Anna set the shepherdess back on the mantel. “And the wife? Would she not be partly to blame if he went outside the marriage for satisfaction?”
“No, dear,” Rebecca replied. “I don’t think the wife is ever to blame.”
Anna felt suddenly lighter. She tried a smile, though she feared it was a bit wobbly. “You are the best of friends, Rebecca.”
“Well, of course.” The other woman smiled like a self-satisfied and very pregnant cat. “And to prove it, I shall ring for Meg to bring us some cream cakes. Decadent, my dear!”
ANNA ARRIVED AT the Abbey the next morning dressed in an old blue worsted wool frock. She’d stayed up until well past midnight widening the skirt, but she hoped she could now sit a horse modestly. The earl was already pacing before the Abbey’s entrance, apparently waiting for her. He wore buckskin breeches with brown jackboots that came to midthigh. These last were rather scuffed and dull, and Anna wondered, not for the first time, about his valet.
“Ah, Mrs. Wren.” He eyed her skirt. “Yes, that will do nicely.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode around the Abbey toward the stables.
Anna trotted to keep up.
His bay gelding was already saddled and busy baring its teeth at a stable boy. The boy held the horse’s bridle at arm’s length and looked wary. In contrast, a plump chestnut mare was standing placidly by the mounting block. The dog emerged from behind the stables and came bounding up to Anna. He skidded to a stop in front of her and tried belatedly to regain some of his dignity.
“I’ve found you out, you know,” she whispered to him, and rubbed his ears in greeting.
“If you are through playing with that animal, Mrs. Wren.” Lord Swartingham frowned at the dog.
Anna straightened. “I’m ready.”
He indicated the mounting block, and Anna hesitantly approached it. She knew the theory of mounting a horse sidesaddle, but the reality was a bit more complicated. She could place one foot in the stirrup but had trouble pulling herself up to hook her other leg over the pommel.
“If you’ll allow me?” The earl was behind her. She could feel his warm breath, smelling faintly of coffee, on her cheek as he bent over her.
She nodded, mute.
He placed his large hands around her waist and lifted her without any visible effort. Gently, he set her on the saddle and held the stirrup steady for her foot. Anna felt herself flush as she looked down at his bent head. He’d left his hat with the groom, and she could see a few strands of silver threading his queue. Was his hair soft or bristly? Her gloved hand lifted and, as if of its own accord, lightly touched his hair. She immediately snatched back her hand, but the earl seemed to have felt something. He looked up and stared into her eyes for what seemed a timeless moment. She watched as his eyelids lowered, and a faint flush seeped across his cheekbones.
Then he straightened and caught the horse’s bridle. “This is a very placid mare,” he said. “I think you’ll have no trouble with her as long as there are no rats around.”
She stared blankly down at him. “Rats?”
He nodded. “She has a fear of rats.”
“I don’t blame her,” Anna murmured. She tentatively stroked the mare’s mane, feeling the stiff hair beneath her fingers.
“Her name is Daisy,” Lord Swartingham said. “Shall I lead you about the yard for a bit so you can get used to her?”
She nodded.
The earl clucked and the mare rocked forward. Anna clutched a handful of the mare’s mane. Her whole body tensed at the unfamiliar sensation of moving so far off the ground. The mare shook her head.
Lord Swartingham glanced at her hands. “She can feel your fear. Isn’t that right, my sweet girl?”
Anna, caught off guard by his last words, let go of the horse’s mane.
“That’s good. Let your body relax.” His voice surrounded her, enfolding her in warmth. “She responds better to a gentle touch. She wants to be stroked and loved, don’t you, my beauty?”
They walked around the stable yard, the earl’s deep voice enchanting the horse. Something inside Anna seemed to heat and melt as she listened to him, as if she were enchanted, too. He gave simple instructions about how to hold the reins and sit. By the end of a half hour, she felt a good deal more confident in the saddle.
Lord Swartingham mounted his gelding and led off at a walk down the drive. The dog trotted beside them, sometimes disappearing into the high grass beside the drive only to reappear a few minutes later. When they reached the road, the earl let the bay have its head, galloping down the road a short distance and back again to work off some energy. The little mare watched the male antics without any sign that she wanted to break out of a walk. Anna lifted her face to the sun. She so missed its warmth after the long winter. She caught a flash of pale saffron beneath the hedges that lined the road.
“Look, primroses. I think those are the first this year, don’t you?”
The earl glanced to where she pointed. “Those yellow flowers? I haven’t seen them before.”
“I’ve tried to grow them in my garden, but they don’t like to be transplanted,” she said. “I do have a few tulips, though. I’ve seen the lovely daffodils in the copse at the Abbey. Do you have tulips as well, my lord?”
He seemed a little startled by the question. “There may be tulips still in the gardens. I remember my mother gathering them, but I haven’t seen the gardens in so long….”
Anna waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “Not everyone enjoys gardening, of course,” she said to be polite.
“My mother loved to garden.” He stared off down the lane. “She planted the daffodils you saw, and she renovated the great walled gardens behind the Abbey. When she died…” He grimaced. “When they all died, there were other, more important things to be seen to. And now the gardens have been neglected for so long, I should have them taken down.”
“Oh, surely not!” Anna caught his lifted eyebrow and lowered her voice. “I mean to say, a good garden can always be restored.”
He frowned. “To what point?”
Anna was nonplussed. “A garden always has a point.”
He arched an eyebrow skeptically.
“My own mother had a lovely one when I was growing up at the vicarage,” Anna said. “There were crocuses, daffodils, and tulips in the spring, followed by pinks, foxgloves, and phlox, with Johnny-jump-ups running throughout.”