Page 41 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

Afew days later, Malcolm wandered around his gardens. He had intended on doing some minor repairs on the cottage, but he had found himself in Nicholas’ company once more.

The boy had been there for nearly an hour, and Malcolm had not once thought to send him home.

“Look! He is following my command!” The shout was triumphant.

Malcolm turned to look at Nicholas, an interested brow raised. He was directing Hector through a weaving path between two sticks he had driven into the earth.

Hector completed the final pass, his body a blur of chestnut-and-white, then circled back to sit at Nicholas’s feet. The dog’s tail beat a frantic, thumping rhythm against the grass.

“He did it,” Nicholas exclaimed. “Did you see the whole thing? He didn’t miss a single turn.”

Malcolm walked over, his boots heavy on the turf. He looked at the sticks, then at the dog. Hector watched him with a bright, forward attention, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and hope.

“The far turn,” Malcolm nodded at one of the sticks. “He drifted because the gap was too wide.”

Nicholas didn’t argue. He didn’t pout. He simply crouched immediately, measuring the distance by sight, and shoved the far stick two inches to the left. “This?”

“Move it a little more.”

He moved it again, his small brow furrowed in concentration. When he glanced up at Malcolm for approval, Malcolm nodded. “Much better.”

Nicholas stood, called Hector back to the starting point with a sharp whistle, and ran him through again. This time, Hector held the turns, his body curving elegantly to the line. Nicholas spun around, his face flushed.

Nicholas had visited twice since Malcolm had set the twenty-minute limit and watched it become twenty-three.

He had not reinstated the limit. He had not examined why. He simply made sure he was in the garden when the boy appeared at the hedge, and each time, a minimal gesture of permission was enough. Nicholas came in, asked his forensic questions, worked the dog, and went home without argument.

It was the fact that there was no argument that kept disarming him. It was the behavior of a child who had been taught that time was a finite, precious resource, and that he was lucky to have any of it at all.

They moved along the garden path a little while later, Hector ranging ahead through the long grass.

The morning had settled into a dry, bright warmth that made the grounds look well-kept from a distance and beautifully wild up close. The path curved past the kitchen garden and the old orchard wall, eventually opening toward the back of the stable yard.

Nicholas stopped walking.

Malcolm stopped beside him. The stable yard held twelve horses, fewer than his father had kept, but more than he needed. He kept them because the routine of the morning ride was the only thing that had kept the ghosts at bay when he first returned from the sea.

Nicholas was staring at the nearest stall, where a dark grey stallion was watching them over the half-door with calm, liquid eyes.

“Wow, he is extraordinary,” Nicholas breathed.

“His name is Calder,” Malcolm told him. “He is one of my favorites, too.”

Nicholas took a cautious step forward. The stallion stretched his nose out, ears pricked. Nicholas stopped. “Is he safe?”

“He will not bite, do not worry. He is only assessing your character.”

Nicholas took another step and held out the back of his hand. Calder dropped his heavy head and breathed a warm, huffing cloud against the boy’s fingers.

“We only have four horses,” Nicholas said, not looking away from the stallion. “Mama has two, and there are two for the carriage. I don’t ride as much as I would like. My instructor, Mr. Perth, comes on Tuesdays, but Mama says his recommendation was not good. I think she’s right.”

Malcolm said nothing. He looked at the boy’s posture, the slight forward lean and the dropped right shoulder he had noticed during the Hillsborough hunt and filed away.

Malcolm looked at Calder. Then he looked at a smaller bay in the adjacent stall, a steady, patient animal he used for guests. He looked at the clear, vast sky.

“Get your coat,” Malcolm said.

Nicholas stared at him, his mouth falling open. “Are we going riding?”