Susan smiled. “Perhaps after the guests haveleft.”
Johnnodded.
“John, there you are,” Fitz called out as she was coming down the stairs in her ridingcostume.
John turned to her and smiled. “Are you goingriding?”
“I thought I might. Care to join me?” she asked as she stood next to him, tucking a lock of his hair behind anear.
“I’m still needed at the sheering. Patricia rides, she might accompanyyou.”
Fitz pouted. “I think not. She’s not nearly as charming as you are,” she said, sliding her hand down hisarm.
“Then what about Miss Susan, she rides, I believe?” He turned towardher.
“As delightful as that sounds, I have a class with Elizabeth shortly,” Susan answered desperately trying to withhold hercontempt.
“Ah, yes. Of course, I quite forgot.” John then turned to Fitz again. “And Sir Andrew then? Does heride?”
“Nothorses.”
“Ladies, you must excuse me. The sheep are calling me.” He started to walk down the stairs but turned to Susan. “I’d like to stop in and see Elizabeth later thisafternoon.”
“She naps atthree.”
John nodded and left. Fitz slapped her riding crop against her leg and headed down the stairs, as Susan went to fetchElizabeth.
* * *
The three menstood loading their shotguns, as the beaters were up ahead ready for the signal to begin beating the bushes to startle the birds into flyingskyward.
It was an overcast afternoon with a nippy wind coming down from the north. The trees had lost most of their autumn leaves by now and the landscape was bleak anddreary.
The men loaded the guns with shot and John called out, “Begin.”
The beaters began moving through the underbrush clapping and calling out. A covey of quail flew into the air and Bentley called out “Mine,” and shot both barrels, dropping three or four birds. John’s dogs immediately headed to retrieve thegame.
“Good dogs,” John praised as they returned. “Go ahead and reload,” Johnsuggested.
“I broke a tooth from the buckshot in a damn quail once,” Sir Andrew said. “Don’t mind hunting them, but don’t much like eatingthem.”
“Then save the shot. Just take in the fresh air and stroll about,” Bentley said. “You can be such a wuss,Andrew.”
“Poor birdies. And you can be such a brute,” Andrewreplied.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen. Please,” John reprimanded, and then commanded the beaters, “Again.”
This time a brace of pheasants flew skyward, and both John and Bentley shot at the same time, taking them bothdown.
“Good shooting, old man,” Bentley said, beaming like aschoolboy.
The dogs retrieved the birdsagain.
“Load,” Johnsaid.
“That woman, what’s her name? The nanny. Smart looking, but not very friendly. Why do you keep her?” Bentleyasked.
“She’s an excellent teacher and is working wonders with my daughter. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak of her in thatway.”
