Chapter 6
“If you lean that far, you will meet the ground before the pony has taken a single step.”
Elise froze astride the little gray mare, both hands wrapped around the front of the saddle and one boot already slipping from the stirrup. Her bonnet had fallen backward against her shoulders, held only by its ribbons, while several dark curls clung damply to her forehead.
“I was looking at her ears.”
“Her ears will remain attached whether you inspect them or not.” Adelaide caught the child beneath one arm and shifted her squarely into the saddle. “Sit upright. No, not stiff. Upright and easy.”
Elise immediately became rigid from bonnet to boot. “You told me to be straight.”
“I told you to sit upright. Those are not quite the same.”
“Well, they sound the same.”
The pony shifted one hind foot. Elise squeaked and tightened both hands on the saddle while Adelaide reached for the reins.
“There, Bramble has only moved her foot. Horses do occasionally rearrange themselves.”
“Was it because I sat wrong?”
“No. You are not heavy enough to trouble anything larger than a housecat. Now put your heels down.”
“They are down,” she nearly whined.
“Further down… You’re almost there, don’t let up.”
“If they go farther, they will fall off!”
The nearest groom turned his back, though one shoulder moved suspiciously. Adelaide ignored him and attempted again to explain the line from shoulder to hip, the balance through the heel, and the need to keep one’s hands soft.
She had explained all of it once in the schoolroom with a chair serving as a horse and again beside the mounting block. None of it had survived contact with the actual pony.
“Perhaps we ought to begin again.”
“We already began again three times?”
“Then we are becoming quite accomplished at beginnings.”
“I just want—Bramble to—walk.”
A humiliating surrender seemed preferable to watching Elise pitch sideways into the yard. Adelaide beckoned the groom over.
“Mr. Cooper, would you lead her around the ring?”
He approached with a face of perfect sobriety. “Of course, my lady.”
“You need not look so relieved.”
“I would not presume.” He said, though his mouth twitched as he took the lead rein. Adelaide kept one hand on Elise’s knee while Bramble stepped forward.
The child gasped and then laughed. “She is doing it!”
“She has known how for some years.”
“I am doing it.”
“Yes, you are.”
Elise loosened her grip by a fraction, her whole face brightening as Bramble made a slow circuit of the yard. Adelaide corrected her rising heels twice, then stopped before instruction turned into scolding. Elise was five, not a cavalry officer.
On the next turn, the child leaned forward, though not so far this time. “Will Bramble come with us?”
“Come where?”
“To the duke’s house.”
Household news traveled efficiently. By now the scullery maid likely knew the proposed wedding breakfast menu, though Adelaide herself had heard nothing of it.
“Bramble belongs to Talbot Park. Perhaps we may arrange another pony at Wolverton.”
Adelaide suddenly caught herself wondering what Wolverton actually looked like—not the house, but the life. Were mornings lonely? Did the Duke laugh more often there than he did in London? Was it quiet?
“But I do not want another.” Elise’s voice cut through her daydream and her smile faded. “Will Mama come?”
“Of course.”
“Will I?”
The question came quietly, without drama. Adelaide looked up. Elise had forgotten the pony entirely. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“Mrs. Bailey said you were going away when you married. She said ladies go to their husbands’ houses. And Mama is your maid.”
Adelaide signaled Mr. Cooper to stop. He moved discreetly toward Bramble’s head while she straightened Elise’s bonnet.
“Your mother works as my lady’s maid. That is not the whole of who she is.
” She rested a hand over Elise’s small, gloved fingers.
“She is my friend, and you are my family. Both of you will come with me.”
“What if the duke says no?”
Adelaide’s first answer would not have been suitable for a child. “Then the duke and I shall have our first serious disagreement before the wedding breakfast.”
“Will you win?”
“I generally intend to.”
Mr. Cooper coughed into his fist.
Adelaide turned her head. “Something in your throat?”
“No, my lady.”
Elise’s worry eased. She bent carefully toward Bramble’s mane and whispered, “Lady Adelaide wins arguments.”
“So I have been told,” Mr. Cooper said under his breath.
Eric had already agreed that Violet and Elise would accompany her.
He had answered without hesitation in the street, as though the matter required no discussion.
Even so, Adelaide knew better than to trust an understanding left unwritten.
Courtesy before marriage was not the same as certainty after it.
She would have the provision added to the settlement.
When Bramble reached the mounting block, Adelaide lifted Elise down. The child landed with a small thump and wrapped both arms around her skirts.
“You did very well.”
“You were cross with me. I could tell.”
“No, I was frustrated with myself for not being able to help you better.”
“You sounded cross with me.” There was no accusation in Elise’s face, only the honesty children offered when adults might have preferred manners.
“I did,” Adelaide admitted. “That was unfair. I know how to ride, but I do not yet know how to teach it without expecting you to understand everything at once.”
Elise considered the apology. “You may try again tomorrow.”
“How generous.”
“I will try to remember to hold my heels down.”
Adelaide sent her toward the house with orders to wash before lessons. Elise managed six proper steps before running the rest of the way, muddy boots striking the gravel and bonnet ribbons flying behind her.
By the time Adelaide crossed the rear passage, the house smelled of baking bread and coal fires. Violet appeared near the servants’ stairs carrying folded linen against one hip.
“Elise is on her way inside. She has been ordered to wash, which means she is likely showing everyone in the kitchen how much mud she collected.”
“I shall retrieve her before she reaches the preserves.” Violet shifted the linen. “How was the lesson?”
“Bramble was excellent. Elise was brave. I was insufferable.”
“That sounds unlikely.”
“You did not hear me explain heels for the seventh time.”
Violet smiled, then glanced toward her father’s rooms. “Your father has been asking for you.”
“I am going just now.” Adelaide took two steps before another thought caught her. “You must speak to Bailey about the trunks. His Grace’s letter refers to the estate, which I suppose is to be Wolverton.”
The linen slipped in Violet’s arms. She caught the top sheet before it fell, but the warmth had left her face.
“Are you well?”
“Oh yes, only I just remembered how long the journey is going to be. Wolverton is more than a day’s ride.”
“Yes—we do have quite a bit to pack…”
Violet adjusted the linen with care and gave a sly smirk. “We will manage as we always do.”
Adelaide touched her arm before continuing down the corridor. Behind her, Violet remained beside the stairs with the linen gathered tightly against her bodice.
“You ought to be asleep, Father,” she said as she walked into the room.
“I have spent the better part of three days asleep,” the earl murmured without opening his eyes. “It has become dreadfully monotonous.”
His bed had been moved nearer the windows, where a thin breeze stirred the curtains and carried in the scent of damp earth. Bottles of tonic crowded the bedside table beside untouched broth and a book lying facedown on the coverlet.
Her father had always looked most at home behind a desk, boots muddy from the fields and his sleeves rolled above his wrists. Illness had reduced the room around him to linen, medicine, and careful breathing.
Adelaide settled beside him and removed the spectacles resting on his chest. “You have abandoned these?”
“I misplaced them.”
“They were lying upon you.”
“So they were.”
She set them on the table and poured him water. He managed a few swallows before resting again.
“You have that expression that generally precedes questions,” he said.
“I inherited it from you.”
“An unfortunate legacy.”
She waited until his breathing steadied. “Tell me about the duke.”
“My dear, half your expressions informed me you had argued with him before you said a word.”
“He accused me of walking alone.”
“I imagine he was concerned.”
Adelaide leaned back. “He is not what I expected.”
“No?”
“I expected someone colder.”
The earl watched her for a moment. “He was not always so reserved. I knew his father better. Eric was thoughtful. Quieter than other boys, but never unfriendly.”
“What changed?”
His gaze moved toward the window. “His sister.”
“I know… she died.”
“She vanished from the cliffs at Wolverton. They searched through the night and found enough to believe she had fallen, though her body was never properly recovered.”
Adelaide thought of Eric in his London study, each word considered before he allowed it free. “And his father?”
“He never recovered from losing her. I attended his funeral less than a year later.”
“He loved them both.” She folded her hands in her lap. “It explains the way he watches himself. Even when he laughed, he seemed surprised by it.”
She had mistaken reserve for distance. It was easier to fear a cold man than a wounded one. Somehow the latter seemed infinitely more complicated… especially when he smiled…
“Grief teaches some people to become louder, and others… economy,” her father continued.
The word suited Eric uncomfortably well. She had glimpsed warmth beneath his reserve, though it disappeared almost as soon as it showed itself.
“I have decided something,” she said.
Her father opened one eye. “That usually means the rest of us have little choice.”
“When I marry, you will come to Wolverton. The country air will do what Dr. Pembroke insists it shall, and you will recover far better there than you will lying in this room pretending broth is a meal.”
“My dear—”
“I mean it. Violet and Elise are coming as well. We shall all go together, and before winter you will be walking the estate telling everyone the hedges have been planted incorrectly.”
Her father went still. “You intend Violet and the child to live there?”
“Of course. We will all go together.” That she had said “we” without hesitation was not lost on her. Somehow Wolverton, where she had never visited before, had already begun to feel less like a stranger’s estate and more like a destination.
He looked at her for a long moment. Adelaide had begun to wonder whether fatigue had overtaken him when he drew a breath to answer.
The cough seized him instead.
It bent him forward against the pillows. Adelaide rose at once, one hand steadying his shoulder while the other reached for the bell.
“Papa—”
He tried to speak, but the coughing swallowed whatever he meant to say.