Page 21 of Surrender Your Grace
He caught her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, leading her back to the yard.
Soon, she was mounted with Daisy held steady by a groom. Another led out Andrew’s stallion—Obsidian, midnight-black and high spirited. The massive horse tugged against the reins until Andrew murmured a low command. The beast stilled, shifting his weight like a poised dancer.
“He’s magnificent. Will Daisy and I be able to keep up?”
“It’s doubtful. Obsidian’s a thoroughbred. But William will accompany us and remain with you while I exercise him in the valley. Until then, I’ll ensure he behaves. Ready?”
As they rode out, Andrew’s mood lifted. He pointed out landmarks, shared boyhood stories, and smiled more easily than she’d ever seen. She could easily grow enamored with this side of her husband.
Daisy was energetic but gentle, responsive to even soft commands. Obsidian, in contrast, danced to be free of Andrew’s steady hand.
When they reached the valley, Andrew signaled William to come forward.
“With all the rain lately, he hasn’t had a proper run. I’ll let him burn off steam. Rest or walk your mare but stay in this general area.” He looked at the groom who nodded in silent male communication.
He then turned the black beauty, and they vanished across the field, a blur of power and grace. She watched, awestruck. “Does his lordship race him, William?”
“That he does, my lady.He is undefeated in over twenty races.He is a powerful animal.Only his lordship, Old Robbie the stable master, and his jockey who has years of experience can handle him.”
William chatted warmly as they walked their horses—sharing stories of his bride-to-be, the estate, and his family's long ties to the manor. The admiration he held for Andrew shone in every word.
Thirty minutes later, her husband returned. Obsidian was lathered but steady, and Andrew glowed with satisfaction. He dismounted, lifted Cici down gently—careful as she wobbled—and led his stallion to water. Both horses drank deeply.
Once both horses had their fill, the men tied them to a nearby tree.
“You may head back, William.Tell Cook we will be on time for the evening meal.”
“Yes, my lord,” he answered then nodded to his mistress.
Alone now, Andrew turned to her with a quiet smile.
“Shall we continue our tour?”
“Please. What I’ve seen is beautiful.”
“And I’ve yet to show you my favorite spots,” He lifted her back into the saddle, his hands lingering at her waist as he looked up at her, wind-touched and radiant.
“I cannot wait to see them,” she said—and meant it.
Chapter 7
After a rocky start, the day turned out better than she could have hoped. They rode side by side through hedgerows and sunlit meadows then climbed a hill that overlooked a shimmering lake. Near an apple orchard, they stopped beneath an ancient oak for a picnic. He dismounted and lifted her down. When her feet touched the ground, instead of letting her go, he tipped up her chin and kissed her.
Over a cold collation—thick sliced ham and sharp cheese on crusty bread, sweet berries, and Cook’s blackberry jam puffs—conversation flowed easily. She learned he had been a fencing champion in school and secretly read Byron. With a shy smile, she confessed her love of flowers (roses, lily of the valley, and her favorites, lilacs), her dislike for embroidery, and her skill on the pianoforte.
The estate tour stretched into afternoon. Their smiles were wide, their laughter light. When they paused to explore, they kissed—slow, lingering kisses—and held hands, fingers interlaced. It felt like they had married for love, not obligation.
It was late, the dinner hour approaching, when he reined in beside a thicket of towering trees. “I want to show you the ruins. We’ll need to proceed on foot.”
“Ruins? How exciting.” She eyed the deeply shadowed path. “Are they far?”
“About a quarter mile. Are you up to it? It has been a long day.”
“I am if you are,” she replied, accepting the challenge.
“You’ll need to hold tight to my hand,” he said, lifting her down once more. “The path stays damp and may be slippery.”
She beamed, thrilled by the idea of ruins—and by simply holding his hand. “I’ll muddle through somehow,” she teased.
