“And she is mild-mannered, used to the side-saddle, and very clever, the perfect horse for a beginner like yourself. No one but you shall be riding her.”
“Thank you very much for choosing her for me,” Elizabeth told him.
“I di-,” he started, glanced at her husband, then said, “You’re welcome.”
She looked at Talbot, who nodded encouragingly, and then slowly approached the mare.
“She is stunning. And look at that mane,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Can I braid it sometime, or does that bother her?”
Susan’s husband glanced at the duke, who shrugged.
“We can try it, Your Grace, not all horses like it.”
“I see. Well, thank you again.”
Elizabeth felt airy and light and carefree as she walked her mare (Miss Judy!) down the long, straight lane that led from the manor to the woods.
Even though her mission of entering matrimony with a suitable and respectable man hadn’t been accomplished in the way she’d originally intended, Elizabeth had to admit that, since the day of her wedding, she’d finally, for the first time in years, been relieved of the burden of decision-making, of having to take care of things, and, most importantly, of attending endless events at which she needed to put her best foot forward and be judged by a room full of people who believed themselves to be above her.
The weight that had been pressing down on her neck since the day she realised how dire their financial circumstances were when she was but 14 summers old had started gradually shrinking, and Elizabeth suddenly found herself... living. Enjoying. Observing the beauty of the world around her without forever calculating and planning what needed to be done or taken care of next.
Her only remaining worry was that she wasn’t good enough for the title that had been thrust into her unwilling hands, but since she was used to similar sentiments, she worked hard at adapting to it.
According to Lady Burnham, she needed to worry less, but Elizabeth firmly believed her friend was simply being kind in order to spare her feelings. There was another thing Lady Burnham had said, and it was something that Lizzie only rarely allowed herself to dwell on.
“Your husband cares about you a great deal,” Lady Burnham had said one day after Colin had dropped by to tell Elizabeth some news from the city.
Elizabeth had felt conflicted when she heard the observation; on one hand, thrilled that her friend thought that, but at the same time, afraid of what the truth was.
“What makes you say that?”
Lady Burnham had smiled mysteriously. “A woman who was married for as long as I was knows these things. Don’t you see how he always finds reasons to be near you, or the way he looks at you?”
Elizabeth had wanted to cry. She didn’t trust herself any longer. She’d been so wrong about her brother, hadn’t she? She'd believed he cared for her and even loved her in his own way.
No. She firmly stopped the thoughts of Nicholas.
She'd smiled at Lady Burnham and hidden her words deep inside her mind to re-examine them when she was alone in her dressing room. And she did, many times over since then. Even now, she looked at her husband out of the corner of her eye and wondered,Could it be true?
The haughty, arrogant man she used to dance with all those months ago, where was he now? Who was her husband really?
The man who'd said those cruel things about her unworthiness to be his wife behind her back couldn’t be the same man who had proudly written her name in the Talbot family prayer book.
Was he simply making the best of the hand he’d been dealt? Would he grow to love her as the months went by? Lizzie didn’t dare hope. This was already so much better than anything she’d dreamed of.
“What’s your horse’s name? Mister John?” she asked Colin playfully.
“Bruiser,” he replied, deadly serious.
Now there was absolutely no way for her to stop the laughter. They had to stop because she bent over at the waist to catch her breath. She had tears in her eyes when she finally straightened up.
“I’m sorry. I just never…” She inhaled deeply to compose herself. “I don’t know what I expectedyouwould name your horse.”
“I bought him already named and broken in,” he explained, then shifted from one foot to the other. “Starlight. That’s what I would name a horse.”
“That is a wonderful name,” she admitted, then briefly wondered what he would name a child, then reddened in mortification over her own thoughts.
“And you are wonderful, too, Bruiser,” she apologetically turned to the stallion, whose arrogant air, so similar to that of his owner, made her smile.
