at him, running through her words in her mind.
‘Not at all, my lord. You appear to handle her well enough, but I just want to do justice to Petra. Father must have told you she can be a little resistant at first, but she knows me and will open up more easily with me in the saddle. I merely thought you would want to see her at her best.’
‘We won’t have time to switch to side saddle anyway, so let’s just see how I manage, shall we?’
She shrugged and turned to Hilda, her mare, allowing Elkins to help her mount.
‘We don’t put a side saddle on Petra; she’s trained for a man’s saddle and weight. But as you said, we’ll see how you do.’
This time she heard the condescension in her voice and almost smiled at it.
‘I’m almost tempted to do an abysmal job of it just to see what you mean, Miss Tilney.’
He didn’t, of course, and as she watched him gallop across the field she didn’t know whether to be relieved that Petra was being delivered into the capable hands of a man who would treat her right, or disappointed that she hadn’t been given the opportunity to show him her mettle. In this one corner of the universe where she was completely capable, she rarely wished to show off, but today she felt that urge. She watched as the man stopped just short of where she and Elkins waited. There was gold in his eyes, she realised, and the colour was heightened by the clear enjoyment on his face, making him look younger.
‘Can you match that?’ he demanded, bending forward to stroke Petra’s damp neck.
Elkins chuckled and Nell didn’t need further prodding. She tossed her reins to Elkins and slipped off Hilda.
Clearly Lord Hunter hadn’t expected her to actually accept his dare because he looked disconcerted, but she just laid her hand on Petra’s muzzle and raised her brows, waiting.
‘Are you serious?’ he asked. ‘Now? But she’s probably winded and you can’t ride her in skirts...’
Nell unhooked the fastening that held the wide train of her skirt and hooked it over her arm.
‘These skirts work as well on a regular saddle. I made them myself. And far from being winded, Petra is just warming up, so instead of sitting there while she cools down, you can dismount and I’ll show you what she can do and then you will probably ask Father to buy Pluck, her filly, as well. Now, down you go.’
He dismounted meekly, still watching her with curious fascination as she placed her leg in the stirrup, swinging her other leg over, and with a practised flick cast her skirts over as well, the long folds of fabric covering her legs to her boots and obscuring the riding breeches she wore underneath. She plucked out the pin which held her riding hat and handed them to Elkins, and then she was off.
Petra didn’t disappoint her. If ever a mare flew, the grey blood mare rose off the ground, as smooth and slick as water, her small head down and extended like an arrow. Nell didn’t bother with proper lady’s riding posture, but leaned low into the shape of the horse, laughing as Petra’s mane stung at her face like a brace of tiny whips. Nell wanted that man to appreciate what he was getting, and if she managed to convince him to buy Pluck as well, it would be worth it. She hated when mare and filly or foal were separated too young.
She took Petra over the hedge at the far end of the pasture as if it wasn’t even in the way and then led her back for the long jump over the stream. When she drew up she was bursting with the excitement of the run. She could even cope with the knowledge that she probably looked a fright. Her hair was too straight to stay confined by pins and she could feel it hanging down about her face.
‘Well? Isn’t she amazing?’
He took the reins she held out to him as she swung out of the saddle and she realised he really was very tall because she actually had to look up, an unusual feeling and one she didn’t quite like since it reminded her too much of Father stalking at her. She hurried to mount Hilda, her exhilaration fading.
‘Indeed she is,’ Lord Hunter said as he stroked Petra’s sweating neck. It was easier now that she was mounted and he had to look up at her. ‘What is the name of her filly?’
‘Pluck. Well, that’s just my name for her, though Father prefers to call fillies and foals after their sires, so she’s known as Argonaut’s Filly, but that’s a mouthful, so I just call her Pluck, because she is. Plucky, that is.’
‘Like you.’
Her eyes widened.
‘Hardly. I’m the least plucky thing that ever was.’
‘Now that’s not quite fair, Miss Nell,’ Elkins interjected as they turned back towards Tilney Hall. ‘There’s none like you for throwing your heart over a fence.’
She shrugged, annoyed at herself and at them, though she didn’t know why.
‘That’s different. I know what I’m doing when I’m on a horse. You can see Lord Hunter to the house, Elkins. Goodbye, Lord Hunter.’ She rode off, feeling very young and foolish she had succumbed to showing off. He had been kind about it, but she still felt ridiculous.
She hoped her aunt didn’t have one of her whims and insist she dine downstairs because then he would see how wrong he was about her pluck. She wasn’t yet formally ‘out’ in society and she rarely dined with guests, which suited her just fine because those occasions when her aunt did demand her presence were sheer purgatory. Her father’s temper was nothing next to Hester’s vindictiveness.
* * *
Just when Nell thought the hour of danger had passed, Sue, the chambermaid, rushed into her room.
‘Her majesty says you’re to join the guests for supper, Miss Nell.’
Nell shook her head, desperately trying to think of some way to avoid this disaster, and Sue clucked her tongue.
‘There ain’t nothing for it but to go forward, chick. Hurry, now. Luckily I added a flounce to your sprigged muslin and it isn’t quite so short now, but you’ll have to keep the shawl over your shoulders because there’s nothing we can do now about the fact it won’t close right.’
‘I can’t... I won’t!’
‘You can and will. There isn’t aught else to wear, chick. Really, your father should know better but men are fools. That’s right—best heed me. Men are fools and you’re better a mile away in any direction!’
Nell stood like a seamstress’s dummy, rigid and useless as Sue busied about dressing her in her one decent muslin dress with its childish bodice and equally childish length. Though Mrs Barnes was an excellent cook, neither she nor Sue were capable seamstresses and the new flounce was clearly crooked and this would surely be the night the straining fabric would finally give way to her late-budding bustline. She would sit down and there would be a horrible rending sound and everyone would look at her and her aunt would sneer and oh so kindly suggest Nell go change and perhaps ask her why she had insisted on wearing that dreadful old dress and really she despaired of the girl because no matter how hard she tried to make her presentable there was only so much one could do with such a hopeless long meg... Nell would leave the room and of course not return because she had no other dress that was suitable for evening wear and because she couldn’t face their contemptuous and condescending
