“Georgia,” he said, offering his hand.
He felt her accept it and then lifted her effortlessly to the horse's back.
“I have never ridden bareback before,” she said by his ear.
“And I have not ridden since I lost my sight. But I will not be in control. You will.”
He gathered the reins, which had been recovered from the carriage's bridle as though he meant to steer the animal. Georgia sat before him, in what would have been side-saddle had there been a saddle.
“Order the driver to go back to Westvale, collect some of the male servants, and come back here in the trap to recover the carriage,” he said quietly to Georgia, “I do not know where he stands.”
Georgia gave the orders, and Keaton gritted his teeth against the need to delegate. He felt that all must have been watching him. He wanted to be somewhere he knew and knew well. He needed to be back in control.
“Do you know the way?” he asked Georgia as they set off.
She laughed. “I do not. Do you know where we are in order to give me directions?”
“I... do not.”
For a moment, Keaton was silent. Then the humor of the situation overwhelmed him. He smiled first. Heard the sounds of merriment coming from Georgia, and his smile became alaugh, which became a guffaw. It bubbled out of him, refusing to be denied or suppressed. Georgia's laughter was delicate and musical but sounded just as heartfelt.
Without thinking, he tightened his hold on her. He felt secure on the stallion, holding on with his thighs, but there was an instinct to keep her close, to hold on tightly. She patted his hand, murmuring to the horse as it trotted along.
“We gave in to weakness,” Keaton said presently, addressing what had been hanging in the air between them since they escaped the carriage. “It will not happen again.”
“We did nothing wrong. We are husband and wife,” Georgia put in reasonably.
“In name only, as we agreed.”
“Yes, I will ensure I give no cause for it to happen again.”
“Nor I. Most assuredly.”
“Was it a weakness, though? I thought it was just desire,” she said after a moment of riding in silence.
“They are one and the same.”
“Why?”
“Whatever do you mean,why? It is self-evident.”
“Apparently not, or I would not have asked. Put your thorns away, Keaton,” she rebuked.
“Well,Isee it as self-evident. It results in the forming of attachments that hold one back.”
Georgia sighed. “We fundamentally disagree then. Speaking as someone who has nothing except what my Aunt and Uncle have given me, attachments have been everything to me. My cousin Amelia is one of my closest friends, and I value her enormously.”
Keaton could smell livestock and grass. Birdsong of a kind not heard in the thickest parts of the city reached him. He tilted his head back, seeking the warmth of the sun. From that, he judged direction.
We head north, which is correct. Now, if I hear the sound of geese, I will know we are near.
“Are we heading in the right direction?” Georgia asked just as Keaton detected the raucous honk of a gaggle of geese.
“Yes, those gray geese congregate on the mere to the south of Westvale,” he answered.
That comforting sound grew louder, and they soon arrived home. Keaton felt himself relax as familiar noises reached him.He sprang down, helped Georgia to the grounds, and then orientated himself from memory.
“I will dine in my rooms,” she declared.
