"Yes, yes, I'm early," she said in her happy, breathless way. Holding both gloves in one hand she leaned down to kiss
Florence
's cheek. "
London
has been as dull as dishwater without you. I simply couldn't wait to say hello." Her eyes twinkled as she bobbed a curtsey to the duchess. "Please forgive my informality, your Grace. I assure you it isn't personal. Anyone you ask will tell you I'm a hellion."
"Will they indeed?" intoned the duchess.
"Miss Vance," Edward said, appearing at the edge of the grass. His nod was grave but his face creased upward as if he were about to laugh. No doubt he'd caught the duchess's frosty response. "I trust you
and Buttercup survived the train from
London
."
Buttercup?
Florence
thought.
Her cat-light mare from
London
?
Was it possible Edward had bought the horse for her? It would have been an extravagant gesture, and one she really shouldn't accept, but, oh,
if he had! But Merry Vance dashed her irrational hope almost before it had time to form.
"I can't thank you enough," she said, "for arranging her as my ride. Teaching is so much easier when
you have a good mount."
Edward looked down. This, of all things, seemed to embarrass him. He glanced uncomfortably at
Florence
, his gaze catching for an instant on the roses the duchess had pinned to her bosom. With an
air of distraction, he shook his head and returned his attention to Merry. "Ah, well, pleased I could
oblige. I had to buy her in any case. My stallion was moping."
Merry
laughed,
a surprisingly feminine sound.
"How grand!
A romance among the stalls.
I shall have
to keep on top of developments while I'm here."
She smiled at Edward as she said it, as if her words held a meaning known only to the two of them. She wasn't plain then, not with that gleam in her eyes and the sunshine blazing in her cloud of golden hair.
She was a little Valkyrie, lithe and strong, if not quite up to a large breastplate. The realization that Edward might find her attractive made
Florence
distinctly ill at ease.
He doesn't want her, she assured herself. His manner was too casual, too matter of fact.
Even if he had given Merry her horse.
"You'll want to freshen up," Edward said, though not as disapprovingly as the duchess would have.
Merry trilled at the gentle suggestion. "Indeed," she cooed, tapping Edward's chest with the tip of her finger. "Fresh is my middle name."
Florence
experienced a nearly uncontrollable urge to pinch her, but Edward was not put off. "Shall we hold tea for you?" he asked.
"Oh, no."
Merry tossed her golden hair and turned towards the house. "I'm sure I can cozen something out of the kitchen when I get back. You three enjoy. I'll find my poor old maid and the next time you
see me, I'll be free of dust and decent."
"Not too decent," Edward said, perfectly straight-faced.
"My, no."
Merry threw a wink over her shoulder, "What fun would that be?"
Florence
could barely lift her jaw. As Merry sauntered across the terrace, her little bottom twitched beneath her dusty bustle. She'd been flirting with Edward. And Edward had flirted back.
"Hm," said Aunt Hypatia once Merry was out of earshot. "That girl bears watching."
Florence
didn't know if she meant this as an insult or a compliment, nor was her nephew's demeanor
any clue. Still facing the direction Merry had taken, Edward clasped his hands behind his back.
Florence
sincerely hoped he wasn't watching Merry twitch.
"She's Monmouth's daughter," he said.
"Yes." The duchess stirred her tea. "In a year or two, she'll make some man a fine wife."
"You mean she'll make some man a fine handful."
"That, too," said Aunt Hypatia.
Florence
pushed her cucumber sandwich to the farthest edge of her plate. Her appetite had fled, along with her enjoyment of the afternoon. A fine handful indeed! She might not have the right to mind it,
but she knew she didn't like the sound of that.
CHAPTER 9
To
Florence
's dismay,
Nitwit had become "her" horse.
"Today you'll groom her," Merry announced as they entered the busy stable. To
Florence
's amazement, Merry wore breeches. For once, another woman drew more stares than she did. She didn't know whether to blush for her friend or admire her brazen style. Merry behaved as if she
were
dressed to meet the queen and, while no one so much as whistled,
Florence
suspected Greystowe's grooms would be talking of this for years. Everywhere they passed, jaws dropped. Apparently, the only males immune to the shock of visible female legs were a trio of school-age boys who were forking soiled hay into barrows.
Grateful for their efforts,
Florence
picked her way across the hard-packed floor. She sighed when they reached Nitwit's box. The top of the stall door was covered in equine tooth marks, mute testimony to the mare's restless habits. Equally unimpressed with
Florence
, Nitwit curled her lip and made a rude noise.
They eyed each other while Merry went to Jenkyns for supplies.
"It wasn't my choice,"
Florence
said as the mare deigned to swivel her ears. "We'll simply have to make the best of it."
Merry caught the tail end of the exchange. "Good. You're getting acquainted. You can't ride well if you and the horse aren't comfortable with each other."
As if to prove the unlikelihood of this happening, Nitwit kicked the back of her box.
"We'll have to lead her into the yard,"
Florence
said. "Being inside makes her snappish."
"Nonsense," said Merry. "She only needs settling."
With a sense of resignation,
Florence
followed her into the stall. Ten minutes later, after Nitwit had clipped Merry twice on the boot, they trooped out.
"Maybe we should ask Jenkyns for another mount," Merry said.
"No, no. She'll be fine once we get her into the paddock."
Florence
was reluctant to admit it, even to herself, but she was feeling more kindly towards the mare since she'd tried to kick her teacher. Merry's good-humored air of competence was wearing on her nerves. It didn't seem right that someone younger than herself should be so skilled, or so fearless.
Or that someone who obviously didn't need a nice horse should be given one like Buttercup.
She bit her lip at her unkind thoughts. Her father used to say envy was a bitter pill. Now she knew how true those words were. She could barely choke her resentment down. It wasn't justified, of course.
Merry was a nice girl, a generous girl to come and teach her this way. And still
Florence
exulted when Nitwit proved her right. The mare did like being brushed in the open air. She barely twitched when
Florence
curried her sensitive underbelly.
"Now lift her feet," Merry said. "Let's see if she'll let you check her shoes."
Florence
did as she asked, too annoyed to feel a moment's fear.
"Good," Merry exclaimed when Nitwit did not protest. "Horses are flight animals. When they let you
hold their
feet, that means
they trust you."
Florence
was tempted to tell her most animals trusted her, but managed to hold her tongue. Merry
didn't know about the cats. Merry was only trying to be encouraging. The least
Florence
could do was pretend to be grateful.
I am grateful, she thought. I am.
But she had to struggle not to grind her teeth.
After they checked Nitwit's shoes for stones, Merry had
Florence
saddle her and mount. Then, instead
of watching
Florence
ride, she took the halter and told
Florence
to release the reins.
"Hold your arms out from your sides," she instructed. "And don't put your foot in the stirrup or hook your knee around the head. Sit face front and tuck your leg behind the horn. I'll hold Nitwit steady. You concentrate on centering your weight over the horse's back. That's how you develop a sense of balance."
As far as
Florence
could tell, she wasn't developing anything but a sense of embarrassment. Her arms shook from lifting the heavy saddle over Nitwit's back. The smallest movement felt as if it would send
her sliding. Even worse, the three stableboys had perched on the paddock wall to watch the show.
Either
that,
or they weren't too young after all to notice the fit of Merry's breeches.
"Doing fine, miss," the tallest one called. The shortest, a round, straw-headed elf, decided to play tightrope on the stones.
Oh, Lord, thought
Florence
, his antics making her dizzy. She hardly dared breathe for fear of falling off. Nitwit was taller than Buttercup and the ground seemed a long way down.
"Are you ready for me to lead you around?" Merry asked."
Florence
's "no" was almost a shout. Merry laughed and patted Nitwit's neck.
"Never mind," she said. "You just sit today. We'll save walking for tomorrow."
Tomorrow,
Florence
thought, and wished she were enough of a coward to give up.
* * *
To
Florence
's immense
relief, the next day was better, and the next better still. On the fourth day of lessons, Merry put Nitwit on a long leather lead called a lunge line and had her circle the paddock with Florence on her back. First they walked slowly, then swiftly, and then they tried a gentle trot. Merry let her hook her leg around the head for this, but
Florence
fell off all the same. She was determined, though, especially with her trio of fans. She didn't know if Jenkyns had given them permission or if they'd simply sneaked away, but the three muddy boys managed to watch her every day.
"No worries," they'd call each time she hit the dirt. "You'll get it next time."
Despite her embarrassment, and the fact that her bottom was all over bruises,
Florence
was glad they were rooting for her. These boys were too old to be the victims of her peculiar charms, and too young
to be interested in her ordinary ones. They had to be there by choice. They had to be there because
they liked her.
"Forget posting," Merry said when she tried to raise up and down. "Posting is for ninnies. You want to rock back and forth from the hips.
With the horse's movements.
Easy.
Feel how your weight shifts with the horse's steps."
"Woo-hoo," hooted the boys at Merry's suggestive demonstration. Merry merely laughed.
"With the horse," she coaxed.
"With
the horse."