Cordelia looked over at the duke, and swore she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. He cleared his throat, as though he were about to say something, but they were interrupted.
“I have your horses ready, Your Grace!” Sam shouted.
Cordelia watched him out the corner of her eye as they walked back to the stable yard. His tall, bulky frame and easy smile, not to mention the edge of a cockney accent, seemed to be more suited to a boxing ring than a duchy. She thought he was rather like a duck that had somehow swam into a gaggle of swans.Except for his eyes,her thoughts corrected.His eyes are plucked straight from a picture book on Prince Charming.She tapped her riding crop against her leg, trying to rid herself of such unpleasant musings.
Buttercup nickered softly as she approached, bringing Cordelia back to reality. The old mare was the same age as her, five and twenty, and had a disposition akin to Lady Billings’s: old, generally happy, and somewhat prone to mischief. Cordelia took the reins from the adolescent stable hand, who blushed heartily when he bowed his head. The duke watched as she swung up onto Buttercup’s back in one fluid motion. Cordelia adjusted her skirt with a practiced ease, pleased to finally show him that she was adept at something.
He was having no such luck.
*
“Was this theduke’s horse?” Justin asked in some disbelief. The man had died well into old age. He could hardly believe that he would have been riding something so bloody wild.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Sam said, holding the reins as Brutus pranced, shaking his hulking head.
Justin steeled himself as he gripped the reins, putting a booted foot in the stirrup. Brutus lunged forward, but Justin managed to swing his leg over just in time.
“Easy,” he said through gritted teeth. Brutus pawed the ground and whinnied. “Shall we?” Justin asked, hoping that he was maintaining some sort of composure.
“I think we should keep to the western path and make our way around the estate. That will show us the most,” Lady Prim and Proper said. Her lips were still turned down in their perpetual frown, but he caught a spark of laughter in her eyes.
“By all means,” Justin said, watching as she clicked her tongue and trotted off down the path. Justin dared not offer Brutus any encouragement, but the horse seemed to understand what was expected of him and trotted off after the little mare.
Justin looked over at Miss… or was it Lady Cordelia? It must have been Lady. She seemed to stiffen every time he spoke to her. He usually got along quite easily with the people he encountered. He had many friends in London, mostly working-class, like he was. They were all sorts of cheery, genial people, all of them down-to-earth. He couldn’t imagine a life where people were so reserved that they found speaking about jacket cuffs inappropriate.
And despite everything he was trying to tell himself about Lady Cordelia, he still needed to catch his breath when she swept her dark-red skirts over the dappled mare’s back. He wasn’t sure what he preferred her in: proper lady’s clothes or the tight breeches she’d worn that day on the washed-out road. The breeches seemed to be plaguing his sleep more. The past few nights he’d woken sweating and hard after dreaming about Lady Cordelia slowly unbuttoning her too-big waistcoat to reveal—
“Here is the farmland that directly adjoins our estate,” Lady Cordelia said, pointing to the stone wall and a charming little cottage. A woman was dumping dirty water out of a bucket and into a planter filled with herbs. Cordelia waved at her. “That’s Mrs. Miller. Mr. Miller and his son run the farm.”
Justin followed her lead and waved at the woman. She set her hands on her hips as she regarded him from a distance.
“You’ll be the talk of the tenants, Your Grace,” Cordelia said.
“I hope the talk is good,” Justin replied. “Do they enjoy their lives on the estate?”
“From what I gathered when father was alive, yes,” Cordelia said. “I visit with them once a year; my sisters and I bring baskets at Christmastime.”
“Are the livings good, I mean,” Justin said.
Cordelia looked over at him for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “I should think so. Father told me he did not have to raise rents for quite some time. Shall we canter up this ridge?”
Without waiting for him she kicked Buttercup on. Brutus happily bucked and matched the mare’s stride. Justin took a fistful of mane in his hands to keep from getting off-balance. When they reached the top of the ridge, Cordelia promptly halted, easily sliding down from her sidesaddle unassisted. Justin tried not to grumble as he dismounted, his thighs already sore from the short ride, as if he needed further proof that he was wholly unsuited to the life of a country gentleman.
Lady Cordelia stood on the ridge, cheeks pink as a cool spring breeze washed over her. For the first time since they’d become acquainted, he could see she was smiling.
“This is my favorite place on the estate,” she said.
It was evident why. From the top of where they were standing, a green valley swooped out from under their feet, revealing rolling verdant hills, dotted with patches of farm fields, stretching as far as the eye could see. A lake sprang up in the middle, its speckles of light shimmering in the late morning sun.
“Beautiful,” Justin said. Turning back to where Brutus was cropping grass, he reached in his saddle bag for his charcoal and sketchbook.
“What do you have there?” Cordelia asked.
“I like to make sketches sometimes. It will keep me informed of where everything is on the estate,” he replied, flipping to a blank page. “Do you mind if we tarry here a little while?”
Cordelia shrugged. “I suppose we are on a main road. It’s not terribly inappropriate.”
“Well, I can assure you that I’m hardly a threat,” he said, beginning the drawing with long, sweeping lines.
