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“I don’t want to be in the way,” she said quickly, though her eyes hadn’t left the animals.
He hid a smile. “You won’t be, ma’am. We’re only walking them down to the barn for shearing. The cutting of their wool, that is. Harris and Thorne have them in hand, so there’s no harm in joining us.”
Her eyes returned to him. “You’re certain?”
“Quite, ma’am,” he replied, praying he was right.
She nodded before looking down at her horse for a moment, frowning slightly. “Hmm. How to manage this without a mounting block. I am quite adept by now with it, but this …”
It was all Benj could do not to laugh in wry amusement. “I can help you down, ma’am, if that is your wish. And if you’ve hobbles, your horse will be safe here. Or we can walk him down to the barn. It is not far.”
“I wouldn’t know hobbles from a horseshoe,” the woman admitted without shame. “I’ll accept your help down, if you please, and walk the horse with us for safety.”
“His or yours?” Benj quipped before he could stop himself.
She tilted her head slightly, a faint smile crossing a rather perfect pair of lips. “Both, I imagine.”
Fair enough.
Benj moved towards the horse, patting its neck fondly as he reached them. “Right, then. If you’ll just put your hands on my shoulders, good and secure, then I’ll have to set my hands at your waist. It’s the safest way to help you down.”
She nodded without hesitation and set her gloved hands firmly on his shoulders, gripping a little. “Ah. You seem stable enough.”
He bit back a laugh and ducked his chin in an almost nod. “I suppose that’s a compliment of sorts.”
“As good as,” she replied, a quick smile flashing. “Next?”
“Next,” he went on, still trying not to laugh, “my hands will go to your waist, and I’ll lift. You press down on my shoulders, and you’ll be flat on the ground in no time.”
She nodded, and he took her waist in hand, determined not to think about its slenderness, and lifted her gently from the horse as she pressed her hands into his shoulders obediently.
She was lighter than he’d figured, and smaller in stature, once he’d set her to the ground, but there was something rather perfect in her proportions. With her natural grace and command of comportment, he’d expected more in height. A woman to tower over all and intimidate with a glance.
Yet she was perfectly average in that regard.
And somehow not average at all.
“Rather expeditious, all things considered,” she said lightly as she adjusted her gloves before smiling up at him. “Thank you, sir. And you are?”
“Benjamin Steele,” he said simply, not bothering with his title. “At your service.”
“Martha Smith,” she replied, with a quick curtsey he almost missed. “The most common name life could bestow, I believe.”
The unexpected jab at herself made him chuckle. “I’ve heard worse.”
“Have you, indeed?” Her already wide eyes somehow went rounder before she grinned fully. “I suppose you must have met a Bess or an Anne Smith somewhere in the past. Or a Jane Smith?”
“I believe I did,” he said with a nod. “Perhaps all three.”
Her nose wrinkled up in a hint of a laugh that did not have sound. “I don’t doubt it. One could never credit my mother with originality.” She adjusted her gloves again before tugging them off entirely with a small huff of frustration. Turning towards the horse, she took the reins and looked at Benj expectantly. “Shall we follow the sheep, then?”
He gestured the way, and fell into step beside her as they walked. “And where are you from, Miss Smith?”
“London. I was born there, I was raised there, and I’ve never left there.” She smiled again, though this time it was a bland version of the majestic thing. “Which is why I’ve never seen sheep.”
“You can hardly be the only one so relegated to London,” he said politely, trying to soothe her.
Her smile turned wry as she glanced over at him. “Most of the other girls like me in London have country houses to retreat to after the Season. Ours was entailed after my father died, so London is all I know.”
