Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Dawn broke pale and quiet over Wyndham Hall, the kind of hushed morning that invited solitude and reflection.
I had risen early—not from restlessness this time, but from a genuine desire to escape the lingering perfume and opinions that seemed to cling to every room my sisters had occupied the evening before.
The house felt different with them in it. Smaller, despite its generous proportions.
I wrapped my warmest shawl around my shoulders and slipped out through the kitchen door, breathing deeply in the crisp morning air. Frost still glittered on the grass, and my breath came in small puffs as I made my way toward the stables.
It had occurred to me, lying awake before dawn, that I had given no thought to my sisters' horses.
Victoria and Georgiana had arrived with such fanfare that I'd been entirely focused on managing them and their endless stream of luggage and opinions.
But their mounts—along with the carriage horses—required care, and I felt a pang of guilt that I'd left such responsibilities to others without even inquiring after their welfare.
The stable yard was quiet, save for the soft sounds of horses moving in their stalls and the distant lowing of cattle in the far pasture. Someone had already been at work—fresh hay had been scattered in the yard, and I could hear the gentle splash of water being poured into troughs.
"You're abroad early this morning."
I turned to find Mr. Brooks emerging from the largest stall, sleeves rolled back despite the morning chill, a curry brush in one hand. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and there was something wonderfully solid and reassuring about his presence in the quiet stable yard.
"I wanted to check on my sisters' horses," I said, moving closer. "I realized I'd given no thought to their comfort yesterday."
"Admirable of you, though unnecessary. They've been well tended." He gestured toward the row of stalls. "Lady Allen's mare is a beauty—temperamental, but well-bred. Your younger sister's gelding is less flashy but has excellent manners."
"You've already seen to them?"
"I rise early by habit. And horses don't observe fashionable hours." He smiled, the expression warming his gray eyes. "Would you like to meet them properly?"
I nodded, and he led me to the first stall, where a sleek chestnut mare stood with her head over the door, ears pricked forward with intelligent curiosity.
"This is Artemis," he said, offering his hand to the mare, who whuffled against his palm. "Lady Allen's mount. She has opinions about most things and isn't shy about expressing them."
"Rather like her owner."
"The resemblance is striking." His mouth twitched with barely suppressed amusement. "Though I suspect Artemis is the more reasonable of the two when it comes to morning grooming."
I laughed despite myself. "You didn't have to help Victoria move her bed twice yesterday."
"No, but I did have to explain to this young lady why her usual oats weren't immediately forthcoming." He stroked the mare's neck with practiced ease. "She made her displeasure known in terms that would make a sailor blush."
Artemis turned her attention to me, extending her muzzle with delicate curiosity. I offered my hand as I'd seen Mr. Brooks do, and she sniffed carefully before allowing me to touch her soft nose.
"She's magnificent," I murmured, admiring the mare's fine conformation and the intelligent light in her dark eyes.
"She knows it, too. See how she's posing? She's been aware of your admiration from the moment you approached."
Indeed, the mare had arranged herself in the doorway with the sort of casual elegance that suggested she was accustomed to being admired. Her neck arched just so, her ears perfectly positioned, her entire bearing one of regal awareness.
"Does she perform this way for everyone?"
"Only for those she deems worthy of her attention." He moved to the next stall. "Your sister chose well, even if she did insist on a custom saddle with silver fittings."
"Silver fittings?"
"I'm told they complement her riding habit."
I shook my head in fond exasperation. "That sounds like Victoria."
The next stall housed a sturdy bay gelding with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. Unlike Artemis, who commanded attention, this horse seemed content to wait patiently for acknowledgment.
"And this is Georgiana's mount?"
"Perseus. A gentleman in every sense of the word. Steady, reliable, and possessed of infinite patience—qualities that serve him well in his current employment."
I reached out to stroke the gelding's neck, and he leaned into the touch with evident pleasure. "He's lovely. Not as flashy as Artemis, but there's something wonderfully solid about him."
"Miss Georgiana may have theatrical tendencies, but she's a sensible rider. She chose character over appearance—not always the case with young ladies her age."
"Georgiana is full of surprises. Beneath all the drama, she has excellent judgment."
"And you? Do you share the family talent for horsemanship?"
I felt color rise in my cheeks. "I used to ride. Before my marriage, I spent every spare moment in the saddle. But Edward..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "My late husband preferred that I occupy myself with more sedentary pursuits."
Something shifted in Mr. Brooks's expression—a tightening around his eyes that suggested disapproval, though he said nothing.
"It's been nearly two years since I've been on horseback," I continued. "I suspect I've lost whatever skill I once possessed."
"Riding is rather like dancing," he said quietly. "The body remembers even when the mind doubts."
"Spoken like someone who's never seen me attempt either activity after an extended absence."
He chuckled. "Have you given more thought to acquiring a mount of your own? The estate has adequate stabling, and there are some excellent horses to be had locally."
"I... I haven’t, no."
"Perhaps you should. A lady should have the freedom to come and go as she pleases, particularly one with extensive grounds to explore."
The idea was more appealing than I cared to admit. The thought of being able to ride out whenever I wished, to explore my new domain from horseback rather than on foot—it stirred something in me that I'd thought dormant.
"The expense—"
"Would be entirely manageable. The estate accounts can support such a purchase without difficulty. I should not have indicated otherwise." His mouth tugged upwards. “I find I am attached to the severed budgeting I began with the hopes of having the most solid financial situation for your aunt.”
I looked at him curiously. "You seem very certain of the estate's financial position."
"I am. Your aunt was an excellent manager, and her investments were both conservative and profitable. You're in no danger of poverty, Mrs. Tynsdale."
There was something in his tone—a confidence that went beyond mere professional knowledge—that made me study his face more carefully. But before I could pursue the matter, he'd moved on to the carriage horses.
"These four belong to the post chaise that brought your sisters," he said, indicating a quartet of sturdy, well-matched bays. "Excellent travelers, though I suspect they're grateful for the rest."
"Will they return to their home stable?"
"Tomorrow, I believe. Though your sisters may have other plans—they seem inclined toward an extended visit."
I groaned softly. "I was afraid you'd noticed that."
"Rather difficult to miss. Lady Allen has already inquired about the arrangements for washing her riding habit, and Miss Georgiana has expressed interest in exploring the local shops. Neither suggests an imminent departure."
"They mean well."
"I'm sure they do. Though I suspect their definition of 'meaning well' differs considerably from your own."
I turned to face him fully. "What do you mean by that?"
He leaned against the stable door, studying me with those disconcertingly perceptive gray eyes. "They want to protect you. To ensure your happiness and security. But their methods involve bringing you back into the world they understand—London Society, suitable marriages, proper arrangements."
"And you think that's wrong?"
"I think you've found something here that suits you." He paused. "I'd hate to see you talked out of it."
His words sent a flutter of warmth through my chest—partly because he'd noticed something about me that I'd barely recognized myself, and partly because he seemed to approve of what he'd observed.
"You hardly know me well enough to make such assessments."
"Don't I?" He straightened, moving closer.
"You've been here less than a week, and already you're working in the garden with your own hands, taking interest in estate management, rising early to check on horses that aren't even your responsibility.
Yesterday I watched you laugh with genuine pleasure while rescuing rosemary plants from the frost."
"That hardly constitutes a thorough character study."
"Tell me I’m wrong. You're not the sort of woman who's content to sit in drawing rooms making polite conversation about the weather. You want to be useful. To matter. To leave your mark on the world in ways that have nothing to do with your position in society."
I stared at him, taken aback by the accuracy of his observation. "You're very presumptuous, Mr. Brooks."
"Am I wrong?"
"That's not the point."
"Isn't it?" He smiled, and there was something almost challenging in the expression.
“Perhaps I am bold in suggestion anything at all.
Your sisters will spend the next several days trying to convince you that happiness lies in returning to London, finding a suitable husband, and resuming the life they think you should want.
I'm merely suggesting that perhaps you already know what you actually want. "
"And what is that?"
He stepped closer, his eyes searching my face. I felt all was bare to him and I wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with the notion. “To have a purpose that's entirely your own. To wake up each morning knowing that what you do matters."
The accuracy of his words was almost painful. I'd been so focused on surviving Edward's death, on managing the practical aspects of widowhood, that I'd barely allowed myself to consider what I actually wanted from the life that stretched ahead of me.
I tried to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. It had been far too long since I’d felt seen in such a way.
We stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the morning sun climbing higher and beginning to warm the stable yard. Around us, the horses munched contentedly on their hay, and I could hear the distant sounds of the house beginning to stir.
"The staff arrives this afternoon," he said eventually.
"Does that mean I'll see less of you around the grounds?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it, and I felt my cheeks warm with embarrassment. He looked at me with surprise, then something that might have been pleasure.
"Would that concern you?"
"I... well, you've been very helpful. With the estate matters. And the gardens."
"I see."
"Not that I expect you to continue doing work that's properly the domain of gardeners and housekeepers," I added quickly. "I merely meant—"
"Mrs. Tynsdale." His voice was gentle, amused. "I'll still be here. My role may change somewhat once the household is fully staffed, but I'm not disappearing."
"Thank you."
He nodded. "When would you like to review the estate books? You mentioned wanting to understand the full scope of your inheritance."
I seized on the change of subject gratefully. "Whenever it's convenient for you."
"Tomorrow morning, perhaps? Before your sisters begin their campaign to reorganize your life?"
"That sounds perfect. Though I should warn you—I may ask a great many questions."
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
The sound of voices from the direction of the house caught our attention. Through the morning mist, I could see Lucy crossing the yard with a breakfast tray, no doubt intended for the stable hands.
"I should return before my sisters discover I've vanished," I said reluctantly.
"Probably wise. Though I suspect they'll sleep late after yesterday's journey."
"Or perhaps they’ll be up within the hour, planning improvements to everything they've seen."
He laughed. "Then by all means, make your escape while you can."
I started toward the house, then paused and turned back. "Mr. Brooks?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For taking such good care of the horses. And for... understanding."
"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Tynsdale."
There was something in his tone that made the formal words sound almost intimate, and I found myself hurrying back to the house with my pulse beating rather faster than the gentle walk should have warranted.
As I slipped through the kitchen door, I caught sight of my reflection in the window glass. My cheeks were pink from the morning air, my eyes brighter than they'd been in months, and there was something about my expression that looked almost... alive.
The thought should have been disturbing—the idea that I'd been sleepwalking through my own life until now. Instead, I found it oddly hopeful.
Perhaps Mr. Brooks was right. Perhaps I did know what I wanted.
The question was whether I had the courage to pursue it.
"There you are, ma'am." Lucy appeared at my elbow, her tone carefully neutral in that way that suggested she'd noticed my absence and drawn her own conclusions. "Your sisters are beginning to stir. Lady Allen has already rung for tea."
"Of course she has."
"Shall I have her tray sent up, or would you prefer they come down for breakfast?"
I considered the question seriously. Breakfast in their rooms would delay the inevitable reorganization of my life by perhaps an hour. Breakfast in the dining room would allow me to maintain some control over the conversation.
"The dining room, I think. But Lucy?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Make sure there's plenty of coffee. I suspect I'm going to need it."
As I made my way upstairs to change from my morning dress, I found myself thinking about what Mr. Brooks had said about belonging somewhere, about having a purpose that was entirely my own.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I thought I might be beginning to understand what that felt like.
The only question was whether my sisters would allow me to keep it.