“She’s quite wrong. But come, we’ll start over here.” He took her arm and led her to one end of Captain West’s enormous stables, stopping at the first stall. “This mare is a sweet, slow, gentle sort, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a prettier horse. She’s a perfect mount for a lady.”
Iris ran her hand down the nose of the chestnut mare inside the stall. “She’s beautiful, yes, and perfect for a certain kind of lady.”
“But not for you?”
Iris shook her head. She should be in fits of ecstasy over such a lovely horse, but the mare wasn’t any better suited to her than the pink gowns were. “No. Not for me.”
“All right, then.” Lord Wrexley led her to the next stall. “Another mare. Perhaps a bit livelier than the first, but still gentle and easy. She’s the kind of horse a lady might ride on the promenade in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour.”
Iris reached out to pat the horse’s smooth neck and tried to hide her disappointment from Lord Wrexley.
“You must enjoy riding on the promenade?”
“I—” Iris began, but this time the lie she’d been telling all season lodged in her throat.
Much like gentle mares and pink gowns, the promenade was another thing sheshouldenjoy, but secretly despised. She loathed mincing along with scores of simpering, tedious aristocrats. She couldn’t saythat, of course, because all fashionable ladies adored the promenade, and a gentleman like Lord Wrexley would expect her to adore it, too.
But her father had been a devoted horseman, and Iris had been riding from the time she was old enough to toddle to the stables. She’d ridden every day in Surrey, was exceptionally skilled with a horse, and preferred a challenging mount.
At least, she used to. Since she’d come to London she didn’t ride much anymore. There never seemed to be time for it. She was forever at her modiste’s for a fitting, or occupied with her dancing master, or practicing her music. When she did manage to steal an hour or so, her rambles were confined to Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, and always on a gentle mare like this one.
Iris watched the dust motes dance in the shaft of sunlight pouring through the open stable doors, and a heaviness that had become familiar to her since she came to London squeezed at her chest. Somehow, what sheshouldwant had become much more important than what shedidwant. How long would it be before she couldn’t distinguish one from the other?
Despite her efforts to hide it, Lord Wrexley noticed her disappointment. “Not this mare, I think.” He led her to the next stall, and then the next, pausing at each one to tell her about the occupant. Iris listened, and stroked her hand over one velvety nose after another, but by the time they’d made it halfway across the stables, she was still frozen with indecision.
The wisest course of action was to choose one of the mounts Lord Wrexley suggested. It was a compliment to his judgment, and it wouldn’t do to irritate her potential betrothed by dismissing his recommendation.
“Perhaps you could tell me what kind of mount you prefer?”
Yes, one would think she’d be able to tell him that much. It was a simple enough thing to choose a horse for a day’s ride, particularly in Captain West’s stables, where each stall contained an animal more beautiful than the last. And yet all Iris seemed able to do was stare dumbly at one horse after another, her mind in turmoil.
Over a horse. A horse, for goodness’ sake.
“Why don’t I choose one for you?” There was a slight edge to Lord Wrexley’s tone now, as if he’d grown impatient with her. “If the horse doesn’t suit, we’ll choose a different one tomorrow.”
“Yes, all right.” It was either that, or stand around the stables all day, gaping at horses like a half-witted child dithering over a tray of sweets.
“Very good. I think the chestnut mare, then, the one in the first stall. She’s—”
“Good morning! Are you off on a ride?”
Iris turned at Lady Honora’s voice, her smile stiffening on her lips as she watched her friend approach on Lord Huntington’s arm.
Iris’s gaze darted at once to his lips, her face flushing at the memory of their firm warmth before she jerked her gaze away. Dash it, why did the man have to show upnow? She’d lain awake half the night thinking about how he’d pressed that tiny kiss on her fingertip. She’d finally managed to banish him from her thoughts and turn her attention to Lord Wrexley this morning, and now here he was again, his lips more distracting than ever.
It was too much. She couldn’t even manage to choose a horse, never mind attract a new betrothed while the one she’d jilted stood there scowling at her, his brows lowered over his hazel eyes.
“Good morning, cousin. Huntington.” Lord Wrexley tapped his riding crop against his boot. “We’re off, yes. Miss Somerset had some difficulty choosing a mount, but I think we’ve settled on one.”
“You don’t know what kind of mount you prefer, Miss Somerset?” A mocking smile curled at the corners of Lord Huntington’s lips. “I’m surprised to find you so indecisive. Indeed, I’ve known you to make crucial decisions on nothing more than the merest whim.”
“Don’t tease, my lord.” Lady Honora gave him a chastising look, then smiled at Iris. “Miss Somerset spent most of her childhood in Surrey on the back of a horse, cousin. I daresay she can manage any mount in the stables.”
“Indeed? I had no idea you were such an accomplished rider.” Lord Wrexley’s gaze sharpened as he turned to Iris.
“Any mount in the stables? Surely you exaggerate, Lady Honora.” But Lord Huntington wasn’t looking at Lady Honora. His eyes were a clear gray color this morning, and they were assessing Iris with cool disdain. “I don’t believe I’ve seen Miss Somerset on the promenade more than once or twice this season.”
Iris managed a sweet smile, but her blood began to heat with temper. “Surely you don’t mean to suggest prancing about the promenade in the latest fashions is a measure of equestrian skill, my lord?”
