*
Andrew rested abooted foot on the bottom rail of the paddock fence and smiled at Barbara, chattering nonstop in her sweet voice as Jem led her around the paddock. She wasn’t a bit afraid of horses. He was proud of his spirited child, who seemed at such an early age to have an unequivocal way of looking at life. She either liked something, or she didn’t. And if she loved you, she did it with gusto, as with her brother. When she called to him, he nodded his approval with a smile. He had discovered the joys of being a father, and to watch her grow into a lovely woman like her mother, but physically stronger, with confidence to face the world, would be an everlasting delight.
The pony behaved well as if affected by the enthusiasm of her rider. Ponies were often bad tempered, but since this piebald had befriended Andrew’s horse, Cicero, she’d become a favorite in the stables.
Jem led Barbara back to him, and Andrew lifted her down. “Did you enjoy your ride, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Rosie did too,” she said matter-of-factly. “Can I see Misty, Father?”
He took her hand. “For a few minutes. Miss Harrismith will be waiting to take you up for luncheon.”
Barbara frowned. “Why couldn’t Jenny come and watch me ride my pony?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you want her to?”
“Jenny would like it.”
“Oh? Well next time we shall invite her.” He would have liked that too, but unwise perhaps, to expose the governess to any more of Greta’s unfair criticism.
Miss Harrismith waited in the stable yard. With a thoughtful nod in her direction, Andrew released Barbara into her care and walked over to mount Cicero. He had promised to meet Greta, Ivo, and Raymond as they had decided to ride to the waterfall. Not something he cared to do, but his neglect of his guests had begun to weigh heavily upon him.
When he reached the river he met Ivo riding back.
“You didn’t wish to see the falls?”
“No. I’ve had enough. They’ll be along in a moment.”
“I’ll go and meet them.”
“You’ll find me in the billiard room, Your Grace. Perhaps we might have a game later.” Ivo rode away.
Andrew turned Cicero’s head and rode on.
A half hour later, his horse picked its way down through the glade where the stream flowed over a waterfall. Below, water swirled around a deep pool and rushed on. The air was damp. Birds swooped and called as he made his way down. Ferns grew lushly along the path. He could see no sign of Greta or Raymond. Ivo had given him to expect to meet them on their way back.
When he reached the bottom, he dismounted and stood to watch the water cascade down the rocky cliff sending wide ripples over the surface of the pool, the spray dampening his skin. The roar filled his ears, but from somewhere came the sound of laughter.
Andrew led his horse by the rein along the path through dense woodland thick with vines and bramble. Around a bend two horses were tied to a branch.
Moments later, Greta, patting her hair, climbed the steep slope with Raymond.
“It’s lovely here,” Greta called to him. “I thought perhaps you weren’t going to join us.”
“Well here I am,” he said pleasantly.
Raymond failed to meet Andrew’s eyes.
Had his neglect sent her into Raymond’s arms? Greta could easily walk away from a flirtation, but Raymond? Andrew very much doubted his cousin would handle it well. As for himself, he searched his own heart and found only indifference.
They mounted and rode single-file silently along the narrow forest path. By the time they reached the river, Andrew had already dismissed the incident from his thoughts. Instead, it was Miss Harrismith’s compassion and concern for his children he preferred to dwell on, recalling her earnest face and her obvious affection for them. But there was something else, he found himself thinking about her at the oddest times. In fact, if he was being honest, he was thinking about her quite often.
When they reached the wider path leading to the carriage drive, Greta drew her mare alongside Andrew’s.
As if he sensed a quarrel, Raymond dropped back behind them.
Greta stole a glance at him. “Harrow, I hope you don’t think anything untoward occurred between Mr. Forsythe and me.”
“No. Should I have?”
She gave a bemused laugh. “I rather hoped you might be jealous.”
Andrew was suddenly profoundly sick of the games. “It looks like rain. We should hurry.” Cicero needed little urging and cantered along the path. He hoped for Raymond’s sake Greta put a stop to it, before it went too far.
