Page 37 of Leap of Faith
It would be ungrateful if Faith were to admit how much she wished this dratted ball over with. Having been forced into a London Season was one thing, but it seemed they had no time to themselves and, therefore, no peace whatsoever.
It was almost as if Lord Westwood could read her mind when he arrived that morning before they had breakfasted.
Faith was in the garden, seeking a small measure of quiet before the day’s chaos began.
“Miss Whitford.”
She jumped at his voice. He always managed to startle her.
“Forgive me for intruding.”
“Not at all, my lord, I was far away with my thoughts.”
“I was wondering if you and your sisters would care for a ride in the park this morning?”
“Do you mean on horseback?”
“What other way is there?”
For a moment, she tried to assimilate his finding five horses for them to ride, but she could not.
“What is it, my beauty?”
She frowned at the endearment. With his reputation, he probably called many women that—and not all ladies. “You should not call me that.”
“Likely not,” he said unperturbed. “Could you perhaps rouse your sisters to put on their riding habits? The horses are waiting.”
“Yes, of course.” She hurried back into the house and upstairs to their chambers.
Her sisters were awake—it was hard to break country ways—and quickly changed into their smart new riding habits they had not yet had a chance to wear. All were in shades of blue—Faith had never known there were so many, from celestial to azure to Saxon to Prussian to indigo. Hers was of the latter to match her eyes, with a skirt and bodice joined in a single dress with narrowed sleeves and a trained skirt with gold trim. A small, peaked hat with a gold ribbon finished her toilette.
“Me, also?” Joy asked, obviously wondering if this was the beginning of her being left out of such entertainments. The new governess had been hired and was to begin in time for the ball—probably not a moment too soon, Faith reflected fondly.
“I should think you may still ride with us. Perhaps you can look out and see how many horses Lord Westwood has brought?” Faith suggested, hoping dearly that he had not excluded Joy. She might not be out of the schoolroom, but they had always ridden together.
A loud screech of excitement answered the question quickly.
“I presume there are enough?”
Joy jumped up and down. “Look!”
All the sisters hurried to the window and looked down at the street to where their own mounts from home stood magnificently in a row, waiting with grooms holding them.
All of the horses bred from the same sire, with gleaming ebony coats except for a small white patch on them—some their noses, some their legs.
“I do not believe it!” Hope exclaimed.
“Lord Westwood has outdone himself,” Patience agreed.
He had, indeed. “I hate to think of how indebted we are to him for this.”
“He would not have done it if he did not wish to, Faith,” Grace reasoned.
Joy and Grace raced down the stairs, followed by recriminations from Faith not to act like hoydens.
The others followed at a hurried but decorous pace, only to see Joy exclaim and hug Lord Westwood quickly before hurrying to greet Nightingale.
The horses were magnificent, standing there in a row, just as pleased to see their mistresses. They were greeted with nickering, tossing their heads, and pawing at the ground.
