Page 46 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

His eyes traveled from the polished brass fixtures to the gleaming coats of the thoroughbreds.

“We only have three horses at home now. Caesar, Mama’s mare Athena, and old Brutus, who pulls the cart. I don’t get to ride as often as I’d like.”

There was no self-pity in his tone, merely a statement of fact, yet Victor felt a pang in his chest.

“Does your riding instructor not take you out regularly?” he asked.

Tristan scuffed the toe of his boot against the straw-covered floor. “Oh, he comes only once a fortnight now. Mama says we must be… economical.”

The boy’s careful pronunciation of the word told Victor he was merely parroting something he’d heard from adults. The Dowager Countess’s financial situation had to be more precarious than he’d realized.

“Your form on horseback—is it any good?” Victor found himself asking, even though he knew, after seeing the boy on a horse, that there was much to be desired.

“Oh, my instructor says I’m a natural,” Tristan replied with a touch of pride.

“Most instructors say that,” Victor said dryly. “Would you care to demonstrate? I have a gentle gelding that might suit you.”

The boy’s face transformed with delight. “Truly? May I?”

“I’m the one offering, am I not?” came Victor’s gruff reply, but there was no annoyance in his tone at all.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were trotting around the paddock, Tristan mounted on a dappled gray horse named Mercury while Victor rode his preferred stallion, Ares.

“Sit deeper in the saddle,” Victor instructed, observing the boy’s form with a critical eye. “Shoulders back. You’re perched like a sparrow on a branch.”

Tristan adjusted his posture immediately, his eyes wide and focused. “Do you mean, like this?”

Victor grunted in the affirmative. “Better. Now, heels down. No, further down. Your legs should be longer.” He frowned. “Has this instructor of yours taught you nothing of proper position?”

“He mostly tells me I’m doing splendidly,” Tristan admitted.

“Hmph. There’s nothing splendid about a form that would see you thrown at the first unexpected movement.” Victor guided Ares alongside Mercury. “Now, watch. Back straight but not rigid. Deep in the saddle. Legs long, heels down. You must become part of the horse, not merely a passenger.”

Tristan studied him intently and then adjusted his position with surprising accuracy. “Oh!” His eyes lit up with delight. “This feels different. More… secure.”

Victor’s lips twitched. “Because it is. Now, let’s try a canter.”

The hour passed swiftly as Victor found himself absorbed in correcting the boy’s technique. Tristan was an eager student, quick to implement suggestions, and genuinely delighted by his improvement.

“This is wonderful!” Tristan exclaimed as they completed a figure eight. “I wish I could ride like this every day! Mama tries to practice with me sometimes, but I can tell she doesn’t truly enjoy it.”

Victor’s ears perked up. “Oh?”

“She prefers painting to riding, I think. But she knows I love horses, so she pretends to be enthusiastic.”

Tristan’s expression grew serious, and Victor caught a glimpse of the nobleman he would soon become.

“I try not to ask too often,” the boy continued. “She already does so much for me—managing the estate, teaching me when we can’t afford tutors, attending all those boring meetings with Mr. Halston about finances.”

Victor digested this information, and with it came a clearer understanding of the Dowager Countess’s situation.

“It’s just the two of us, you see,” Tristan continued, “and though she never says so, I know things are difficult sometimes. But she always puts on a smile for me.”

The simple loyalty in the boy’s voice stirred something in Victor’s chest—an emotion he’d thought long buried.

“It’s getting late,” he said abruptly, in a bid to cut that emotion short before it could blossom. “Your mother will be concerned.”

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