Page 8 of The Gentlewoman Companion

“Take her riding. Your father would be happy to see you taking a small pleasure for yourself.”

He studied her. “I hope you are not matchmaking.”

“Gracious, no! Not after her ordeal.”

She had a point. Still, he hesitated. “My tasks outpace me, and I cannot seem to get ahead.”

She shook her head scoldingly but smiled. “So serious. You need recreation. You know your father never sat at his desk for more than thirty minutes together.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Since your father died, you have treated your mourning like a calling, avoiding society and behaving as if you’re mid-life. Go outside with Miss Thorpe. Both of you need the company of young people.”

Halverton considered Louisa as she uncertainly played the pianoforte. He weighed her against the letters and notes that waited in his study, ideas swirling and jumbling in his mind. Perhaps a break was in order. If Miss Thorpe was as quiet as she seemed, he could think over Lord Tilney’s letters and mentally sort through his idea.

“Very well. If she is amiable to the idea, tell her I will meet her in the stables.”

Fifteen minutes later, Halverton inhaled the comforting aroma of hay, leather, and horses, reminding him of hours spent with his father, an exceptional equestrian. The late Lord Halverton’s tack hung where it always had. Halverton hesitated before sliding his palm over the cool patinaed leather of his father’s saddle. He was expected to take his father’s position in the House, in society, over the estate. All his time in university and throughout his travels, he’d believed he was preparing for that day.

In London, Halverton could go nowhere without hearing effusive praise of his father’s accomplishments. While gratifying, the gap between what Halverton was and the man he hoped to become was a canyon too wide to traverse. But he would try. Whatever was required of him to reach that point, he would do it.

He passed over his father’s saddle and carried his own toward Goliath.

“I can do that, my lord.” The groom tried to take it.

“You prepare Daisy. My mother’s companion is joining me.”

Daisy was a striking horse who would keep pace with Goliath, assuming Miss Thorpe was comfortable in the saddle. If she wasn’t, Halverton felt no compunction to remain with the young lady, who just then entered the stable. She curtsied and greeted Halverton wearing an ill-fitting habit.

She gestured at her attire. “Your mother’s.”

“Jones,” he called out to the groom, “Miss Thorpe is ready to mount.”

Miss Thorpe’s eyes widened when Daisy was brought out. “She is tall. I am used to Connemara ponies.”

“Do you feel comfortable riding her?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her step onto the mounting block. Halverton held Daisy’s head while the groom handed Miss Thorpe into the saddle. Miss Thorpe grasped the horse’s mane. Daisy skittered from side to side, and Miss Thorpe’s fingers dug deeper into the hair.

“She doesn’t like your hands in her mane,” Jones said.

Miss Thorpe’s fists pressed into her hips.

Jones passed her the leads. “Take the reins, miss. Do you need anything else, my lord?”

“Not at present. Thank you, Jones.”

The groom retreated to the stable.

Miss Thorpe sat a little to one side. Had she ever ridden before? Mother had misled him. “You do ride?” he asked.

“Yes.” Miss Thorpe tossed her head. At least she was not afraid. “But this is different. Sunny, my pony, did not require a saddle or bridle.”

She rode astride? With no bridle? That was highly irregular. “Have you ever ridden aside?”

“Ess coss—er, yes, of course.” She straightened her back and shot him a side glance. “Not often. Sunny required only a rope around her neck and didn’t mind my hands in her mane.”

There was something endearingly fragile yet determined about her. With an inward groan, he bid farewell to his plan of taking Goliath for a brisk gallop and said, “I will lead Daisy around the yard. She’ll move no faster than I walk.” A few circles around the green and he would be back in his study in a quarter of an hour.

“That is not necessary.” She thrust her heel into Daisy and broke into a trot. At the gate, she turned and came back. Her seat was not snug against the saddle, making it hard for her to catch the horse’s rhythm, but she did not hesitate.

“See? I am competent.” She stopped next to him.