Page 88 of The Truth About Dukes
“And here is His Honor,” Monmouth said. “Punctual as usual.”
Sir Leviticus and the judge conferred, Stephen pretended to examine the portraits on the walls—why did half-naked goddesses appeal to a gaggle of staid lawyers?—and then Monmouth was leading the judge into the dining room.
“Why would the majordomo do that for you?” Stephen asked.
“You’re asking if Monmouth is trustworthy, and he is. His loyalty is to the club, and if I had to guess, I’d say that Cranmouth, Philpot, and Weatherby are behind in their dues, rude to the staff, and parsimonious with their vales.”
“Bad form,” Stephen said, accepting his hat and coat from a footman. “Mortal sin, that. Have you ever defended a client accused of mental incompetence, Sir Leviticus?”
“No. Am I soon to have that honor?”
“You are soon to ride out to Rothhaven Hall with me and explore the possibility.”
“So Cranmouth is telling you not to worry?” Lord Stephen asked, patting the gelding’s neck. “Claiming you’ll be home by supper following a pleasant chat with the commission members?”
After a week of riding lessons, Robert was still both amazed and terrified to find himself back in the saddle. The project had been necessary, both to provide an excuse to call at Lynley Vale every day, and to keep Lord Stephen from descending into a grand pout.
“Cranmouth tells me that I should be more concerned over a meeting with my steward than I am over thismere formality.” Robert gathered up the reins as Lord Stephen took two steps back. For a man who professed to care about only his close relatives, his lordship certainly did hover near his riding student.
“If the lawyer tells you not to worry,” Lord Stephen said, “then you should be very worried indeed. Though I have every faith in Sir Leviticus,Iam worried, which is no credit to my masculine dignity.”
“Walk on.” Robert nudged Revanche with his calves. The beast obligingly shuffled forward, and the little boy who dwelled deep in memory gave a shout of joy.
“You have the natural seat of a damned cavalry officer,” Lord Stephen said, backing away another two steps. The footing in the arena was sand, which had to be hard going for a man who relied on a cane.
“I am all but trussed into the saddle.” The leather straps went over Robert’s thighs, beneath the flap of his riding jacket. They had taken getting used to, for they prohibited rising from the saddle at the trot. His lordship had fashioned a mechanism that made the straps simple to get into and quick to release, and yet they held Robert snugly on the horse’s back.
His lordship took another few steps back. “Some people trussed into the saddle bounce about like rabbits in a pillowcase. You must have ridden frequently as a child.”
“Every chance I could. To the trot, Revanche.” Another nudge, and the horse lifted into a steady, smooth trot. “I don’t know where you found this fellow, but he’s worth his weight in oats.”
“Found him outside a knacker’s yard, more or less. How is Constance managing?”
Robert rode a figure eight, which Revanche executed at a marvelous steady tempo. “Halt.”
Just like that, motion ceased. Four hoofs remained planted in the sand, until Robert gave another nudge with his calves.
“If you are concerned for Constance,” Robert said, executing a line that moved both forward and to the side at the same time, leaving a diagonal track in the sand, “you should ask her.”
Lord Stephen perched upon a barrel in the center of the arena. “I hope to live to see my next birthday, Rothhaven. Con has thatcome near me at your perillook about her.”
And yet, she clung to Robert whenever they found a private moment. “She is concerned for her daughter. Halt.” Again, Revanche heeded the command, even though it had been buried behind normal speech. “Good lad, walk on.”
“Con has been concerned for her daughter for years, apparently. What has changed?”
The challenge of navigating between Wentworth siblings was new, and Nathaniel was of no help regarding its perils. He was as puzzled by the Wentworth family dynamics as Robert was, though at least Nathaniel could cuddle up with his wife of a night for an occasional consultation.
“Constance cannot approach Reverend Shaw to renew negotiations until my situation is resolved.”
“Your situation will be resolved by this time tomorrow, barring last-minute lawyerly posturing.”
“Which one should never bar. Canter.”
The horse lifted into a scrumptious, cadenced canter, circling the arena as gently as a breeze. The motion was magic, banishing worries and doubts with sheer bodily joy.Dear God, I have missed this. Missed this freedom and pleasure…
The next thing Robert knew, the horse was once again standing motionless, and Lord Stephen was hobbling over from the center of the arena.
“Your usual calm has deserted you, my lord. Is something amiss?” Robert patted Revanche soundly, for such joy should be rewarded.
