Page 23

“Miss Crawford!” Sam spotted her and released his grip on the reins long enough to wave.

Will immediately turned in his saddle. “We’re riding, Miss Crawford!” he called.

“So I see,” Isla said. “And it looks like you’re both slaying it!”

Lord Bancroft gave her a troubled look. “‘Slaying it’? As in, killing the ponies?”

“Oh, good grief.” Isla covered her face with a hand. “I promised myself I’d do better with my slang.” She peered at him between her fingers. “Do you think they heard me?”

“Undoubtedly,” he said dryly. “As did the stablehands.”

Isla groaned and turned back to the circling ponies. “You’re doing marvelously, boys,” she called. “I need you to show me how it’s done.”

“You must sit up nice and tall,” Will said, echoing Lord Bancroft’s instructions as he drew closer. “See? Just like this.” He raised his chin, and Isla fought back a smile.

“I shall try to remember,” she said.

“That’s good.” Will offered her a winning smile before beginning his circuit again.

The servant who had accompanied Isla to the yard bowed to Lord Bancroft, and upon the gentleman’s nod of dismissal, the servant bowed again—this time to Isla—and started back toward the house.

“How are you this morning, Miss Crawford?” Lord Bancroft asked, his question drawing her attention away from the departing servant.

“I’m well, thank you.” Wishing she’d asked Lady Maidstone whether she was expected to curtsy every time she greeted her hostess, Lord Maidstone, or Lord Bancroft, she ended up bobbing up and down awkwardly.

“How did your initiation into seventeenth-century life go yesterday?” he asked. “I had thought to ask about your day at the evening meal, but Martha told me you chose to retire early.”

Isla eyed him warily. “Did she also tell you I wore out my fingers trying to write with a quill?”

His lips twitched, but he manfully kept a full smile from appearing. “She may have mentioned that it was a challenging task for you.”

Isla raised her right hand so he could see the black ink stains on her fingers. “It was an exercise in mortification.”

This time, he released his laughter.

“I feel completely daft,” Isla said, “even if it does further demonstrate that I’m telling the truth.”

He sobered immediately. “I would surmise that you are dealing with the unknown far better than most in your situation.”

“Does that mean you do believe my story? Or is it just your version of a pep talk before I make an even bigger idiot of myself on a horse?”

“I continue to fight an internal battle with regard to your story, but the ‘suspending disbelief’ you spoke of is a little easier than it was. As to the other, I have no idea what a pep talk is, but I am quite sure you will not make an idiot of yourself on Belle.”

As relieved as she was to hear that his skepticism was lessening, a knot of nervousness formed in her stomach. Will and Sam were making riding look far too easy. And enjoyable.

“Miss Crawford?”

She heard the concern in Lord Bancroft’s voice and turned to meet his uneasy gaze with the honesty she knew he deserved. “I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t afraid. I neglected to tell you earlier that my eight-year-old self got her foot tangled in the pony’s stirrup on Formby Beach and promptly fell onto the sand. I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve been near a horse since then.”

His look softened. “I will not allow anything bad to happen to you.”

“How can you be so sure? Horses are animals. They have wills of their own. And I’ve heard that they can sense fear in a rider.”

“All those things are true, but Belle is mild-mannered and very well trained. She will treat you gently.”

“Do you have a helmet I can wear?”

His brow furrowed. “You will be riding around the yard and possibly across an empty meadow—not going to war.”