A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 8

Phoebe could barely stand still as she waited outside of the stable. Hayward had gone inside to see the stable boy and had bid her to wait outside.

“Can I not come in with you?” she called to him.

“That would ruin the surprise, I feel,” he called back to her.

“A surprise?” she asked, shifting more and more now where she stood. She had changed into a riding dress, ready for the day, midnight blue with long sleeves. Despite the heat of the day, she welcomed it, for it still masked the extent of the bruises along her arms.

“Now, close your eyes,” Hayward called to her from inside the stable.

“Must I?” she asked, trying her best to see inside the stable, but it was no use. One side was blocked because of stacked hay bales, and the other stable doors were closed.

“Allow me my fun, close your eyes,” Hayward bid her again.

“Very well, they’re closed,” she declared, firmly closing her eyes.

“Promise not to peek?”

“I cannot make that promise,” she said, earning his laughter which was sounding closer and closer. His footsteps came nearer toward her, as did hooves clomping on the cobbled courtyard outside the stable.

“Now,” Hayward’s voice was so close that she jumped. He was practically whispering in her ear. It sent a thrill up her spine, a thrill she had never felt before. “Outstretch your hand.”

She did as he instructed, stretching out her hand, then she felt someone take her wrist.

“This way,” he said and moved her hand a little. The touch of his hand on hers reminded her of the dance they had shared the night before. It abruptly sent more thrills through her body, up from where his hand had touched her, along her arm and into her chest. “There we are.” He released her hand, and she tried her best not to sigh from disappointment.

Into her hand, she felt a horse prod its nose. Gently, she stroked the animal up and down its nose, earning soft snorts in response.

“Open your eyes,” Hayward whispered in her ear, so close that she could feel her neck tingle. She did as he asked and opened her eyes, when the sight that greeted her made her jaw drop.

Before her was a grey horse, one of the tallest she had ever seen, mottled white with long grey hair and bold black eyes. The horse almost didn’t look real, but something that belonged in a fantasy world or in an unearthly dream.

“I have never seen a horse like this before,” she said, stepping closer toward the steed. The horse was clearly delighted by her petting and pushed his nose even further into her hand. “What is it?”

“I thought you might like it,” Hayward said, moving to stand the other side of the steed’s head and pat him on his neck. “This is an Andalusian.”

“I have heard of them, but I have never seen one before,” she murmured in awe of the horse. “It’s spectacular.”

“I brought him back from my travels. You’d be hard pressed to find a more loyal horse than Cantante here.”

“Cantante? What a beautiful name,” Phoebe marveled as she walked down the side of the horse, noting the reins and the saddle were in place. As she reached the horse’s side, Hayward walked round the steed the other way and offered his hand to her, as though to help her into the saddle. “Wait…I could not ride this horse.”

“Why not?” he asked, frowning a little.

“It’s an Andalusian!” she gestured toward the horse, as though it would explain everything.

“As I said, I wish you to enjoy your day,” he said and waved his hand in the air for her to take again. “What could be more fun than riding an Andalusian?” He merely waved his hand once more when still she stood back nervously. “Well, my hand will grow tired if we continue like this for much longer,” he jested, pulling another smile from her.

She finally took his hand, this time basking in the warmth of it for a touch longer as he helped her up into the saddle. She sat side saddle, with her right leg looped around the pommel at the front.

“It’s very tall indeed,” she said, gasping as she looked down at the ground below. She feared she might be a little rusty. There were days as a child where riding was her only freedom, where she would escape her father’s house and ride for miles, jumping fallen trees and fences, but that was some time ago.

“Well, I promise if you fall that I shall pick you up,” he said with a smile as a second horse was pulled out of the stable. Phoebe tried to hide the blush his words caused across her cheeks. Hayward pulled himself up into the saddle of a brown steed beside her, whose hair had been braided tightly. “Ready?” he asked, gesturing for her to lead the way.

The excitement coiled in her stomach as she pulled on the reins and urged the Andalusian to gallop.

* * *

Francis had never seen a rider quite like Lady Ridlington. Of course, he’d seen the impressive acrobats in Spain, but this was different. Lady Ridlington may have been nervous at first of the tall Andalusian, but after a while, she relaxed and was extremely impressive to watch. She could urge the horse to a greater speed than he ever could, and Cantante only appeared to love her more for it. She was also a fine jumper, able to take fallen tree logs with ease around the woods in the estate.

“You will have to slow down, or I will never catch up!” he called to her as he chased her through the woods.

She dutifully did as he asked, pulling on the horse’s reins and coming to a stop in a small clearing in the estate. From this part of the grounds, they had a grand view back down the hill to the front of the house, and the townhouses beyond on the edge of London.

“Forgive me,” she said, turning to him with a smile. “I have just forgotten how free I can feel when riding.” She turned her head up to the clouds, as though basking in that freedom. With her eyes turned away, it gave Francis a minute or two to observe her without fear of being discovered.

She was windswept now, with her brown hair falling out of its chignon as it was bristled around her cheeks by the wind. Her cheeks were pinker than usual from the exercise, and those green eyes of hers were alight with much more life than he had seen in them the night before.

This is where she belongs. Riding!

He added the last word in his mind, realizing he could have meant here…on his estate. He tried to persuade himself that’s not what he meant at all, he just meant she belonged in a world where she could ride.

“Well, I warrant you are the superior rider,” Francis said, earning her gaze again.

“Oh no, surely not,” she said. “It is simply that my horse is carrying the lighter load.”

“Are you saying I carry too much weight, my Lady?” He pretended to be offended.

“No, I didn’t mean –”

“Oh, the insult!” he continued the jest. His mocking tone brought laughter from her.

“Have I hurt your feelings very badly?” she said, trying to muffle her laughter. “I was merely referring to your height.”

“Of course, you were,” he said with evident doubt, bringing more smiles from her. “To remedy the affront, I must make a request of you.”

“What kind of request?” she asked, bringing her horse alongside his. They were side by side but facing opposite ways so they could look directly at each other.

“A contest,” he said. “We shall settle who is the finest rider once and for all. Otherwise, those lessons I had in Lisbon are all for nothing.”

“You had riding lessons in Lisbon?” she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

“I did,” he confirmed with a nod, observing the sheer extent of amazement in her features. “You seem quite astonished whenever I speak of my travels.”

“I guess it is because I am,” she said softly as she pulled on her reins, ensuring Cantante stayed in place. “I have never thought that travelling was something that was really possible, yet when you speak of it…it sounds very enticing.”

“You realize you could travel now,” he said slowly, watching as her expression changed.

“Oh no, I could not. My husband would –”

“Would have no more control over you once the separation is complete,” he said with finality, watching as his words sank in. “You would have an annuity and an income. What you do with your money and your life then would be your business, not your husband’s or anyone else’s.”

“Wow,” she murmured, sitting taller in her saddle. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He could see the thought sinking in and how she grew more and more excited with each passing second, her eyes darting back and forth and her hands restless on the reins.

“That expression,” he said, pointing at her, “it’s rather how I used to look when I was a boy, and my father took me to the confectioners’ shop in Covent Garden.” She giggled at the image he presented her with. “So, you have your freedom, Lady Ridlington. What would you like to do with it first?”

“I think I owe you that contest first,” she said, turning the horse around so that they were lined up, side by side, as though on a starting line. “Name the challenge.”

“The first one to the river,” he said, pointing through the trees. The edge of the estate was bordered by the River Thames, where a small stream meandered into his estate. He gestured at this stream where it resided in the long grass near the house.

“Very well,” she said, readying her horse. “When you’re ready.”

“Prepare yourself…” he said, smirking as he inched his horse a little in front of hers.

“Oh, do not cheat, Your Grace,” she said, pulling Cantante forward a little.

“Ah, I thought I had gotten away with that. And go!” he suddenly declared the start of their race. She was clearly taken by surprise as she set off after him.

Soon, they were both racing down the hill and through the trees at a breakneck speed, but where Francis had had the initial advantage, that soon slipped away. Lady Ridlington managed to overtake him easily through the trees and by the time they reached the flat land of the lawn, she was way out in front. As they got near the stream, Lady Ridlington didn’t let up. She urged the horse to jump.

Together, she and the Andalusian flew over the stream, landing neatly on the other side, as though it had taken no effort for them at all. Francis was so busy admiring Lady Ridlington for it, he had not paid attention to his own horse suddenly snorting in objection.

By the time Francis came to try and make his own horse jump, the horse was having none of it. The steed came to a skidding halt and drew his hooves into the ground, tipping his nose forward so that Francis was thrown over the horse’s head and straight into the stream. His face and body crashed against it with the water covering him in an instant.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!” Lady Ridlington’s panicked voice was muffled by the water. As he stood in the water, finding it waist deep and turning to her, he found she had jumped down off the horse and ran back to the edge of the river, her face contorted in fear.

He quickly ascertained he was not injured at all and then looked between their two states.

“Well, I think you won the contest,” he pointed out, bursting into laughter before he could finish the sentence.

A moment later, Lady Ridlington laughed too, covering her mouth in clear relief that he wasn’t hurt. This time, her laughter was completely unbidden. She didn’t try to hide it or curb it as she had done in the past, she thoroughly enjoyed it. It made that jolt in his chest even stronger than before.

“Look at me,” he said, trying to shake off some of the water. “Soaked to the bone.” He ruffled his hair, trying to get rid of some of the excess. “I blame you,” he said with humor.

“Me? I didn’t do anything,” she put upon a look of innocence.

“Perhaps payback is in order,” he teased her, slowly moving to the edge of the river. She began to back away from it.

“What do you intend to do?” she asked.

In answer, he shook his hands in her direction, trying to get her wet. She squealed in laughter and hurried away from the water, using Cantante as a shield who promptly snorted in his direction.

“Look at him protecting you from a little water. He loves you more than he loves me already,” Francis gestured to Cantante.

“He has good taste,” Lady Ridlington teased, peering over the top of the saddle. Her words brought even more laughter from Francis.

“That he does,” he said, hoping she hadn’t heard his words. “We best get back to the stable. Before my horse tips me again!”

As they reached the stable, Francis was beginning to dry off a little, not that he minded. To see Lady Ridlington laugh so freely, he would have happily jumped willingly into that water. As they came to a stop in the courtyard, they were still talking and laughing together.

“All right, I might not be the finest horse rider between us,” he acknowledged, “but I warrant I am the better swimmer from today.”

“You were the only one who swam!” she pointed out.

“Maybe so, but I think I would have been a very cruel host indeed to insist on you taking to the water too,” he said, watching as she laughed heartily.

As he jumped down from his horse, he found the courtyard was not empty. To his left, Mrs Goodman had appeared, ringing her hands together and appearing rather nervous.

“Mrs Goodman, is something wrong?” he asked, stepping away from the horse as the stable boy took hold of the reins.

“There is someone here to see you, Your Grace. They are most insistent,” she said, shaking her head in a kind of despair.

Francis glanced once to Lady Ridlington, seeing the fear that bubbled up in her features.

He cannot possibly know she is here, especially so soon.

He prayed he was wrong, that his suspicion was unfounded.

“Who is it?” he asked Mrs Goodman.