Page 67 of The Captive Duke
“Child-rearing is becoming a popular topic among those with more experience and education than I.” She stopped by a window that had been cracked to let in the scent of the roses bedded beneath it.
“You are restless, my dear. Let’s be truant this afternoon and go for a ride.” He could see by the longing in her eyes she was tempted. “You want to, I want to. The horses want to. Nip into your habit, and I’ll meet you in the stables.”
“Lucy will be jealous if she sees us.”
“Lucy is a child who must serve out her sentence in the schoolroom. Besides, she commanded your exclusive attention for half the morning, while I toiled in solitude over my ledgers.”
Yes, he tracked her schedule, through observation, through the maids, through the footmen, and he thought they all rather abetted him too. He saw the countess’s lips firm in inchoate mulishness, and turned her by the shoulders.
“Shoo,” he said, nudging her between the shoulders. “It’s a beautiful day, and you’ve earned an outing.”
She went, casting him a curious glance over her shoulder.
Curious was good; it was a start.
As she cantered along beside him on the little mare thirty minutes later, Christian concluded that at some point in her life, Gillian had been a very competent rider. She cued the mare subtly and moved easily with her horse.
“Would you like to hop a few stiles, or stay on the flat today?” he asked.
“This is an ambitious hack for me,” she said, patting the mare. “We usually have Lucy with us, demanding we idle along, unless she’s up before you.”
“I first felt a horse in flight from my perch up before my papa,” Christian said. “The feeling was wonderfully secure, in the saddle with him, but flying over a log. To me, we were topping the hedges at Newmarket, though I’m sure the obstacle wasn’t twelve inches.”
“You have good memories of your childhood?”
“Wonderful, for the most part. You?” He brought Chessie down to the walk, realizing the horse was winded before he was—lovely horse.
Lovely day.
“Not wonderful, not awful. My mother had some mischief in her, but Papa was stern. He contracted marriage for me with Greendale, and that should tell the tale.”
She spoke as if contracting marriage was akin to contracting plague.
“You gained the title Countess of Greendale. Some would call that a successful union.” Though even ten years ago, Christian would not have.
Annoyance, plain as day, crossed her face. “I gained years in the household of a nasty old man. But for his cronies in the Lords, he had no joys, no passions, no light in him. My papa condemned me to darkness. When I came crying home to my mother six weeks after the nuptials, Papa denied me more than a second cup of tea before I was summarily bundled back into my coach, my bags not even unloaded from the boot.”
Her words were bitter, making Christian regret the topic. “When next you choose a husband, you can select a livelier fellow of fewer years.”
“Why would I select another gaoler?” Her expression was still unhappy. “I have my little portion, a place to live for the nonce, and my freedom. You cannot know what that means to me.”
A place to live “for the nonce”? He “could not know” the value of freedom?
Christian brought Chessie to a halt, crossed his wrists over the pommel, and gave her the entire weight of his stare.
“I’m sorry,” she said, fiddling with her reins. “You do know about losing your freedom, I didn’t mean that you didn’t…but that was war, and marriage comes with the sanctity of a sacrament, and…oh, bother. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“No matter. Not all men are like your late spouse.”
He nudged the horse forward and let her stew. A change in topic was in order, but it was her turn to offer something.
“You’re regaining your passion,” she said, nearly startling him out of the saddle. “You aren’t simply trying to recover your wind, or intent on addressing the neglect of the estate. You’re out here because you wanted to sit astride that horse.”
“And that is a passion?”
“You rode everywhere before you joined up,” she said. “Helene said you were a natural for the cavalry, though she hated that you bought your colors.”
“She neglected to tell me she hated it.” And Helene had not been a woman given to keeping her own counsel.
