When Love’s delirium haunts the glowing mind,
Limping Decorum lingers far behind.
George Gordon, 6th Lord Byron, 1788-1824
Kit was near to bursting with excitement as he took Miss Allerton’s hand and followed her down the hall toward the eastern portico. He glanced over his shoulder to make certain Drew was keeping pace and tugged impatiently on his governess’s hand, urging her to hurry.
As soon as the stables came into view, Kit pulled his hand out of Miss Allerton’s and streaked across the lawn toward the fenced paddocks.
“Whoa there, Master Kit.” Riley, Swanslea Park’s head groom, intercepted the little boy as he ducked beneath the bottom fence rail. “You’re to stay on that side until I tell you it’s safe to come inside the paddock.”
Kit stuck out his lip and pouted, but he did as Riley told him and stayed outside the paddock, hanging on to the fence rail, watching as the groom put a bay Dartmoor through its paces.
“I like that one!” Kit pointed toward the Dartmoor. “May I ride that one?”
Riley shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll have to ask his lordship about that.” He nodded toward Drew and Miss Allerton.
Kit turned to Drew. “May I ride that one, his lordship?”
“Your lordship,” Miss Allerton corrected.
“Drew,” Drew replied. He dropped to his haunches to meet Kit on the child’s level. “Other people may call me your lordship or his lordship,” he explained. “As my br…as part of my family, you’re entitled to call me by my given name.” He smiled at Kit. “Understand?”
Kit solemnly shook his head.
“My name is Andrew,” Drew said. “But you may call me Drew.”
“Okay,” Kit agreed. “My name is Christopher.” He stumbled over the pronunciation of his name. “But you can call me Kit.”
“Agreed.” Drew extended his hand, waited while Kit shook it, then stood up and spoke to the head groom. “How’s the Dartmoor?”
“He hasn’t been properly trained,” Riley said. “But he shows promise.”
“And the others?” Drew nodded toward where the grooms were walking the other ponies around the stableyard.
“I brought the best of the lot,” the groom told him. “But most of them will need work.”
Drew shrugged. “I never expected to go into the pony business, but we’ve plenty of room in the stables for them and…”
“You have a weakness for the stubborn, shaggy little blighters,” Riley teased. “Especially when you know that two or three of them would have been sent to the mines or the rendering pot.”
A frown marred Kit’s forehead as he turned to Drew and asked, “What’s a render pot?”
“Nothing you need worry about,” Drew assured him. “None of these little beauties is going to the mines or the rendering pot.”
Miss Allerton smiled at Drew. “I believe you must have a fondness for ponies if you’re willing to take the whole lot of them.”
“I’m afraid I may not have a choice,” Drew said wryly, “now that Kit’s seen them. If he’s like most boys, he’s going to want them all. But he won’t be able to ride them all. If the pony he falls in love with isn’t the one most suitable for him to ride, he ought to be able to have both.”
Suddenly Kit looked up and saw his mother making her way toward the stables. He raced toward her. “Mama! Come look!” He grabbed hold of her skirts with one hand and pointed toward the ponies in the paddock with the other.
Wren smiled at the look of pure joy on Kit’s face as he moved closer and closer to the ponies. He tugged on her dress and Wren followed him until they stood side by side, pressed against the fence, admiring the ponies.
“Still think I’m going to disappoint him?”
She was so enthralled by Kit’s reaction to the ponies that Wren jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder and warm breath against her neck. She dropped her knapsack on the ground and reacted automatically, jabbing her elbow as hard as she could into the hard wall of muscle at her back before bracing for retaliation.
He let go of her and grunted in pain. “What the devil was that for?”
“I don’t appreciate being frightened out of my wits. I don’t like being accosted.”
Drew met her searching stare with one of his own. “Accosted?”
She nodded.
He narrowed his gaze. “I didn’t accost you. I placed my hand on your shoulder to get your attention.”
“I don’t like being touched.”
“By anyone? Or just me?”
“By strangers.”
His voice, when he spoke, vibrated with unspoken emotion. “I’m hardly a stranger, Kathryn.”
“I know.”
“Then, you don’t object to my touch?”
The hopeful note in his voice made her uncomfortable, so Wren ducked her head and evaded his question by saying, “I didn’t hear you approach.”
“My fault,” he told her. “In the future, I’ll be sure to make enough noise to make my presence known.”
Miss Allerton lifted an eyebrow and looked at Wren askance. They’d been talking from the time they left the mansion until they reached the paddock. He hadn’t sneaked up on Wren. She’d simply been so absorbed in her own thoughts and in watching Kit watch the ponies that she hadn’t heard any of their conversation or realized he wasn’t alone.
Relief spread through Wren’s veins when she realized she’d overreacted. She couldn’t foresee the moments when blind panic would overtake her, couldn’t always keep herself from reacting—or overreacting. But she knew Drew and she knew that no matter how angry or frustrated he was, no matter what he said to the contrary, he would never physically hurt her. He was safe in the way that her father and Bertrand and George had been safe, but he was so much more. He was young and handsome and he made her aware of her body in ways she’d forgotten. He made her want, made her ache with wanting. He made her feel alive and beautiful and desirable for the first time in six years. And she trusted him.
Wren reached up and flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly in a spontaneous gesture of joy. “Oh, Drew, you did it! You kept your promise. Thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome.” Drew returned her embrace. “I asked Miss Allerton to join us for the selection.”
Wren felt a flush heat her face. “Oh, Ally, I apologize, I didn’t…” A feeling of foolishness swept over her as Wren realized she’d flung herself into Drew’s arms while Kit, Miss Allerton, Mr. Riley, and several stable hands looked on. She dropped her arms to her sides and would have stepped back, but Drew held her close. Wren pressed her hands against his chest and turned her face away in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”
“For hugging me or hitting me?” Drew rubbed his ribcage.
She stared up at him, studying his face for any hint of anger. “For hitting you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Seeing you smile and having you hug me was worth a moment of pain.” He bent to retrieve her knapsack, then straightened to his full height and handed it to her.
She smiled as she accepted the canvas bag and the rest of the world seemed to fade away. It was as if they were the only two people on earth. Drew stood mesmerized by the warm look in her eyes.
“Drew!” Kit tugged on the hem of Drew’s jacket and began pointing at each of the ponies, repeatedly asking the same question, “Is he mine?”
Drew looked down at the boy. “That’s up to you. Mr. Riley went into the village and collected all the ponies that needed a good home and a little boy to love. These are the ponies he found.”
“Truly?” Kit’s eyes were as big and round as saucers.
“Truly.” Drew grinned.
“Are they all mine?” Kit asked.
Drew looked over at Riley, his head groom. Riley shook his head. “We’ll keep the one you like the best and the one best suited for a lesson pony. The rest of them will stay here until we find good homes for all of them.”
Kit frowned, clearly not happy
with the idea that some of the ponies might go to other homes one day. “What about Mama? She doesn’t have a pony. Can she have one?”
“Your mother is welcome to have one of these ponies.” Drew met Kathryn’s knowing gaze. “If one of them proves to be a suitable mount for her. But,” he warned Kit, “she may prefer one of the mares in the stable.”
“Mama, which pony do you want?” he asked.
“Kit, darling, Mama doesn’t ride,” Wren answered.
Drew raised an eyebrow at that. “You don’t enjoy riding?”
“It’s not that I don’t enjoy it,” Wren answered a bit defensively. “I like horses and ponies very much. I’ve just never been around them. I grew up in university towns and my father never owned a horse. We always walked or hired vehicles.”
“You can have one to draw,” Kit told her.
“That’s true,” she agreed. “But I don’t have to own one to draw it. And it wouldn’t be right for me to deprive a pony of a loving little boy or girl who would ride it.”
The idea that Kathryn might not know how to ride had never occurred to Drew. He suddenly recalled her London Season and all the times she’d declined his invitations to accompany him on his morning rides in Rotten Row by saying she was sure he would much prefer his friend Julian’s company to hers that early in the morning. All the women of his acquaintance were equestriennes. He never dreamed Kathryn wasn’t.
“I remember inviting you to ride with me in Rotten Row every morning,” he said, softly. “And you always refused.”
Kathryn didn’t answer.
“I thought you were being coy,” he continued. “I thought you repeatedly turned me down to whet my appetite so I’d step up my courtship of you.”
“I’ve never been coy,” she told him. “Even during my London Season. And while I confess to wanting to whet your appetite, I must admit that I had no idea my refusal to go riding with you might have that effect. You were such an accomplished horseman that I simply couldn’t stand the thought of embarrassing you in front of your friends.”
Drew looked at her with new eyes. “You don’t ride at all?”
Wren bit her bottom lip. “I’ve never even sat on a horse.”
“Then that’s something we shall have to remedy.” He turned to Riley. “What do you think?”
“Well,” Riley said as he took off his cap and scratched his head. “There’s Addy. You retired her to stable companion a few years back. She’s old and calm, but she can be a mite stubborn and settled in her ways.”
“Addy’s too old and fat and set in her ways,” Drew commented. “She’s safe, but her top speed is a walk. Mrs. Stafford would be bored to tears. I think Felicity might be a better choice.”
Riley agreed. “Aye. Felicity’s sweet, well trained, even-tempered, and sure-footed, and she doesn’t mind hours under saddle.”
“Really, Drew,” Wren interrupted, “I don’t think that my learning to ride is necessary. Besides, Mr. Riley will have his hands full teaching Kit. I’d just get in the way.”
“Oh, no, ma’am.” Riley opened the paddock gate and exchanged the Dartmoor for another pony a groom brought forward, this one an old black Shetland pony, with a wide white blaze on his face, white stockings on both back feet, and a small patch of white on his chest. “I won’t be teaching the youngster. I’m a trainer, but I’m no equestrian. I’ll train the ponies, but Master Andrew—I mean, his lordship will teach young Master Kit and you to ride.”
“What about Ally?” Kit turned to his governess. “Are you going to learn to ride, too? Which pony do you want? ‘Cause I think that one”—he pointed to the Shetland—“likes me the bestest.”
Miss Allerton smiled. “You needn’t worry about me choosing that little fellow,” she said to Kit.
“Why not?” Kit demanded, indignant at the idea that Ally found his choice lacking.
“Miss Allerton is one of the finest horsewomen in all of England,” Drew said. “She needs something bet— bigger—than your old fellow. He’s too small to carry an adult.”
“Good!” Kit turned to Drew. “ ‘Cause he’s the one I want.”
Drew studied the pony. He was old; his face and shaggy black coat were mottled with flecks of white and gray. “He favors my old pony, Galahad. What do you think of him, Riley?”
The groom grinned. “I thought you’d like him.” He patted the old pony on the shoulder and gave his ear a fond scratch. “He should look like your old Galahad. He’s a good ten years younger than Galahad, but he had the same sire and dam. I found him awaiting a buyer at the stockmen’s sale. He’s well trained and well mannered for a Shetland, but he’s pushing twenty and if he didn’t find a buyer…” Riley let his words trail off. “His name is Lancelot.”
“If he’s half as good as Galahad, he’ll be the best horse Kit will ever own.” Drew blinked quickly to remove the bright sheen in his eyes. “You’ve made a fine choice, Kit. He’s the perfect horse for you. If your mother agrees, then you may have him.”
“Please, Mama.” Kit turned to her. “Can I keep him?”
“May I keep him,” Wren corrected automatically.
“May I keep him?”
Wren met Kit’s pleading gaze, then turned to meet Drew’s equally entreating gaze. “I suppose every little boy ought to have a pony to love and ride and take care of.”
“Thank you, Mama!” Kit threw his arms around her legs and hugged her tightly.
“But you must promise to listen to Drew and Mr. Riley while they instruct you and do exactly as they tell you. Agreed?” She loosened Kit’s grasp on her legs, then lifted him into her arms so that she could look him in the eyes.
“Agreed,” he promised.
“Then, it’s settled,” Drew pronounced. “We’ll put Lancelot through his paces on the ground, then we’ll let Kit get the feel of him. And once we’re done with Kit, we’ll introduce you to Felicity.”
“So soon?” There was an edge of fear in Wren’s voice.
“There’s no time like the present.” He turned to his head groom. “We’ll need to check to make certain the ladies’ saddles are in good repair and in a few days, we’ll need to find a child’s saddle for Kit.”
“I’ll set one of the grooms to polishing up Galahad’s old saddle.”
“You kept it?” Drew was surprised.
“Of course I kept it,” Riley said. “I knew we’d have use for it one day. It just needs a bit of polishing. The same goes for the ladies’ saddles your mother used. ‘Course, I’ll have the groom check the rigging just to be sure.” He looked at Wren. “Don’t worry, missus. Felicity’s sweet as an angel. She’ll treat you right. We’ll have you riding in no time.”
“I don’t have a riding habit.” Wren turned to Drew. “Or boots.”
“Your half-boots will be fine,” he said. “And we’ll have the seamstress make up a habit for you while she’s making up one for Miss Allerton and riding breeches for Kit. But you won’t need it right away. For now, you can hike up your skirts.”
“I couldn’t possibly…” Wren sputtered.
“Why not?” His expression was one of boyish innocence, but his words were meant for her ears alone. “Are you afraid to reveal more of your infamous artwork?”
“To you?” she snapped. “Yes!”
“But, my dear Kathryn, surely that’s why you painted it,” he drawled. “After all, art is meant to be seen and enjoyed.” A smile played on the corners of his lips. “And I do enjoy it, Kathryn. I enjoy it immensely.”
Wren heaved a frustrated sigh. “I wish you would forget you ever saw it.”
“Not bloody likely,” he murmured, “for I’m not that noble or that forgetful.”
Chapter Fourteen