She had been feeling a bit cross that Owen had not invited her out to the alley to watch him practice shooting arrows. He was supposedly no good at it—according to him and everyone else. Perhaps he had not asked because he was embarrassed by the thought of her watching. But hehadinvited Robbie. Of course, she had not needed to be asked. She could have just gone. Would he have been annoyedif she had? Or secretly pleased, perhaps? But did it matter either way? Was she becoming dependent upon one man’s approval?
So instead of going out to the alley, she was about to act independently by doing something daring and terrifying and just a little bit exciting. With Colonel Ware of all people.
“Right,” he said, turning back to her. “Let us get you up into the saddle.”
It was only then that she wondered just how it was to be done. It was not as though she could prop a ladder against the horse’s side, after all.
It was done very smoothly, as it turned out. He must have had a great deal of practice at this. Well, of course he had. He cupped his hands for her foot while she reached up to grasp the pommel of the saddle. She sprang upward when instructed to do so and turned to sit in the saddle. She hooked her right leg over the higher of the two horns peculiar to a sidesaddle, set her left foot in the stirrup as he adjusted it and her left knee close to the curved horn, sat upright and grasped the reins he handed her, and felt very proud of herself. And surprisingly secure. She had always thought sidesaddles must be a death trap. How did one stay on them without tipping forward—or backward—right off the horse? But this one was molded in such a way as to hold her firm and well balanced.
“You can let out your breath now,” he said, grinning up at her.
She let it out on a whoosh of air. “I feel so high up,” she said foolishly.
He mounted his own horse and looked immediately as if he might have been born in the saddle. He was perfectly dressed for riding, even down to the whip and the tall hat pulled firmly onto his head, and the boots, sturdy and gleaming from a recent polishing, though the leather was old. She, on the other hand, could notbe more inappropriately clad if she had tried. Her dress was of a soft cotton; her bonnet was in her room at the house, as were her shawl and her gloves; her shoes were sturdy enough for the stables but not, perhaps, for riding.
But this had not been her idea, had it? Begging for a ride had been the very last thing she had intended when she came to the stables. In fact, it had not made the list at all, even in the bottom position.
And heavens, she remembered suddenly, she was wearing her hair in schoolgirl braids, as she sometimes did when she expected not to be seen by anyone outside her own family. She had only been planning to sit quietly in the corner of the stables with her book, after all.
Colonel Ware rode slowly out into the stable yard, giving Flora the order to follow him, which she did with no protest at all.
Oh. Winifred heard the firm clopping of hooves, felt the motion of the animal beneath her, and saw the ground moving a few miles below. When she had told him a short while ago that she had not done much riding in her life, what she had really meant was that she had done none at all. There had been chances—when they had stayed with Uncle Harry, for example, or with her grandparents. Various people had offered to teach her, to lead her out, to show her how easy it was and how much fun. But she had never been convinced. Riding in a gig was the closest she had got, and that was quite close enough for her.
He looked across at her. “Well?” he asked. “Good?”
“Oh, marvelous,” she said. “Is that the end of our ride?”
He chuckled, but she had been only half joking.
“We will ride around to the carriage path below the front of the house and along it a little way,” he said. “You must tell me if youwish to return sooner than that. I was intending to ride to the lake to give Soldier a proper airing, but we need not go so far.”
She would try to make it down to the path and along it until they were past the west wing of the house, she decided, and the hill with the temple folly was in sight to their right. She gritted her teeth and followed his lead. At least, Flora did. All Winifred had to do was sit there, wishing the reins did not feel quite so flimsy, and absorb the feeling of riding while she enjoyed her surroundings and admired the proud set of his shoulders when he got a bit ahead of her. Colonel Ware’s shoulders, that was.
She wasdoingthis, and she wasenjoyingherself.
It was true. She laughed out loud, and he turned his head to look at her.
“I have the feeling,” he said, “that this is your first ride ever, Miss Cunningham. Am I correct?”
“Well,” she said. “Yes.”
“Then I am honored that you have entrusted your first ride to me,” he said, pulling his horse back level with her own.
“Always,” she said, and then felt excruciatingly embarrassed. “I saw you on parade, remember? And I have seen you with the children.”
The hill was already on their right. They had cleared the house. She was enormously proud of herself.
“Shall we go a little farther?” he suggested.
“Yes, please,” she said. “But am I holding you back? This pace probably does not feel very fast to you.”
“I believe we could give a tortoise a good contest,” he said, and grinned again.
“You are making fun of me,” she said.
“Never,” he said. “I applaud your courage. And even at this pace we will get to the lake eventually. Shall we give it a try?”
“I have never yet been there,” she said, and he looked at her in some surprise. “I have always been otherwise occupied. Last week, when I was finally on my way with a few pauses to run down hills with Andrew and pretend to be a bird, my intentions were thwarted by a certain stone, which then had to be carried back to the house.”
