He whickered at her over the stall and snuffled her hand. She scratched his wiry chin and stroked his ears.
“How are you, old boy?”
Frederick observed, “He remembers you.”
She grinned and asked, “Whatever happened to Ladybird?”
“When you lost interest, we sold her to a family in Kempsey.”
She nodded, not explaining why she had stopped riding. “Did you and your wife ride together often? I saw you once or twice before you married, but not after.”
“No. She gave up riding after we wed.”
Rebecca looked over, saw his pained expression, and compassion filled her. She did not ask why, afraid to pry further. Nor did she ask what he had started to say in the sitting room,“Being with you again...”Was he referencing their long friendship, as he had during the lawn bowls match, or something else?
Thinking back to their rides together and his many kindnesses to her as a child, Rebecca felt renewed gratitude. Yes, Frederick had later disappointed her, but now she decided to be thankful he cared at all. To appreciate his friendship, even if that was all it ever was.
As they left the stable together, she smiled over at him. “This has been lovely. Thank you for inviting me.”
“My pleasure.” Holding her gaze, he returned her smile.
Her heart gave an odd little somersault. That sparkle in his eyes, that dimple, that flash of white teeth made her breath hitch.
He added, “I have missed our times together.”
Has he?Rebecca blinked in surprise and admitted, “So have I.”
Upon their return to the abbey, Rebecca thanked Sir Frederick again and went up to her room. She wanted to reflect in private upon the moments they had shared and, eventually, to dress for dinner.
But she had no more than taken off her bonnet when a knock sounded at her door. She opened it, expecting Mary, but instead a surprise stood there, and not a happy one.
“John! What are you doing here?”
Her brother looked rather wild—hair hanging over his collar, in need of a wash and a cut. He hadn’t shaved recently either. At least he was fully dressed, although his cravat was stained and untidy.
“Did you see him?” he blurted. “Ambrose Oliver?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“Yes, I—”
“Did he realize who you were?”
“I don’t believe so. I went in as a chambermaid. Mr. Edgecombe knows I am staying here and may have said something. But if Mr. Oliver guessed, he hid it well.”
“Then I’ll wager he hadn’t a clue. Never one to hide his feelings. Man’s face is an open book.”
“I hope you are right.”
John’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “You’ve done it, Becky. Well done. Now all we have to do is wait.”
“Do you mean, for him to give it to Edgecombe?”
He scoffed. “Pfft. We’ll see. I’m not holding my breath.”
Then why did John seem so pleased?
