Page 28 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“I want to get up on myown,” Geoffrey declared.

Looking down at the militant, ruddy-haired figure, Benjamin found the words “you’re too small” dying on his lips. His sonwastoo small to reach the saddle, but he obviously wouldn’t be told so.

“You can use the mounting block,” said Miss Saunders. “I often do.”

With a glance at Benjamin for permission, Tom led the pony over to the two stone steps in the middle of the yard. Geoffrey sprang onto the top and poised to leap.

“Set your hand on the front of the saddle,” said Benjamin. “And then throw your right leg over it.”

Geoffrey exhibited a moment’s confusion about which leg he meant, then obeyed. In the next instant he sat atop Fergus. The grin that lit his face was like nothing Benjamin had seen before. A critical inner voice suggested that he ought to be more familiar with the boy’s infectious delight.

Benjamin let him enjoy the sensation for a bit, then said, “Put your feet in the stirrups.” These had been shortened as much as possible on the child’s saddle and still barely sufficed. “Tom will lead you about at first to accustom you to Fergus’s gait.”

Tom clucked at the pony and started him off in a circle around the yard. Bradford observed from one side, Benjamin’s uncle from the other.

Geoffrey turned out to be a natural rider. Soon he’d taken the reins and was urging the pony along on his own. “I want to gallop,” he declared not long after that. “I bet I could race the dogs and beat them!”

“You must take things slowly,” Benjamin replied. “For Fergus’s sake.” He enjoyed the shift in his son’s expression as a budding rebellion died. “He needs to learn to trust you,” he added, cementing the idea. “You make friends with your mount first, and then he will do whatever you ask of him. Even very hard things, which are difficult for him. That’s a great responsibility. Do you understand what I mean by that?”

Geoffrey nodded. “How do I make friends?” he said in a subdued tone.

A small noise from Miss Saunders at his back made Benjamin wonder if she, like him, was daunted by the idea that Geoffrey had no friends. “You’ll groom him,” he answered. “And talk to him, bring him an apple now and then. But not too many treats, for fear of upsetting his stomach. Ask Bradford first. You’ll learn what makes a pony feel safe and what he can and cannot do.”

As Geoffrey nodded again, emphatically, Miss Saunders let out an audible sigh.

“And then, after a while, you can ride about the estate with Tom and Molly and the grooms,” Benjamin finished.

His son looked like a boy who’d glimpsed a heavenly vision. “I’ll work hard,” he said. “I’ll learn fast.”

“I’m sure you will.”

They watched for a while longer. Bradford offered Geoffrey some pointers about the way he sat in the saddle, and Geoffrey adjusted immediately. It was a pleasure to see, and yet a strain as well. As Geoffrey moved, frowned in concentration, and laughed, it was as if Alice appeared before Benjamin’s eyes, vanished, then reappeared. Over and over, like a flickering phantasm, forcing Benjamin to wonder, for the thousandth time, at the cruelty of fate, which had decreed that the boy would so resemble his dead mother. Trusting the groom to end the session if the pony tired, he said, “I must go in. You’re doing very well.”

Turning, he nearly bumped into Miss Saunders, who had moved at the same moment. There was something odd about her face “Are you crying?”

“No. Of course not.” She swallowed. “Why would I be?”

Benjamin had no idea. And he’d reached the limit of what he could endure. He strode away, feeling his uncle’s eyes on his back. There were times when sympathy felt as onerous as judgment. He would retreat to his library refuge, Benjamin thought, and this time he would lock the door.

When she returned to her room after the riding lesson, Jean discovered that Tab had attacked the pile of writing paper on the desk, leaving tiny fang punctures on every page. At first she feared that this was a sign of displeasure at being shut up. But he seemed proud of his achievement, joining her to add a few more holes as she looked over the damage. On the positive side, the kitten had used the sand box for its designated purpose.

Jean tidied up the desk, changed out of the riding habit, and sat down by the window. Immediately, the scene in the stable yard rose in her mind. Geoffrey had looked so happy on his pony. His father’s expression, by turns fond and pained, had brought tears to her eyes. Whatever their difficulties, they were a family. They belonged in a way she didn’t. Any more than she belonged at the Phillipsons—or anywhere, really. Yet she had to be somewhere.

Whatever Lord Macklin imagined he’d learned about her, he didn’t comprehend her system of living. She depended on hospitality, going from house to house on an established yearly round. In the five years since her mother had died, she’d made herself a welcome guest, and she couldn’t afford to annoy her various hosts or cause gossip. It wasn’t, as many people must think, a question of money. Far otherwise. She had plenty of money. But as a young lady of independent means, one’s choices were actually quite limited if one didn’t wish to be alone. Jean swallowed. A person could be competent and confident and yet not wish to be all alone.

Tab batted at the quill pen on the desk, trying to bite the feather. When Jean lifted it out of reach, he jumped, missed his footing, and tumbled into her lap. Laughing at his indignant expression, Jean got hold of herself. She had a system for her life; it worked quite well. The important thing was to preserve it. She should write the Phillipsons, in the guise of a report on their grandson perhaps. Their relief at hearing that Geoffrey wasn’t coming to live with them would outweigh any other concerns.

The letter took a while to draft. Tab wished to add toothmarks to the fresh paper, or at the least chew on the quill, and the simplest words came slowly. The task left Jean curiously fatigued.

• • •

“That went well,” Arthur said to young Tom as they walked back to the house together. Geoffrey had stayed on in the stables, brushing his pony under the groom’s supervision.

“Love at first sight, I’d say,” replied Tom with a grin that lit his homely face.

“You’re happy for Geoffrey.” Arthur was interested in Tom. He hadn’t come across anyone just like him before.

“’Course I am.”

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