to Aurora’s horse. Perhaps she was out on a morning ride, although Crispin thought it was too foggy yet for that to be a safe option. He’d been glad he’d walked across the valley this morning instead of riding. It would have been too easy to overlook a rabbit hole or a soft piece of land; too easy for a horse to take a misstep and be rendered lame or worse. Well, if Aurora was out that was her business. At least her absence meant he wouldn’t have to encounter her.
Crispin slipped a halter over Sheikh’s head and led him into the wide aisle of the stable for grooming. Crispin picked up a curry brush and began the morning ritual. He liked grooming Sheikh as much as Sheikh liked being brushed. Not usually a patient horse, Sheikh stood exceedingly still for brushing. Crispin found the ritual soothing. He could lose himself in thought, letting his mind wander freely. The stables were a place of peace for him, any stable. The smell of horses and leather tack were familiar no matter where.
He finished grooming Sheikh and quickly saddled him. Through the stable windows, he could see the fog starting to lift. He was eager to get back to Dursley Park and the hot breakfast that waited. Beside him, Sheikh shook his mane. Now that grooming was done, he was ready to be off too. Crispin fished in the wide pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a few slices of apple. Sheikh snapped them up as Crispin led him out into the morning.
The fog had definitely lifted, Crispin confirmed. He could actually see the indoor arena across the stable yard now. The faint sound of a horse’s nicker drew him that direction. He knew what he’d find inside before he and Sheikh arrived at the door. Aurora had not opted for a dangerous, foggy ride. She’d brought her horse to the arena for a morning workout.
Crispin manoeuvred himself and Sheikh into the shadows of the wide doorway to watch her practise. The arena was set up for jumping and she was executing the fences expertly. She finished the last jump in a corner and made a clean cross through the centre of the arena to the opposite corner and started again.
Magnificent, Crispin thought, his gaze focused on her hands and thighs, appreciating the subtle pressures each of those parts used to communicate with the horse. Her movements were so completely synchronised with the flow and bunching of the horse’s body that it seemed she barely moved at all. Crispin had no idea how long he’d stood there, but at last Sheikh gave him an impatient nudge and Crispin withdrew from the scene. He didn’t worry about being heard. From the look on her face when she’d drawn close to the entrance where he stood, Crispin knew she was in another place altogether. Her thoughts were entirely with her horse; when to move, when to ask for the leap in order to get the most height for the jump.
Where had she learned to ride like that? Surely such skill was not acquired haphazardly.
The question plagued him all the way home across the valley and at the breakfast table until he finally blurted it out to Peyton and Tessa. It was a complete non sequitur. They’d been discussing a bill in Parliament and he’d set down his coffee cup and said suddenly, ‘Where did Aurora Calhoun study riding?’
Tessa looked at him rather startled. ‘I think she said somewhere in Ireland,’ she replied vaguely; too vaguely for Crispin’s tastes. After making a career out of reading people, Crispin knew without effort that Tessa was withholding details. If Peyton knew the specifics he did nothing to fill in the gaps and the conversation quickly reverted back to the bill under earlier discussion.
But Crispin wasn’t willing to give up his inquiries. Once he and Peyton set out on their short jaunt to Woodbrook, he tried again. ‘I happened to catch part of Aurora’s workout this morning when I was saddling Sheikh. I’d be interested to know where she was trained.’
‘Then you should ask her,’ Peyton said levelly in a tone that suggested that topic of conversation was closed. Peyton was more eager to discuss the merits of Woodbrook, which he promptly began to do the moment the first property marker came into view. He continued to elucidate the fine points of the property right up until they dismounted in the stable yard and Crispin could see for himself what an excellent inheritance he’d acquired.
Peyton had not exaggerated. The manor house was a modest, twelve-room affair, hardly more than a cottage compared to the grandeur of Dursley Park. But to Crispin the stone manor was plenty.
‘What would I do with twelve rooms?’ Crispin remarked halfway up the stairs to see the other six, all presumably bedrooms.
‘You could marry and fill the house with children,’ Peyton laughingly suggested. ‘Within three years, you’d be enlarging the place, declaring how you’d outgrown it.’
Crispin knew Peyton meant well, but all the same, the thought of being somewhere for three years, let alone a decade or a lifetime, sent a quiet shudder up his spine. Children couldn’t be dragged around the world every year or so to satisfy his whim for adventure. Children needed the stability of a permanent home, of permanent parents. His own childhood was a testament to that. With two absent parents, Peyton had been the closest thing he and Paine had had to a father growing up. In his darker hours, Crispin often thought it was his worries of turning out like his parents that kept him from pursuing a family of his own, although his brothers had certainly proved such worries to be groundless. Both of them had become model family men.
Crispin made a quick tour of the upstairs rooms and returned downstairs. ‘Perhaps Paine and Julia could make use of the manor.’
Peyton shook his head. ‘There’s plenty of room at Dursley Park for them when they visit. Tessa has a whole wing set aside for them these days. Besides, they spend most of their year in London. Paine’s too busy with his banking investments to make use of a country house on a more regular basis.’
They walked out to the barns, which were just as impressive as the house. There was no outdoor work area for horses yet beyond a paddock, but the room for establishing a training arena was readily available in the wide, open spaces around the barns. Crispin could easily imagine setting up an equestrian centre here. The old dreams came to him as he walked the wide aisle of the barn, counting stalls. He had Sheikh to stand to stud for a pricey fee and to race. He could build a legacy from Sheikh.
Peyton stayed close, continuing his verbal tour of the facility. ‘There’s stalls for fifteen horses. The windows provide good light.’ Peyton pointed overhead. ‘There’s plenty of hay storage in the lofts above. The tack room can easily support all the riding gear you’d need for that many horses. The roof is fairly new. There aren’t any serious repairs you’d have to make. All of your attention could be on improvements and additions.’
Peyton had been a dangerously compelling diplomat in his day, knowing exactly when to push, when his opponents were most open to persuasion. To be honest, that was precisely where Crispin was now; wondering, in spite of his earlier inclination to sell the property, if this place was what he needed to conquer his wanderlust or even if he wanted to conquer the wandering spirit that drove him.
Crispin let a hand drift idly across the half-door of a stall. Commitment begot commitment. It wouldn’t stop at committing to the stables. There would be grooms to employ who would count on him for pay and for work. There would be social obligations. The community would expect him in church and at their gatherings. Women would expect him to marry, if not someone from London because of his family, then certainly a lady from their part of England. Peyton was right. Manor houses were expected to be filled.
He was too much of a realist to believe he could stop at just one commitment. One commitment was merely a gateway to other commitments he felt less compelled to make. The commitments would not happen overnight. They would form a slippery slope that would erode slowly over the span of several years. It would occur gradually so that it didn’t appear to
