Chapter Four #2
He said nothing, prompting her to turn her head to look at him.
He smiled back at her, first with one side of his mouth and then the other.
She had the strangest feeling in her chest and looked ahead once again while reminding herself why this man was objectionable.
He was old. He was . . . not handsome. He was strangely interested in what she had to say.
“Here is the carriage house,” she said, though they were still some distance from the building. “Uncle Peter has a traveling coach, a barouche, and a gig.”
“And a wagon, I see,” Mr. Luthford said, walking toward the basic farm wagon outside the carriage house.
He took hold of the side and shook it, causing Lila to give him a curious look when he met her eye once again.
“I admire quality,” he said by way of explanation.
“For instance, this wagon has planks nearly four inches thick, and the wheels.” He moved down the wagon and crouched to inspect the wheel more closely.
“The spokes are only three inches apart, which would be necessary due to the extra weight of the construction.”
Lila could not help herself as she moved forward, looking at what he saw. “What is the benefit of a heavy wagon if it requires additional structure?”
“Longevity,” Mr. Luthford said, looking up at her.
She took a step back, not realizing how close she was to him.
He turned back to the wagon and continued to talk about the construction—something Lila would never have guessed to be interesting but somehow was.
She’d never thought about nails versus wooden pegs, or the thickness of the rim fit to the wheel itself.
“I’d have done almost anything for a wagon of this quality when I was in Spain,” he said as his explanation came to an end.
“We had little choice but to make the most of broken down conveyances that were often a liability to our entire regiment.” He slapped the side of wagon.
“I shall have to ask your uncle where I might find such a wagon.”
“Will you be in a need of a wagon?” Lila asked.
“It seems that farming is my future,” Mr. Luthford said with a touch of resolution.
“I am determined to do it well.” He met her eyes and lifted one shoulder.
“Like you, I prefer to have purpose to my actions, and I believe the purpose left to me is to raise crops and sheep and find my way within such industry.”
Purpose left to me? What did he mean by that? Instead of asking the question, however, she simply smiled and turned toward the stable. “I assume you rode your own mount and that is why you sent your trunks by hired chaise?”
“I did,” Mr. Luthford said, hurrying his steps to catch up to her.
She reached the corral fence, and her gaze landed on the only unfamiliar animal in the paddock, even though it did not look like anything a gentleman would ride.
The horse was thickly built, like a stock horse, with a short neck, dull grey coat, and dark mane.
She would expect such an animal to pull a plow.
A lady should always compliment a man’s horse.
Insulting his horse would be an easy task to complete.
“Is that your horse?” she asked, nodding toward the decrepit looking thing.
“Ah yes,” Mr. Luthford said, a smile in his voice. “That there is Gordon.”
“Gordon?” she said, turning to look at him with her nose wrinkled.
He raised his eyebrows as though surprised, but his half smile told her he was not. “You don’t like the name?”
She focused on the horse again. “Perhaps it fits him,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “A strange name for a very strange horse.”
She had meant to offend Mr. Luthford, but he laughed instead.
“Indeed,” he said. “Only, it’s not a him, it’s a her.”
She looked at him again. “You named a mare Gordon?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Everyone has these horses with names like Thunder and Prince and Ragtail’s Promise. I thought the least I could do for an animal I trust with my life every time I throw myself into the saddle is give it a name of respect.”
“Then why not Elizabeth or Lady Mary for a mare?”
He scrunched up his face and looked at the horse as though for the first time. “I think she’d have been embarrassed by such a title as that,” he said. “But a name like Gordon, steady and sure, but not flouncy in any way, seemed just the thing for such a nag as her.”
It was Lila’s turn to laugh. He’d called his own horse a nag!
As soon as she realized what she’d done, however, she cut off the laugh and faced forward again.
This was going horribly, terribly wrong!
She had meant to talk only of herself, and yet he had made her an expert on wagon construction, and now she had intended to insult his horse only to find his response clever.
She searched the paddock until she found Neville’s faithful stallion, Wind Runner—a name that suddenly seemed very silly.
He was a beautiful chocolate colored gelding with white socks and a star upon his forehead.
Wind Runner was a thing of beauty—a grand horse for a great man.
The man she was going to marry. The man she must marry.
“Miss Grange?” Mr. Luthford said after several awkwardly silent seconds. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” she said with polite indifference she hoped he could hear.
She was already suffering from the heat of this gown, which perhaps she should be grateful for, as the physical discomfort made it easier for her to be unpleasant.
“I only wonder that you rode this animal all the way here. She looks scarce able to make it to the next village over with a man upon her back. Do your feet touch the ground when you’re astride? ”
He laughed and shook his head. “I might appear a bit awkward, but she is as steady a mount as any have ever known.” He moved forward to rest his arms on the top rail of the fence.
Gordon saw him and whinnied as she lumbered toward them and then pushed her nose into Mr. Luthford’s hand like a dog might do.
“No apples today, old girl,” Mr. Luthford said, scratching her behind the ear, to which she nickered once again.
He turned to look at Lila with soft eyes.
“She saw me through Spain,” he explained.
“Wasn’t more than a filly when I first obtained her, and then she followed me around like a loyal puppy, truth be told.
When I realized I had to give up my commission, I went to great expense to bring her with me.
She’s not the fastest, and she’s certainly not the most beautiful specimen of horseflesh you’ll ever see, but I have never known a horse of greater stamina and loyalty than my Gordon. ”
Lila was touched—but she didn’t want to be. A trickle of sweat moved down her back, making her shiver.
“Well, I think it a very stupid name for a very ugly horse.” The words came out much harsher than she meant them to.
She swallowed and looked away when Mr. Luthford’s head turned toward her.
She could feel the hurt and surprise from him, even without seeing the emotions play across his face.
She wanted him to not like her, but she hated that he likely thought her horrid.
“But I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Luthford said evenly, turning back to his horse and scratching her behind the ears with both hands now.
Lila watched him without turning her head, then took a step back toward the house.
“Well, I should check on luncheon—we have a small meal around noon. I assume you’ve already seen the cottage? ”
“I believe I passed it on the way up the drive.”
She should show him the cottage, but then he had already turned back to his horse and she didn’t dare risk further intimacy.
“Very well,” she said, smiling politely. “I’ll see you at luncheon. Good day, Mr. Luthford.”
“Good day, Miss Grange,” he said, turning toward her and bowing. “And thank you for the tour and hospitality.”
There was no edge to his voice, no censure or dismay—though she certainly deserved such things.
She swallowed, smiled, and then turned back to the house, moving as quickly as she could.
The only consolation she could dig out of the experience—though it did not bring her much joy to note it—was that making herself unattractive was not nearly as hard as she thought it would be.