“Here you go, baby.” The horse pricked up his ears, and Francesca saw his nose wrinkle with interest. “Come on, sweetie. Try some. It’s good.”
Thunder’s eyes rolled toward her, followed by his head and nose. He sniffed at the sugar.
Withdrew.
Sniffed again.
She held her breath when his large pink lips finally reached out and nibbled the sugar in her palm. One taste and he made quick work of the rest. He continued to lick her hand, swiping every last sugar granule, then gave her an expectant look.
Francesca took a chance and rubbed the back of her hand along Thunder’s velvety chocolate nose. He tolerated the caress for a moment before shying away.
“I think you’ve got a new friend there, miss,” Alfred murmured.
Thunder’s ears pricked up.
“I hope so,” Francesca said. “Do you think he’ll let me exercise him?”
Alfred rubbed his grizzled gray beard. “Oh, I think he might. Especially if you tempt him with more sugar.”
“I’m afraid Thunder and I share the same weakness.”
Alfred leaned against an empty stall, the sunlight catching the silver in his salt-and-pepper hair. “I’m inclined to agree, miss. I tried apples and carrots this morning and neither tempted him. This one’s got a sweet tooth.” He grinned, nodding at Thunder.
Francesca moved out of Thunder’s stall and stood next to Alfred. Alfred Shepherd had been with the Dashing family since before her birth and had worked his way from stable boy to head coachman, one of the senior positions at Tanglewilde. His love of animals ensured he and Francesca were fast friends from the time she could walk. Everyone else called him Mr. Shepherd, but he would always be Alfred to Francesca.
“My father told me about the carrots.” Her attention remained on Thunder.
Alfred nodded. “I told his lordship earlier the horse’ll be a right fine animal when we put some food in his belly.”
“Too bad Daddy’s grown a crab apple for a heart.”
“Now miss, Lord Brigham is a good man.”
Francesca raised her eyebrows. “Really? He just ordered me to have Thunder gone by the time he returns for dinner.”
“I thought something was bothering you when you came in.”
Francesca’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what to do.” She put a hand to her forehead to stave off the headache pricking behind her eyes.
“Maybe if you tried telling him—”
Francesca shook her head, miserable. “I tried. He wouldn’t let me say a word. He really means it this time.”
The old coachman squared his shoulders. “Well then, we’ll simply have to figure out something until his lordship changes his mind.” He winked. “And if I know you, miss, he’ll change it in no time.”
Francesca wished she could be so optimistic. They coaxed Thunder outside and walked him around the smaller of the paddocks. He was still skittish, but they had plenty of sugar to tempt him into obedience. It seemed the more sugar they chipped from the cone, the more they chipped away at Thunder’s distrust.
“Well, it’s obvious I can’t give him back to Skerrit, and Daddy will never agree to pay the livery stable in Selborne.” Thunder pulled at his halter, and Francesca automatically extended a palm with sugar.
Alfred rubbed his beard, the wrinkles at his eyes creasing deeply. “I know it’s none of my business, miss, but how did you come to acquire the horse?”
Francesca bit her lip, not wanting to mention Winterbourne. She had a feeling even the servants knew his bad reputation. “A—a friend purchased him for me.”
“I see.” Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Then might I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“Why not appeal to the”—he gave her a sideways glance—“friend who gave you Thunder to house him? Temporarily, of course.”
