Page 48 of Fair as a Star

Her head was spinning. “He didn’t?” she asked faintly.

“No. He didn’t. And I’ve come to understand why.” His voice deepened. “It’s because knowing you—being your friend—has been the blessing of my life.”

She bowed her head. “Oh, Mark.” Emotion dammed up in her chest. “You’ll make me cry.”

His fingers brushed her cheek. A tender caress with the back of his knuckles. Warm and fleeting. “Please don’t. I wouldn’t have confessed it except…I suspect you’d rather have the truth from me, inconvenient as it is.”

“Why did you never say anything?”

“What could I have said? You’ve always belonged to my brother.”

She blinked away the threat of tears. “I don’t belong to anyone. But you’re right. We shouldn’t speak of this. I’m not free.”

Not yet.

A spark lit within her. Good gracious. Was it even possible at this stage? To extricate herself from this tangle?

The prospect both thrilled and terrified her.

“I know that,” Mark said. “Which is why I must apologize for what happened between us on Sunday. For feeling as I do. We neither of us want to harm our friendship—or to hurt Henry.” He managed a tight smile. “Insufferable tyrant that he is.”

Beryl had the sense that he’d misunderstood her somehow, but before she could explain herself, her attention was caught by a movement outside the window. A large gray horse passed swiftly through the rose garden below. She looked out in time to see its tail end disappear from view.

“Is that what I think it was?” Mark asked.

“I fear it was.” She rose hastily from her seat. “Either Henry’s relented at last. Or…”

Or her sister had just stolen a horse.

Mark stood alongside Beryl inside the Grange’s modestly-sized stables. Made of brick, with a wood-shingled roof, they’d been empty for as long as he could remember. Riding horses were an expense that the Burnham family couldn’t afford. Instead, the stables served as temporary quarters for Mrs. Sheldrake’s carriage horses—and as a convenient trellis for Mrs. Burnham’s climbing roses. Buds of pink and red ran up the faded walls and drooped over the green-painted doors.

Vesper’s enormous gray head hung out of one of the looseboxes. Winnifred cradled his muzzle in her hand. Ernest gave the skirts of her dirt-streaked blue riding habit an interested sniff.

Beryl swept the little dog up in her arms before he could do any harm.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Mrs. Sheldrake demanded of Winnifred. She gesticulated at Vesper. “What you’ve done is a crime!”

“It would have been a crime to leave him there,” Winnifred retorted. “None of Sir Henry’s grooms know how to handle him. He won’t submit to anyone but me.”

“You can’t just steal a horse, my dear,” Mrs. Burnham said.

“I haven’t stolen him. I’ve rescued him.” Winnifred flung a defiant glance at Mark. “And I don’t care what your brother says about it. I’m not giving him back. Not even if Sir Henry calls in the magistrate.”

“My brother is the magistrate,” Mark reminded her.

“Oh.” Winnifred’s face fell. She instantly rallied. “Still, he isn’t likely to make a scandal out of it, is he? You know how he feels about gossip.”

“They hang horse thieves,” Mrs. Sheldrake said. “And with good reason. You’ll take that creature back at once, and pray Sir Henry doesn’t have you brought up on charges.”

“Really, Aunt,” Beryl chided, adjusting Ernest more comfortably in her arms. “Henry’s hardly going to sentence Winnifred to be hanged.”

“Exactly.” Winnifred stroked the horse’s face. “By taking Vesper, I’ve simply presented him with a fait accompli.”

“He won’t see it that way,” Mark said. “All you’ll have achieved is to make him ten times more committed to his course.”

Beryl agreed. “I’m sorry, dearest, but Mr. Rivenhall is right. You must take Vesper back.”

Winnifred gave Beryl an anguished look. “I won’t do it.”