“It appears you are in full command,” Eammon observed as he stepped up from behind her.
She turned and smiled. “When it comes to the horses, I am.”
“Well, I shall mingle. Word has already spread that there will be two Shetland ponies here for the children to ride on, and you can see them forming a line. There are many interested when it is just one but because we never managed to accommodate all the children who come. With two ponies, there will be an onslaught of children.”
She glanced to the side and indeed noted that between a market stall selling goats, milk, and cheese and another displaying fruits and vegetables, there was a queue of children about fifteen deep, most accompanied by their mothers who stood anxiously beside them, while others had older siblings in tow, and yet more were alone. And even more made their way into the square from all directions.
The fathers were gathering around where Eammon was expected to stand and greet them. He had explained a bit more about how these events unfolded.
Generally, he stood off to the side, conversing with the farmers who shared their concerns, while the steward, who would arrive shortly, took notes regarding their needs. While he engaged with them, the groom would lead Hector around the circle with one child at a time.
It seemed that this was a well-rehearsed affair, which had kept her nerves at bay. Yet now, all of a sudden, she found herself feeling anxious. What if Ambrose or Hector were spooked, and a child fell? Would that be her fault? After all, she would be the one leading them around in circles. Was this a prudent idea? Suddenly, she questioned if she ought to join her husband at his side and let the groom handle the horses. But there was only one groom and two horses. The children had been promised two ponies.
“Charity,” Eammon said, placing his hand on the small of her back. “Is something amiss? You appear rather out of breath.”
She looked at him and shook her head. “No, no. It is not…Nothing is the matter. I simply find myself suddenly worried. What if I am no good at leading children? What if something unforeseen occurs? What if there is an accident?”
He raised his hand and rested it at the nape of her neck, his thumb and index finger pressing lightly against her.
“Charity, do not fret. These are not Arabians; they are Shetland ponies. Even if a child should happen to fall, it would be a very short distance. Moreover, Peter, our groom, is well-versed in handling such situations. In all the time I have witnessed this, never has a child fallen nor been hurt. And you will be walking very slowly in a controlled environment. Nothing should spook the horses. But if you feel that Ambrose is too skittish, we shall let him wait until we are through. You know him; you are familiar with his temperament. Do not worry.”
She wanted to feel annoyed at him for instructing her, but she understood that he acted from concern. Just as he meant well when warning her not to run in the stables—an admonition she had promptly ignored, resulting in her slip—he had her best interests at heart.
Gathering her resolve, she looked up at him and nodded. “Very well. Thank you for your kind words.”
“Have they assisted you?” he asked, and she could tell by the sincerity of his voice that he truly meant it, and she nodded. She could not deny it: his words had indeed helped. Perhaps when he had vowed to protect her, those were not simply empty promises but earnest assurances he intended to keep.
CHAPTER21
Charity
“Thank you, Your Grace,” A little boy said as he slipped down from Ambrose’s saddle. “Thank you Ambrose,” he added and petted the little horse’s neck.
“Would you like to give him a carrot?” Charity offered, and the boy took it at once, feeding it to a hungry Ambrose.
“Shall we bring in two more?” the groom asked, and Charity glanced over at the corner. They had been walking with the horses for the better part of two hours with a break in between and she was rather tired, as was Ambrose, she believed. Hector, meanwhile, appeared rather fit still, but then he was used to this, seeing how he was brought here once a month. Ordinarily she would have said no, but there were only two children left in line.
“Yes, let us bring them,” she said, motioning to the children. The groom lifted a little girl of about four onto Ambrose before taking the boy onto Hector. Charity led Ambrose in a circle while the little girl giggled with delight.
As they walked, she spotted Eammon. He’d been standing with assorted farmers and conversing with them all day, but at times he’d glanced at her and smiled encouragingly. She’d returned the smiles because, since his words of encouragement, she couldn’t deny feeling a certain warmth whenever she looked at him.
However, this time when she looked up, that warmth was replaced with a curiosity, for something was not quite right. Up until now, Eammon had conversed with each tenant in an almost jovial manner. If there was trouble, he’d grown a little more solemn, but never withdrawn or angry. He had a way with people, she’d noticed. They liked him and he appeared to genuinely like them.
This time, however, he looked furious. His eyebrows were drawn together and his jaw set while his arms crossed across his front. The person he was speaking to did not look like a tenant farmer, but rather like a merchant. The sort she would see in London, working in one of the shops on Bond Street, rather than at a market. What did this mean?
As she passed, she caught the words “….he cannot possibly do that…” but no more as Ambrose had turned and they were walking in the other direction with the chatter from the market drowning out whatever else Eammon might have said.
He? Of whom was he speaking?
One of his cousins? His uncle?
She frowned. She would ask him once they were finished.
“Is that your husband?” the girl asked her, drawing her from her thoughts. “The man with the blue waistcoat?”
“Yes,” she replied with a smile. “That is His Grace, the Duke of Leith and I am the duchess.”
“I want to be a duchess too when I grow up. Or a princess,” the girl informed her.
