NINETEEN #2
No. She would face her terror over and over until it no longer had its talons in her. She would replace her horrific memories with happier ones. Besides, it wasn’t precisely torture to confront her fears with Matthias as her guide.
With that purpose in mind, she dressed and marched down to the stables, habit train over her arm and riding crop in hand.
Mackenzie stood just inside the stables, supervising the grooms as they moved some hay bales.
“Mrs. Armstrong,” he nodded.
“Mackenzie.”
He skimmed her outfit. “Taking on Indira again, I see.”
All of the grooms paused their work to stare at her.
“Aye.” Cecily ensured her Scottish accent was in place. “His lordship feels she needs more work yet.”
The head groom’s eyes darted toward the mare in her stall. “Aye. I ken that’s the case.”
His tone said otherwise.
And how was she to reply? Riding a horse was hardly scandalous. But for a young housekeeper to race across the braes with her aristocratic employer . . .
Well, it still wasn’t technically wrong, but as she walked deeper into the stables, the press of the grooms’ eyes set her skin to prickling.
Matthias stood beside Forbes, working to saddle Indira. A flicker of relief darted across Matthias’s face when he saw her. She hadn’t precisely fled the library the day before, but her exit had been hasty. She certainly hadn’t felt up to a repeat of their hug.
But today . . . she was determined.
“My lord,” she curtsied.
“Mrs. Armstrong.” He stepped out from behind the mare. “You appear prepared.”
“Indeed, I am.” She met his gaze squarely. “I am resolved to take on all challenges today.”
He grinned in reply.
Fifteen minutes later, Cecily was adjusting her skirts on horseback, helping the mare settle beneath her. Indira had improved by leaps and bounds, but she still had a tendency toward nervousness that required soothing. Matthias pulled himself atop Zephyrus and led them up the road.
The entirety of the stables—Mackenzie, Forbes, and the grooms—wandered outside to see them off. Cecily tried to shake off the weight of their stares.
You are doing nothing wrong, she reminded herself, chin lifting high. It was only as she and Matthias cleared the horizon that she realized the motion—spine straight, head elegant—likely highlighted her aristocratic breeding.
Sigh.
Cecily shook away the anxious thoughts. The sun shone down, and the last vestiges of winter were on the wane. Deepening green blanketed the ground, crawling up trees and bursting from clumps of gorse and broom.
Like the earth around her, she felt an augury of rebirth.
As for herself and Matthias . . . a gentle familiarity had settled between them—she knew his secrets, and now he knew hers. The vast difference in their station remained, but on days like today with starlings quarreling in the hedgerows, it was hard to think of Matthias as anything but her friend.
“You are quiet,” he finally said. “Regrets for yesterday?”
She spared him a glance. He was objectively beautiful. But somewhere over the past weeks, his face had become impossibly dear. Today, he looked particularly dashing—his shoulders broad in his coat and muscular thighs pressed against buckskin breeches as he rocked with the motion of his horse.
Cecily forced her eyes away before they lingered.
“None. In truth, I wish to attempt our experiment again, if I may. I agree with you that repeated exposure should eventually ease my fear.”
He nodded, as if the prospect of her blanketing his chest bothered him not at all. “Consider it done. I shall be in my study before dinner and at your disposal.”
Cecily pondered a dozen different ways she could slip into his study unseen. Keeping news of their rendezvous from the rest of the staff would be tricky.
“Do you regret yesterday?” She had to ask, as she was essentially using his large body as a physic.
“Of course not.” A pause. “Well . . . perhaps one. I am already regretting accepting the Listons’ invitation to dine.
I sent over a footman with my acceptance this morning, and he returned an hour later with the most effusive thank you from Mrs. Liston.
I fear I sent the lady into a fit of ebullient vapors. ”
“She’s likely dreaming of being able to claim a duke on the family tree. Perhaps a mention in the next edition of Debrett’s.”
Cecily forced cheer into her voice, ignoring the pang of jealousy that, like herself, Miss Liston would likely savor the sight of Matthias’s broad shoulders.
“Again, I should hate to raise expectations in that quarter. My larger concern is properly acquitting myself with the lady.”
For not the first time, Cecily pondered how vulnerability might be the most attractive characteristic a gentleman could possess.
“How shall I navigate a conversation with Miss Liston?” he continued. “She is so very quiet. What suggestions do you have for conversing with a lady, aside from the weather or her health, of course?”
“Literature is usually a safe topic.”
“Does Miss Liston read?”
“Yes. I cannot say whether she is a bluestocking or not, but when I have had occasion to stand in the drawing room during her visits with Colonel Gordon, I have heard Miss Liston speak fondly of Shakespeare, as well as the occasional novel. Reverend Liston isn’t particularly restrictive for a man of the cloth.
However, Miss Liston is naturally reticent, so you will need to coax her out of her shell.
” A teasing smile touched Cecily’s lips. “Just think of her as a shy horse.”
Matthias snorted and half-rolled his eyes.
“Shall we practice a conversation?” she continued.
“Please. I suppose I need to initiate it?”
“Yes. Miss Liston is unlikely to prompt a conversation on her own.”
They plodded along in silence. Indira flicked her ears, antsy for a good run. Cecily steadied her with a slight tap of her crop.
Finally, Matthias sighed. “I admit I don’t know where to begin. It would be unseemly to blurt out, ‘I say, Miss Liston, which do you consider more tragic, Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet?’ I need to ease into a topic. That is where I struggle.”
“How about something simple like, ‘Miss Liston, do you enjoy reading?’”
“Very well. Do you enjoy reading?”
“I do.”
Silence.
He cleared his throat. “I see you are playing the role of Miss Liston.”
Cecily grinned. “I am merely pushing the labor of the conversation back to yourself. A good conversationalist will share the burden, but in this instance, you might need to carry it for Miss Liston initially.”
His mouth twisted. “What do you enjoy reading?”
“Oh, a bit of this and that.”
“Come now, you need to give me more, Cecily. That’s ridiculous.”
Her bright laugh startled a pheasant from a nearby bush, causing both horses to side-step. Grinning, Cecily tapped Indira’s flank, bringing the mare back in line.
“You have proven yourself a capable conversationalist with myself,” she said, “but then I am quick to speak. I am presenting you with a challenge. Face your fears, Matthias.”
He chuckled, and she decided she liked that sound better than any other. His laugh was a rare thing—precious and, to Cecily, increasingly valuable. It clung to her senses like amber honey.
“Are you fond of Shakespeare?” he asked, continuing their pretend conversation.
“I am.”
“Which plays do you prefer—tragedies or comedies?”
“Clever.” Cecily shot him a wry smile. “Avoiding simple yes or no questions is excellent.”
“Thank you.”
“I believe I prefer the comedies.”
“Do you truly? Or is this Miss Liston speaking?”
“I cannot speak to Miss Liston. I prefer comedies. Perhaps because my life has already seen too much of tragedy. I enjoy retreating into a world where I can laugh at romantic mix-ups and rag-mannered humor.”
“So in the question of Hamlet versus Romeo and Juliet, you would say neither?”
“Precisely. Why choose the histrionics of immature lovers when the silly happiness of A Midsummer Night’s Dream is on offer?”
“That is a rather delightful play.”
“Bottom is glorious.”
“Indeed. Though I would argue that the lovers are still histrionic and immature.”
She laughed, looking out over the green fields. “You are doing well.”
“Thank you. However, I have been informed your conversation skills are of a superior quality, so I suppose that is to be expected.”
She laughed at his teasing, happiness in her veins. Indira tossed her head, signaling her annoyance with all this talking.
“Shall we let these animals run? I fear Miss Indira is losing patience.”
Matthias responded with a chuckle and, shifting his weight atop Zephyrus, urged the horse into a gallop. Cecily tapped Indira’s side and leaped to follow.