“He was terrified of horses as a boy. Not that you are terrified, of course.”
Selina cocked her head, listening. She had never heard this story before.
“I am a little terrified,” admitted Freddie.
Thomasin laughed softly. “And how very courageous of you to admit it. Well, Nicholas was quite, quite frightened, and his papa—who loved him very much, but was very stern himself—was determined to teach him not to be afraid.”
Selina remembered their father, but only fuzzily—his dark hair, the signet ring he’d worn, the smile line carved on the left side of his mouth. The way he’d let her ride on his shoulders.
“His papa hired a riding instructor, and then a handful of grooms, and no one could convince young Nicholas to mount the horse. But Nicholas was frustrated too—he hated being afraidand wanted to please his papa. So one night, he snuck down to the kitchen and stole a bag of apples, then carried them out to the stable. One by one he fed every single horse there, befriending each in turn. And every night after that, he brought his pony an apple. He fed it while he stroked its nose, then while he brushed its coat and saddled it, and finally when he mounted for the first time. And soon enough he rode his pony, proud as any duke ever was—and do you know? The bedeviled pony had grown so accustomed to the apples that he would not permit a rider other than Nicholas ever again!”
Selina grinned at Thomasin. “I remember that pony! So fat, it was, and the poor thing followed Nicholas around like a dog every time he came home from school.”
Thomasin’s eyes danced. “Precisely.” She fished in a hidden pocket of her pink ruffled gown. “And do you know what I’ve brought for you, Freddie?”
“An apple?” he said hopefully, and Thomasin laughed.
“Indeed.”
Freddie took the proffered apple and approached the shaggy brown pony. It eyed him rather mournfully as the apple bobbed up and down in Freddie’s nervous grasp.
Peter came forward and murmured something in Freddie’s ear. Selina was reminded with a little whisper of amusement of the first time she had met Peter. He’d thought her horse abandoned in the woods at Broadmayne, their country estate, and the gelding—a great beast of an animal that she adored—had dumped him flat on his arse when he’d tried to mount.
She wondered if he was telling that story to Freddie.
He showed Freddie how to hold the apple out to the horse, his long fingers cupped beneath Freddie’s smaller hand. They madea pair, two heads of dark curls bent together, Peter’s hat clutched under his other arm. The sun glinted red on their hair.
Freddie finished feeding the apple to the pony. Aunt Judith and Lu had abandoned their little party—Selina suspected Aunt Judith was giving Lu a lesson in horsemanship she wouldn’t soon forget. Thomasin spoke in an undervoice to the groom who held the bridle of Freddie’s pony.
Peter fell back beside Selina, and she smiled to look at him. His curls fell over his brow, and she reached up to brush them back. She could almost pretend that their marriage did not threaten his future. Here in the sunshine, she could almost believe that he would not come to regret it.
“Did you ride often in New Orleans?”
He turned from where he’d been staring after Lu in the distance and looked distractedly down at her. “Often enough.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, but his voice was strained. “No.”
“Is it the hearing? The postponement?” Her stomach clenched. Part of her wanted to cry—she’dknownhe would understand the consequences of Belvoir’s eventually. She’dknownit.
What had she thought? That she was worth the cost?
“We must think of it as an opportunity, Peter,” she said and cursed herself for the words.
She had secured a cottage in Cornwall to go to, if the worst happened. She had the note from her man of business tucked into her desk at Belvoir’s. She ought to be preparing Peter for her potential departure, not trying to reassure him that all would be well.
It would be better for him if she left. She couldn’t make herself say the words.
“An extra week means more time to show the Eldons how perfectly content the children are with us,” she said instead. “The tutors, the ponies—all of it will help.”
He clasped her hand in his own, the soft leather of her glove thin enough that she could feel his warmth. “It’s not the hearing.”
He didn’t go on. Did he think she did not notice his abruptness? It was not like him—he was always so easy with his words, his charm. She wanted to demand to know what was wrong, but she fought back the urge. She was too much, too insistent. She knew that about herself.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and he didn’t look at her when he said, “Freddie asks if he might call Thomasin Grandmother.”
She blinked at the non sequitur, but her chest loosened a trifle. “Oh—but of course! Well, no, in fact. Aunt Judith is Grandmother. Thomasin is Grandmama.” She smiled at the retreating back of her aunt, tall and straight beside Lu on the pony. “Aunt Judith wanted to be Grandmother Ravenscroft for my nephews—heaven knows why—but they can’t manage all of those syllables.Grandmotheralone is asking quite a lot of wee Teddy.” She glanced again at Peter, who was still looking away. “You must tell him to call her Grandmama. Thomasin will be ecstatic.”
