eyebrows rose.
‘But you love this place.’
He nodded. ‘It’s the peace of the country, I suppose, and the silence, though I have not spent as much time here as I would have liked to.’
Each word made her pleased. He was not a man who over-enjoyed the party life, then. Like Gerald.
‘And your family?’
‘This was my father’s heritage. My mother seldom ventures far from the social scene in Brighton in summer or London over the winter. I doubt she enjoyed it here right from the time she and my father married and my sisters have not either.’
‘You are lucky to have so many close relatives.’
When he laughed she wondered if he felt the same, but the sun was on her face and it felt so good to be riding. Here and now, the strained events leading up to their wedding were further afield.
‘Did your first husband like horses?’
The bubble popped completely, but she made herself answer.
‘I think he felt daunted by any outdoor pursuit.’
‘What did he like then?’
Not me.
She wondered what would happen if she just said it, blurted the truth out about how in the end he hated every single thing she stood for. But that honesty was too brutal even for her, and there were things that she would never tell another soul. Staying silent, she did not add all of the sordid, degenerate and shameful facts and there were so very many of them.
‘The mistakes of others are not our own,’ he said quietly.
She smiled, liking his sentiment, but the tears that sat at the back of her eyes felt close.
‘My father has a habit of saying the same.’
‘Then it is time you believed it.’
‘Papa insists that people come upon the destiny they deserve, but I always thought that was a bit harsh.’
‘Why?’
‘Sometimes destiny just falls on our heads and squashes us flat.’
He began to laugh. ‘If you are referring to yourself, you have never seemed squashed to me.’
Delight ran through her at the compliment and just like that the ache in her body was explained.
She was falling in love with the Earl of Montcliffe. She was. She was allowing herself to believe the fairy tale and ignore all the conditions of what, to him, would be simply a way out of bankruptcy.
He was innately kind—had not Mrs McBeth told her so?—and he was a gentleman reared in the art of manners and comportment. He had asked for civility and she had agreed, so her ridiculous want for more could only embarrass them both.
Already he was looking away, waving to a man who worked in the fields. The late sun gave the Earl’s hair dark red lights and when his horse reared to one side he easily controlled it, gentling the stallion with a few well-chosen words.
She had never before been around someone who was as effortlessly certain, the smile on his face breaking the skin around his eyes into lines. Perhaps he was also a man who laughed a lot. She hoped so.
‘Your father’s pallor seems better here than in the city?’
‘That is because his favourite places are the countryside and the ocean, and he thinks the land is beautiful around here.’
‘Did you ever go with him to the Americas?’
‘When I was younger I did. But then...’ She stopped.
‘Then?’ He looked at her carefully, a slight puzzlement in his eyes.
‘I became a different person. I would like to say that the display of histrionics in the carriage was not my finest hour, my lord. The accident that resulted in the loss of my hair came when travelling too fast and now whenever I am inside a conveyance that goes at more than a walking pace, I panic. Normally I am innately sensible and very correct. I like order and regularity and control and seldom let my emotions rule me. My temperament is usually far less emotional and far more calm, if you are able to believe it. After the Herringworth ball the shock of everything made me...unreasonable and I am sorry for my behaviour.’
A shout had them both turning and a man on a horse was coming across the field towards them.
‘Smithson is one of the cottars and he wants a word with me. We will have to finish this conversation later, but thank you for the explanation.’
Nodding, she jammed her shaking hands into the divided skirt of her riding attire and hoped Daniel had not seen the racing pulse at her throat.
They had an early dinner and it was a simple affair, the leftover meats from the wedding breakfast and a bowl of fruit in season. Mrs Orchard, the housekeeper, had cut up the cake and arranged the pieces carefully on a plate. The same figurines from the wedding now twirled in the middle on their own revolving pedestal. An eternal embrace.
Her father was in a good mood, his appetite the best Amethyst had seen it for months as he helped himself to the food.
‘Your man showed me around the stables, Lord Montcliffe, and impressive it was, too. Who built them?’ The lilt in his voice was audible.
‘My great-grandfather. He was a firm believer in the philosophy that horses need a view to thrive so every stall looks across the lake.’
Robert began to laugh. ‘You will find Dunstan House to be nowhere near as attractive, though we can rebuild everything to imitate the style here if that is your wish.’
The conditions of their union came to the table with them, Amethyst thought, all present and accounted for, each one a reminder of the absence of what should have been. She wished her father might just leave it at that, but as he went on with the discussion any hopes sank.
‘The greys are to be brought up next week from London for I was certain you would want them back. Mr Tattersall has been at me for another chance to market them, but I said that he would have to wait in line for the progeny. He was most interested to know that you would be involved in a breeding programme, my lord, although I did tell him we would not be changing their names.’
‘Here’s to Maisie and Mick, then.’ Daniel raised his glass and laughed. ‘But don’t give them to me, give them to my wife.’
A strike of excitement flared inside Amethyst.
‘Very well, but on the condition that you will teach my daughter what you know about horses, my lord. She has always been an avid rider, but we have never had the time for more.’
He turned to her. ‘Is this something you wish for?’
‘It is.’ She
