No one would describe Isabel as beautiful, but here, when she thought no one was watching, she had a lovely serenity to her regular features, normally glazed in a mask of polite indifference. In profile, the intelligent brow, strong, slightly pointed nose and a determined little chin gave her the appearance of a different woman to the one he had come to know.
He cleared his throat, and she turned around with an expression that was at once startled and annoyed. Seeing Sebastian, she tucked the loose strand of hair under her hat.
He whipped his hat off and indicated the little pony.
‘Is the mare yours?’
She nodded. ‘This is Millie. I know she’s not much to look at, but she’s my last link with my uncle. He gave her to me for my sixteenth birthday. She has the sweetest temperament of any horse I have ever known.’
Sebastian entered the stall and ran a hand down the mare’s nose and nodded.
‘You can see that in her eyes,’ he agreed, running an expert hand over the mare’s swollen belly. ‘She’s not far off foaling.’
Isabel nodded. ‘Only a matter of days. Lucky girl,’ she addressed the horse, ‘you’re going to be a mama again.’
‘Your husband kept a good stable,’ Sebastian said.
She nodded. ‘Horses were his life and he enjoyed more than a little success at Newmarket. One of the few things he was good at,’ she added.
She gave the mare one last pat on the nose, brushed her hands on her skirt and walked out of the stall. Sebastian followed her out into the courtyard where a couple of the stable boys were grooming two of the racehorses. One of the animals fidgeted under the boy’s ministrations and Sebastian gave it a cursory glance, taking in the twitching of its ears and how it pulled against the boy’s hand, the whites of its eyes showing. A nervous beast. Not one he would trust.
Thompson waited by the mounting block, holding Pharaoh by the bridle.
Isabel stopped and looked up at Sebastian.
‘You’re not going to ride Pharaoh, are you?’
Hearing the genuine apprehension in her voice, he looked at her, seeing fear in her eyes. ‘Why not?’
‘Didn’t Thompson tell you?—’
‘That this was the horse Anthony was riding the night he died? Yes, he did. I don’t blame the horse for what happened.’
‘But, Lord Somerton, you are barely out of your sick bed!’
Sebastian ignored her protest and swung himself up into the saddle, wincing as the barely healed wound caught.This might not have been a good idea, he considered, as Pharaoh recoiled from the unaccustomed weight on his back, going down on his hindquarters, his eyes rolling. It took all of Thompson’s strength to hold him.
Sebastian took the reins, feeling for the horse’s mouth.
‘Let him go, Thompson,’ he ordered.
The groom obeyed. Pharaoh responded by rearing. Failing to dislodge his rider, he danced sideways, tossing his head. Sebastian held him firmly, talking to the horse, calming him. Only when Pharaoh had settled did he put his heels to the horse’s side, taking him on a slow circuit of the stable yard. He tapped his heels and the horse responded obediently, moving into a graceful trot and then a canter with only the slightest urging.
Sebastian brought the creature back to where Isabel and Thompson stood, approval written on Thompson’s face and relief on Isabel’s.
Thompson stroked the horse’s nose. ‘You see, old fellow? The new lord ain’t so bad, is he?’
Sebastian wondered if he was talking to him or the horse. Either way, he appreciated the grudging praise.
Isabel added. ‘The new lord is not quite so hard on a horse’s mouth, either.’ She turned to the groom. ‘How is your wife today, Thompson?’
‘Fair ta middling. Kind of you to enquire, your leddyship.’
The lilt of a girl’s voice singing a country song made them all look up. Young Matilda, the kitchen maid, had entered the yard carrying a bucket from which carrot tops poked. Seeing the new Lord Somerton, her singing died away, and she stopped in the middle of the gateway, her eyes wide with alarm, staring past the group at the mounting block.
At the sound of a horse whinnying, they all turned to see what had taken the girl’s attention. The stable boy holding the nervous racehorse gave a sharp cry as the plunging beast shook his hold. It whirled around on its hindquarters, rolling eyes fixed on the gateway where Matilda stood.
Isabel cried out a warning, but Matilda did not move. She stared with wide eyes at the horse and dropped her bucket, scattering carrot tops. Without thinking, Sebastian pulled Pharaoh around, putting his heels to the horse’s side. He reached Matilda seconds before the runaway, leaning down from Pharaoh andscooping her up as the racehorse crashed past them, making for the park.
