Page 23 of Hearts of Briarwall

“Hero is much like him, though he believes himself a puppy still.”

Spencer crouched low. “Not much for growing up, eh, boy?” He leaned in, taking the dog’s face in his hands. “I don’t blame you,” he whispered. He rose as Lydia drew closer.

“You didn’t answer my first question,” she said, stopping in front of him and looking over the temple, her cheeks flushed from her ride.

He forced his gaze from her to the structure. “It’s exactly as I remember.” He turned back with a nod. “Good morning to you, Miss Wooding.”

She paused. “Good morning.” She walked over to a stone bench and sat, eyes on the trailing wisteria, its clusters of blossoms hanging about her like bunches of fragrant grapes. “I love it out here. It’s always peaceful, even in a thunderstorm.”

“Do you often have thunderstorms this way?”

“No more than the usual, I suppose.” She leaned forward, her eyes brightening. “But when we do, and if I can manage it, I come here. You mustn’t tell Andrew. He’d lock me in a tower.”

“Has he a tower?”

“I’m sure he’d build one somewhere just to keep me in it.”

He chuckled at that, relaxing a bit. He walked farther into the temple, past where she sat. “I thought you were going to London this morning.” His voice echoed faintly through the stone columns and around the roof.

“I am. ‘Morning’ has different interpretations to different people. So, the Janes’s motorcar will be coming ’round in two hours. I wanted an early ride, and I’ve plenty of time. Hermes loves mornings, don’t you, you magnificent boy?” She directed her question to the stallion.

The stallion nibbled grass, pausing to shake its silken mane.

“He’s a beauty.”

“He’s particular. Fortunately, he seems to like me. Do you ride, Spencer?” Her look held a challenge. He guessed her sternness was less about whether or not he rode and more because he’d not used her first name. She’d used his twice now.

“I’m an abysmal rider.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He laughed. Where was the shy girl who hid behind pillars? He was both amused and mystified by this bold woman in front of him. “Believe it. My father owned a livery and carriage company, but I was sent to school. ‘To be bettah than ’im,’ he’d say.” He shook his head. “I can harness and drive a team on the city streets, get a horse from point A to point B when necessary. But the few times I’ve actually ridden a horse were here, at Briarwall. And Andrew was”—he cast her a sardonic look—“a most patient tutor.”

She laughed. “I’m well aware of howpatientmy brother can be.”

“Yes, well, I think I’ve always been more comfortable sitting atop something without its own mind.”

“Did you hear that, Hermes? Our Mr. Hayes prefers machine to Your Majesty’s brain.”

“With all due respect to Your Magnificence, of course,” Spencer added, bowing in the horse’s direction.

The horse continued to eat.

Miss Wooding tipped her head. “Whether or not Hermes has a brain is still up for debate, to be honest. He fights me at every jump and tends to turn home if he’s decided it’s time.”

“Sounds to me like he has a brain, just a poor sense of chivalry.”

She sighed. “It is so difficult to find a man with both.”

He shook his head, smiling. He’d caught the gleam in her eye, and he refused to take the bait.

“And what are you up to today?” she asked after a moment. “I hope my brother has plans for you other than watching him worry over the price of beef and oats.”

“Does he worry about such things?” he asked.

“Do you know my brother at all?”

He chuckled. “I see your point.” He looked about him, as if able to see the cattle and fields of grain from this vantage point.

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