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Cecey had stolen a considerable lead, but at this point that was the least of Rick’s worries as Sovereign bucked again, this time letting out a squeal that told him there was something definitely wrong. Only just keeping his seat, Rick exerted all his strength to bring the bucking stallion to a standstill and dismounted rapidly. Sovereign’s sides heaved and his withers shook as Rick stroked him.

“What’s wrong, old fellow?” Sovereign hung his head still trembling. Rick turned his attention to the horse’s fetlocks, dreading that he may have picked up a splint or other injury. But a quick check found nothing suspicious. Next, he checked the saddle girth to see if it was too tight. And it was a bit tight. He would be having a stern word with Pagette—it was unlike the young groom to overly tighten a saddle girth. He loosened the strap by a notch and moved the saddle with his hand. And Sovereign shrieked again and bucked, narrowly missing Ricks legs as he jumped backward out of the reach of the horses’ deadly hooves.

“What the hell?” Sovereign came to a stop a bit of a way from him as Cecey came back toward him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Stay back—he’s unpredictable. I don’t want him to kick you or Demeter.” He moved slowly toward the restive stallion and put a tentative hand on his withers. “I think it’s something to do with his saddle. There now, old fellow. Just let me loosen this girth.” He unbuckled the girth and lifted the saddle completely off Sovereign’s back and set it on the ground. Then he removed the saddle blanket and spotted the bloody gash immediately. “Shit!” he muttered, turning the blanket over and running his fingers over the surface.

They soon caught on something sharp, and he examined it more closely to see that a sliver of metal was caught in the weave. It was sharp enough to cut Rick’s fingertip. He sucked the drop of blood that welled up from the prick of the metal. Digging it out with his fingers, he rested it in his palm and looked at it. It was wedge shaped. How the hell it had got into Sovereign’s blanket he didn’t know.

“What is it?” asked Cecey coming closer. Sovereign, free of the pain from the blanket, was cropping grass, and Rick moved toward Cecey and held out the sliver of metal.

“This was caught in his blanket. It’s very sharp, and it cut into his skin. No wonder he nearly bucked me off.”

“How did it get there?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll be having a word to Pagette about it!” he said grimly. Pagette was normally so thorough and careful with the horses. Rick wondered how he could have missed this. But then, it was a tiny shard, easy to miss even if you ran your hands over the surface, and shaking wouldn’t have dislodged it.

“How strange. I hope he’s taken no lasting hurt?”

“I shouldn’t think so. It’s only a flesh wound.”

“Still, it should be dressed to guard against infection.”

“Yes. I’ll walk him back and speak to Pagette,” he said, slinging the saddle over one arm, the blanket over his shoulder and catching the reins to guide the animal back to the stable. Cecey brought Demeter alongside and they ambled back to the stables, where Pagette appeared.

“My lord, what happened? I thought I heard a squeal—”

Rick showed him the shard and the wound on Sovereign’s back, and Pagette went pale. “My lord, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.” He stroked Sovereign’s nose. “So sorry, Sovereign boy,” he muttered, the remorse in his voice was unmistakable. Rick put the shard in his pocket and patted Pagette’s arm.

“Not your fault, Pagette. I don’t think even one of your inspections would find so small a shard.

“I’ll dress the wound, my lord. And he shouldn’t be ridden for a few days until it heals.”

Chapter 19

While Cecey spent her days setting the house to rights, Rick spent his mornings in meetings with the outdoor servants who ran the home farm and interviews with prospective servants, including a fellow Baines sent along as a possible replacement for Falconbridge.

The man seemed personable enough, but when Rick dug into his history, he discovered he had once been employed by Berrisford, and the connection was enough to make Rick wary of employing him. He decided he’d write to his solicitors in London and ask them to find him a suitable replacement steward.

He spent his afternoons pouring over accounts or reading books on agriculture and estate management. It wasn’t how he had wanted to spend his days, but the more he dipped into the subject, the more he began to get interested. Perhaps he’d develop into a country squire yet, he reflected wryly to himself. Cecey’s company was reconciling him more and more to his fate. She was a merry spirit over breakfast, had the household well in hand, and was a more than accommodating wife between the sheets.

Pagette had finally declared Sovereign recovered from the wound that had nearly ended with Rick being thrown from the saddle, and Rick was about to mount him for an inspection of the home farm, when Reynolds came around the corner of the house on Navy at a clip and brought the gelding up short. The animal had clearly been taxed, and Reynolds’s face was enough to tell Rick there was something wrong.

“My lord, you need to come with me now!”

Rick swung up into the saddle and brought Sovereign alongside Navy as Reynolds swiveled his mount around.

“What has happened?” he asked as they headed back around the house and down the driveway.

“A body has been found in a ditch on Church End Road leading into the village.”

“Do we know who it is?”

“One of your tenants, my lord, a fellow by the name of Sparrow. Elderly by all accounts. It seems he was heading home from the village. His cottage is hard by the road on a small allotment. You would hardly call it a farm even. Enough to grow some produce and not much more. Subsistence farming, perhaps.”

“When did this happen?”