Page 88 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
He halted the gelding within yards of her pony, the young groom acknowledging Mandell’s arrival with a respectful bow.
“Good afternoon, Miss Eleanor,” Mandell said with mock gravity as he dismounted. “I see you are out exercising Pegasus this afternoon. But where is your mama?”
“She walked ahead down that path.” Norrie’s bright smile faded as she complained with all the dignity of an injured princess. “We did not think you were coming today. You are dreadfully late, Lord Man. Where have you been?”
“A thousand pardons, milady,” Mandell said, sweeping the little girl his best leg. His hands encircling Norrie’s waist, he lifted her out of the saddle, holding her high in his arms. “I was detained by a fool’s errand.”
“Who was the fool?”
“No one of any consequence,” Mandell replied drily.
“Never mind then.” Norrie patted his cheek in consoling fashion. “I am just very glad you are here now.”
She took Mandell by surprise, flinging her small arms about his neck in an impulsive hug. He returned the embrace with an awkward pat on her back. Someone ought to inform Miss Eleanor about the impropriety of young ladies making such affectionate displays in public, but Mandell knew that he was not going to be the one to do so.
As he set her on her feet, she turned toward the gelding that was cropping at the tender green shoots of grass.
“You brought your horse today instead of the carriage,” she said. “May I pet him?”
Mandell could see no reason why not. The gelding was a town-bred animal, selected for its docility in dealing with the chaos of London traffic. All the same, Mandell took a tight grip on the reins as Norrie patted the animal’s velvety soft muzzle.
“What’s his name?”
“Er—well ...” Mandell had never troubled himself to think of sobriquets for his horseflesh. “I don’t believe he has one.”
“Did you forget it?” Norrie asked. ”The same as you forget what your mama used to call you?”
Mandell winced, recollecting their conversation of a few days ago, a discussion of nicknames. Norrie had wanted to know what he had been called when he was a small boy. Like Anne, the child had a habit of asking discomfiting questions.
To forestall any further mention of the subject, Mandell hastened to say, “I think I do recall the horse’s name. It is Nightmare.”
He was left to reflect on the irony of the first choice that had popped into his head, but Norrie appeared satisfied with it.
“Nightmare,” she crooned, giggling a little when the gelding nuzzled her hand. “I can hardly wait until my Pegasus grows into a horse as big as you.”
Mandell laughed. “I am afraid he has a better chance of sprouting wings.”
“Does he?” Norrie exclaimed.
Behind the child, Mandell saw the young groom rolling his eyes. Mandell hated to be the one to disillusion her, but he saw no remedy for it. He cleared his throat.
“What I meant, Miss Eleanor, is that ponies do not grow to be horses. Pegasus is already as big as he will ever be.”
“Oh.” She looked so crestfallen Mandell was goaded into making a rash promise.
“When you are old enough, I will get you a horse, a pretty little filly every bit as milky white as your Pegasus.”
Norrie’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said. “Uncle Lucien gave me my pony, but I know he would never buy me a horse because he does not like me and my mama anymore. When we went past his house, he made mean looks at me this morning.”
“This morning? But, Norrie, there is no one living at your uncle’s house anymore. He has gone away.”
“That’s what Mama says. But I know I saw Uncle Lucien looking out the window, making faces like a hobgoblin.” Norrie heaved a deep sigh. “Mama says I have too much imagination.”
“I fear Mama may be right.” Mandell tweaked one of the child’s curls. “And speaking of that wise lady, perhaps it is time we went and looked for her.”
“She went down the path that way” Norrie said, pointing one stubby finger. “With your grandpapa.”
“My grandfather?” Mandell echoed. He froze, certain he could not have heard the child properly. “You don’t mean His Grace of Windermere?”
