“Nurse Lineboro is a fretter.”
Xander smiled. “Some women fret, aye. Some don’t.”
“Great-Aunt Henrietta is a fretter too.”
“Aye, that she is.”
The pony nickered and tossed its starred head, returning them to the matter at hand.
“Remember, you always begin with your left foot.” He touched the boy’s new left boot. “Meanwhile, your left hand is on the horn of the saddle while your right hand belongs on the cantle.”
Oceanus did as he bade, not sliding off to one side and tumbling to the ground like he had yesterday.
“’Tis all about balance,” Xander told him, using a loose lead rein to coax the pony into a walk and then a gentle trot.
Shoulders squared in a show of confidence, Oceanus bounced along atop the pony as Xander quickened the pace. “Why hasn’t Watseka come again to play?”
“She is busy at the Hopewells’, I suppose. Would you like to visit them?”
“Aye. But Nurse says I need another playmate.”
“How about we see if we can find Watseka tomorrow? After my morning ride about the estate?”
The sheer delight on his son’s boyish face hardened Xander’s resolve. He’d delayed the tobacco harvest by a sennight due to the crop needing more time, a prime opportunity to give Oceanus time too. He didn’t need reminding how important it was for the boy to be with other children. Besides, Xander needed to see Selah. The want of her was never ending.
“What about the pony course, Father?” Oceanus looked toward the pasture behind the stable. “Going around the circles and blocks and poles and such?”
“Soon. Once you feel you’re ready,” Xander replied, wanting him to have some say in the matter. “Soon you shall learn fencing and swordplay. Be a brother of the blade.”
“Truly, Father? Shall I have my own rapier?”
“Aye. And your own fencing master.”
“I would rather you teach me. Great-Aunt says you are the best.”
“Alas, I have traded fencing for farming tobacco.” Sensing Oceanus was growing tired, he halted lessons. “Why don’t you find Cook and wheedle some gingerbread out of her? I believe that was what I smelled when I passed by the kitchen.”
With a hasty adieu, Oceanus rushed headlong toward the building in question. Returning to the house, Xander faced Nurse Lineboro. She sat on a bench beneath the eave, awaiting Oceanus’s afternoon lessons. Though the hospitality of his house continued, he found her company ... taxing. As did his dogs, from all appearances, as they reclined on the opposite end of the portico.
“Beginning tomorrow you will continue Oceanus’s morning lessons but leave his afternoons free,” he told her.
She seemed taken aback by his quiet words. “But his studies shall suffer, sir. He must learn mathematics, history, celestial navigation—”
“You’ll also cease teaching him French.”
Her naysaying knew no bounds. “But French, sir, is what his guardian required, along with Latin and—”
“In addition to fewer studies, Oceanus needs more time for sport and friends.”
A furious flush stained her paleness. “I suppose next you’ll have him laboring in the fields.”
Into the tense lull came a low growl from Jett. With a quick rebuke, Xander finished what needed saying. “If Oceanus is to inherit Rose-n-Vale, he needs to learn how to be crop master at my side. Tobacco is a fickle if profitable endeavor that requires careful training.”
She stood, no longer meeting his eyes. “I sometimes suspect you are a slave to it as much as your indentures are.”
“You’re not far from the mark, but ’tis the way of the New World.”
Her expression tightened. “I am weary of the New World.”
