riding than sewing in a parlour.’

‘Guilty.’ She laughed.

He released her, reached past her and patted Athena’s side.

‘I know something else about you too; you like people to think you don’t care about anything. But you have always cared for something or someone.’

His gaze met hers, and his smile twisted as a groom led the horses away. ‘Pray, do not tell a soul.’ His hand caught hold of hers. ‘Come, let us eat luncheon before we go to your brother’s.’