“Oh,” she said. “I—”
She was about to decline—for all the usual and obvious reasons. But she remembered the fright and exhilaration of those rare rides in her childhood, and the wonder and joy of riding what she had called arealhorse after her marriage.
She was overwhelmed by temptation.
What would Matil—No! She did notcarewhat Matilda would say.
“I shall ask Bea to ride with us, of course,” he added.
“I wouldliketo.”
They spoke simultaneously.
“I shall choose a horse for you, then,” he said, “and have a groom lead it over to Bramble Hall when we come.”
“Thank you.” She turned her head to look at his face in profile. She could tell from the set of his mouth that walking was not easy for him. It was very probably painful too, but he moved at a steady, though slow, pace, and he uttered no complaint.
She wondered what other injuries he had suffered.
She was so glad she had made this visit, she thought a few minutes later as she drove away in the gig, a groom having brought it up to the terrace for her. She was even glad Lady Gramley had not been here, for it was unlikely they would have sat out in the garden in the brightness of the sunshine, feeling the heat of it on their faces and bodies.
And she was glad she had had the courage to agree to ride with Sir Benedict—and Lady Gramley.
She felt really quite restored in spirit.
Perhaps she was coming alive again.
But whatever would Matilda say?
6
“It is quite fascinating to observe how differently various people are affected by their infirmities,” Beatrice said over a late tea. “Some people are an inspiration. They remain smiling and cheerful while suffering the most dreadful afflictions. Others make one feel as though one were being sucked into a black hole with them, poor things.”
“You look exhausted,” Ben said.
“But glad to be back to my parish and community duties at last,” she assured him. “How did you enjoy your ride?”
“Very well indeed,” he said, “for the five minutes it lasted. I was just riding out when I spotted a gig coming along the road in the direction of the house. It looked to me as though the lone occupant was dressed in unrelieved black. So I turned around and came back.”
“Mrs. McKay?” she said. “Without Lady Matilda?”
“The lady has a head cold.”
“And so Mrs. McKay was able to escape alone.” She smiled at him. “You were not so lost to all conduct as to entertain her in here alone, I hope, Ben?”
“We sat outside in the garden for all of an hour,” he told her.
It was a bit surprising, actually, that he had even turned back from his ride, since he might easily have escaped without her seeing him. And he certainly could have stopped her from staying. It had not been her suggestion. But then he was the one who had suggested that she call at Robland. He had felt sorry for her, cooped up in that gloomy manor with the battle-ax.
“Poor lady,” Beatrice said. “I do not suppose her sister-in-law is good company even when she is in the best of health. Mrs. McKay must be very lonely. I wish I had been here.”
“If ever the topic should arise, Bea,” he said, “you have been complaining just recently that the horses in the stables are in need of more exercise than they are getting.”
“Oh?” she said in some surprise. “HaveI been so slandering my grooms? I am obliged to you for reminding me, Benedict, as I have no recollection of saying any such thing. And whyshouldthe topic arise?”
“I said as much to Mrs. McKay before she left here,” he explained.
“Oh?” Her cup paused between the saucer and her lips.
