“You are doing fine. Try not to sit so stiffly. Good posture is important, but adapting to the horse’s gait will feel natural, and give you more confidence.”
She did not appear convinced. With effort she relaxed ever so slightly.
“If you hate it, we can go back,” Ives said, taking pity on her.
“No, no. I do not hate it as such. You want to give me this experience, so I should be accommodating. I am only a little afraid, but it gets better with each step.”
“I am forever grateful for how accommodating youare, even when you are a little afraid. Have I ever told you that?”
She glanced over, understood his reference, and blushed. “It is not as if I suffered.”
She did not suffer, because she allowed herself to be passionate. He remembered the list he had written about the ideal mistress.
Loyal
Good-humored
Intelligent
Uninhibited
Passionate
Accommodating
Padua was all of those things, and surpassed most women in some of them. She would never agree to be his mistress, but the list applied to any lover, no matter what her status. Unfortunately, the most important quality, the one on which there could be no compromise, loyalty, promised to be the biggest problem. Not because she lacked loyalty, but because she excelled there too.
He paced along, keeping an eye on her and the horse, noticing how she slowly became accustomed to it. By the time they crossed the field, she looked to be almost enjoying herself. He picked up the pace just a little, and she did not mind.
She took interest in the farms, and waved when they passed a family working outside their cottage. The man and woman stopped and stared.
“They appear surprised,” she said.
“It has been some years since they saw a woman ride the estate. Probably not since my mother gave it up.”
She instinctively looked down at her blue riding habit. Another of Eva’s miracles, it had been redone from one of his mother’s. The long train of riding habits had allowed a refitting.
“They do not recognize it,” he said.
“The woman does, I promise you.” She laughed. “Did your mother have dark hair? If so, word might spread that her ghost was seen.”
“Her hair was dark, and her eyes, too, and, I suspect, her moods and perhaps her heart. When she passed, I realized how little I knew her.”
“That is sad.”
It was, he supposed. She had favored Percy, as most mothers would their firstborn. He and Lance had seen an alliance when perhaps it was just a mother being a mother. “I am not only ignorant about her, but about my parents’ marriage. Gareth is evidence that it was not happy, but I do not know if she drove my father away, or if he fled, or if the fault was his.”
“Perhaps that is why none of you married. All of those ambiguities would not give you much faith in it.”
What an odd thing to say. They had not married because... He smiled to himself. Because none of them wanted to. Gareth had just married, but then he had the least to lose, and his character had been formed differently. He did not run at the front of the herd. He did not run with the herd at all. It would belike him to decide that, evidence to the contrary aside, marriage would be a good idea if the woman were Eva.
They approached the high hill from a different direction. They were halfway up before Padua realized where they were. “Thank you for bringing me back here, so I can see it again.”
He insisted they get down once they reached the top. They stood on the crest. Padua’s eyes glittered while she feasted on the vista.
“I brought you here for a reason, Padua.”
“I do not think this dress, with all this skirt, is manageable for that.”
