Page 5 of A Wild English Rose
With that in mind she couldn’t wait to leave the party and get to bed early.
Chapter Five
Cecily stole out of the house in the hour before dawn and walked the short distance from Hay Street to Hyde Park. As she passed through the gates of the park, she smiled.
When was the last time I was up and about this early?
She made a silent promise to herself to go back to her old habit of rising early. Too many late-night parties and events had turned her into a laggard.
The early morning air reminded of her of the icy wind which blew in from the North Atlantic and crossed the Irish coastline at Glengad. She missed Ireland, but most of all, she missed her grandmother. If only she could go back and relive the happiest days of her life. But her grandmother was now gone, and that life had been relegated to memories.
The thunder of hooves on the roadway behind her had Cecily darting to one side and out of the way of the oncoming horses. She followed the riders up the long dirt track of Rotten Row. At a suitable vantage point along the road, she stopped and leaned against a walnut tree. With her cloak wrapped about her and a warm fur-trimmed hat on her head, she watched as the riders passed by.
Thetonhad no shortage of people who could ride, but only the skilled ones chose to come out and race at top speed down the row in the early morning light.
Her patience was finally rewarded when she caught sight of Thomas leading his mount through the gates. He was immaculately dressed in a dark brown jacket and cream linen shirt, and a pair of black trousers. Black and dark tan leather riding boots completed the ensemble.
A flush of nervous heat raced to her cheeks as their gazes met. He walked his bay-colored mount over to where she stood.
“Hello there. I did not expect to see you here,” he said.
She adopted a nonchalant air and stepped forward to pat his horse. “Lovely coat; the black points are beautiful. Is this one from the breeding program?”
“No. They are too valuable to waste on keeping them in town for the occasional ride. We also don’t keep geldings—too hard to breed from them. I borrowed this one from the Tattersalls stables.”
She blushed at his teasing remark, having failed to notice the lack of certain parts of the horse’s anatomy.
Thomas laughed. “That was unfair of me. You didn’t get a chance to look.”
Cecily, who prided herself on her knowledge of horses, had been too busy looking at Thomas to pay close attention to his mount. She grinned back him.
He reached out and handed her the reins. “I would take a guess and say that you are here by yourself, since I note the lack of a footman or maid in the vicinity. If that is the case and you are already disobeying your parents by being here, then why don’t you take him for a ride? I can watch you from here. That is, of course, if you can ride a gentleman’s saddle.”
Her eyes lit up. “That is very generous of you. I always ride with a gentleman’s saddle if I’m given the opportunity. You are certain of my riding skills?” she replied.
“Go on. I trust you.”
Thomas helped Cecily onto the horse, then stood back and watched her ride away. From the moment she sat in the saddle, he could tell she was a skilled rider.
He took her place in leaning against the tree and waited for her return.
“Whoop!” His horse returned in a thundering gallop which had Thomas cheering as it passed by. Cecily sat low over the saddle, perfectly in line with the horse’s center of gravity.
She wheeled the horse around at the top of the run and came back to him. Before he had an opportunity to help her, she had swung her leg over the side of the saddle and dropped to the ground.
“That was stupendous! You really can ride like the wind,” he exclaimed.
She handed him the reins before coming around to the front of the horse. With a deft move, she lifted the right front leg of the animal, then bent and ran her hand up and down its cannon. The horse flinched.
“I slowed the run up at the end because he began to favor this leg. I think he may have a small tendon injury. I suggest you walk him back to the stables rather than ride,” she said. She looked up at him, and Thomas felt the breath catch in his throat.
Where have you been all my life?
“Yes . . . yes of course,” he stammered
If it had been anyone else, Thomas would have also checked the horse, but he found himself trusting Cecily’s opinion. Trust was something he held in short supply with most people when it came to horses; few saw beyond the mere monetary investment in their animals.
Thomas pulled a carrot from his pocket and handed it to Cecily. She spoke softly to the horse before laying her hand flat and letting him take it.
