Jocelyn even did door duty when the knock sounded. She brought Stratton into the library, where Clara still feasted her eyes on that magnificent chestnut. It was a gelding, and his lean lines suggested Arabian blood.
“I was not sure you would come. I never responded to your invitation.”
“I assumed that while you could resist my company, you would not forgo that of a good horse.”
“You were correct.” She gathered up the train of her habit. “On such a fair day, to deny myself would be a sin.”
“We can’t have that. Sins of omission are the worst kind. All of the guilt and none of the fun.”
“No sins at all are the best kind.” She trusted he heard what she was saying.There will be no sinning of any kind today.
It wasn’t that she did not trust him. She simply did not want to spend the day explaining how those kisses had been an error and that she only agreed to this ride because he had lured her with a fine horse and a finer day.
She noticed when she passed Jocelyn that both of her eyebrows were up now.
Stratton helped her into the saddle. “His name is Galahad. He is not accustomed to a sidesaddle, but I am sure you can handle him. He may require a firm hand, however.” He patted the chestnut’s neck, then mounted himself.
She and Galahad became acquainted while they made their way south to the river. The horse resisted restraint and did need a firm hand. It pleased her that Stratton had brought Galahad and not some boring, safe horse with little spirit left.
Very few people were on the streets at this hour on a Sunday. The pealing church bells sounded loud in the quiet town, as did their horses’ hooves. They moved through a London rarely seen.
Once they crossed the Vauxhall Bridge, the countryside beckoned. The road alongside the river stretched open and free. No clutter of carts and wagons jammed it on Sunday morning. She gave Galahad permission to canter, then pushed him to a gallop.
They charged down the road with Stratton close behind. She raised her face to the wind and sun and enjoyed how the horse beneath her stretched to go faster. It had been weeks since she had a good, fast ride.
Some wagons meandered near a crossroad up ahead, and she pulled her reins to bring Galahad back to a walk. Stratton’s horse fell in next to hers.
“That was glorious,” she said. “I must try and bring my own horse Thunder up to town and stable him near Bedford Square. Then I can ride out every Sunday morning.”
“What would interfere? It seems a simple plan to me.”
“Theo may claim Thunder is not mine but his. Which, legally speaking, is true.”
“Surely he would not be so churlish as to refuse you the horse you have ridden for years.”
“Oh, I can handle Theo. If my grandmother tells him to refuse me, however, he will probably obey her.”
“She is nothing if not a redoubtable woman.”
“What a kind word you choose. My brother is trying to be his own man, but it is hard when faced with such formidability.”
“Yet you are not cowed.”
“I will confess that when I defy her, I still tremble after all these years. However, I have trembled so long that I no longer capitulate. It took a long time to find the courage. In a few years, I expect my brother will too.”
“Or not. I did not joke that day we met when I referred to her influence. She still has the power to have people shunned. Perhaps you can defy her because you do not care about such things too much. Your brother, however, probably does.”
Was that where her courage came from? A decision that she would not be ruled by the kinds of social whips that Grandmamma used? Those whips had cracked loudly at that dinner when she announced she would move elsewhere.
What if Grandmamma made good on her threats? Clara did not think herself a slave to society, but she would not like it if she was never received again or the invitations ceased arriving.
“Let us ride to Richmond Hill,” Stratton suggested, pointing to the good mail road heading southwest. “The prospects are very fine, and we can share the contents of this basket while we enjoy them.”
Richmond Hill was a popular spot, but the day was still too early to have attracted others to its heights. They galloped again, to cross the miles, and rode to the hill’s crest almost an hour later.
Stratton plucked her off her saddle. “We will have company soon on such a day. Let us go beyond those trees there, so perhaps we can enjoy the view of the Thames without children running to and fro in front of us.”
They led their horses out of the sun and through the cool shade of the trees until they emerged onto a strip of high grass near the edge of the hill’s crest. Stratton tied their horses to a sturdy sapling, then lifted a basket off his saddle.
