you.’ There was really no need for her to be alone.
Although how comfortable would it be to be so close to her for so many hours?
She looked alarmed. ‘I would not so inconvenience you, my lord. I will manage well enough in the landaulet. You must not give up the pleasure of riding horseback.’
He was most comfortable on a horse, that was true. On the Peninsula, he and his horse moved as one and in battle his horse never failed him.
He glanced out the window. ‘It does look to be a fine day for riding.’
Her voice turned wistful. ‘A lovely day for riding.’
He heard her take another bite of her toast. He gazed out the window, but his mind was working.
Finally he turned back to her. ‘Do you ride, Miss Tilson?’
To his surprise, her hazel eyes kindled with pleasure—a captivating sight.
‘Once upon a time I rode every chance I could,’ she said dreamily. ‘So I well understand what a joy it is to view the countryside from the back of a horse.’
He nodded. ‘If we can procure a riding habit for you and a ladies’ saddle, would you like to ride today?’
He could pay off the coachmen. They certainly would not mind receiving the same pay for a trip they did not have to take.
Her eyes widened. ‘Surely you cannot arrange such a thing.’
He lifted a shoulder. ‘I can try. We shall see what can be done.’
Her eyes brightened. ‘I would love to ride.’
* * *
It took some effort—and a generous output of coin—but Garret managed to provide Miss Tilson with a decent and well-fitting riding habit, riding boots, gloves, hat, riding crop and a side saddle that suited her almost as well as if made for her. He paid enough for the owner of the items to purchase three replacements and ones of finer quality, too.
But he would not tell Miss Tilson the cost. It exceeded her yearly salary, which would seem a fortune to her, but to him, now that he’d inherited wealth, it was a mere trifle.
The stable provided them both with horses, which they would change periodically at other coaching inns on the road.
The air was crisp and the sky so vivid a blue it almost hurt the eyes. Rolls of white clouds added to the day’s grandeur. What finer day could there be for a ride?
In Chester the road was busy with farm wagons, mail coaches, carriages of all kinds, from the simplest gig to elegant landaus to a lumbering post chaise, but as they rode further away from the town there were times they were alone on the road and could ride side by side.
‘How are you faring?’ he asked. ‘I can always hire a carriage if riding is too taxing.’
She was as game as he’d hoped, though. ‘It is not too taxing.’ She smiled at him. ‘It is wonderful!’
Garret was pleased. He’d brought her some happiness after all she’d been through.
‘You ride well,’ he said.
She grinned. ‘It is one of my favourite pastimes, I must say. When I was a little girl I rode astride and bareback on my beloved pony. When I was sent to school, my father provided a horse and I learned how to ride properly.’
‘Where was your school?’ he asked.
Her smile faded and she took a moment to answer. ‘Bristol,’ she finally said.
Whenever he asked her a question, her demeanour changed. It kept him from asking more.
But as they rode in silence for a while, he felt compelled to say something. ‘You must have the use of the stables at Brookmore. There are a couple of mares there—my sister-in-law’s horses—that you would find pleasant to ride.’
Her face lit up. ‘I might ride? How very wonderful!’
Changing horses at the inns gave them both a chance to stretch their muscles and ease any soreness from the time in the saddle. Garret was used to long hours on horseback, but Miss Tilson could not be as seasoned, even if she loved riding.
When they took refreshment at the inns, their conversation was more comfortable than the night before, but, then, any questions he asked her were about the inn, the food, the fresh horses they were given. Apparently questions about the present were not difficult for her to answer.
He liked being in her company. She was neither too chatty nor deadly silent.
* * *
When the sun dipped low in the sky, they reached the outskirts of Preston. Preston was a large and busy town and the traffic on the road was almost as bustling as London. Many a male rider would have found it daunting to guide a horse through such busy streets. Miss Tilson still rode confidently.
He led her to the inn. In the yard, ostlers ran up to hold the horses. Garret dismounted and turned to see Miss Tilson expertly slip off hers. Their gazes caught briefly and, for a moment, he was lost in the depths of her hazel eyes.
He quickly glanced away.
For a multitude of reasons—her position, his fiancée—he must not allow any physical attraction to her, yet at unexpected moments like this desire coursed through him.
The ostler handed him his valise and Miss Tilson gathered the small bag carrying the few items she could now call her own.
She took a step and winced.
He stepped towards her and put his arm around her. ‘Are you able to walk?’
She let him support her. ‘I am stiff, of course. I’m sure it will pass.’
He was more than happy to have her lean against him, although this was precisely the sort of contact he should avoid.
When they entered the inn and Garret gave the innkeeper his name, the innkeeper’s eyes lit up.
‘Lord Brookmore, sir. Welcome.’ The man bowed. ‘Let me assure you your rooms are ready and the items you requested have been placed in the lady’s room.’
Miss Tilson looked at him quizzically.
He did not enlighten her.
Their rooms were on the first floor, next to each other, too close to make defying temptation easy. Better he were on the other side of the building.
The innkeeper grinned as he opened Miss Tilson’s door.
Obviously the man Garret had sent ahead had managed his task very well. Across the bed were items of clothing and rolls of cloth, everything he could think of that would be of use to her.
* * *
Rebecca gasped. ‘What have you done?’
The bed was laden with rolls
