Chapter 4
“My dear friend, how long has it been?” Oliver Ferrand, the only friend Adrian had been incapable of pushing away in his seclusion, leaned back in the leather-backed chair at Adrian’s fireside.
“Too long,” Adrian said, pouring a glass of port for himself and his friend.
Oliver arched an eyebrow. He had dark hair and a sun-browned complexion from his time on duty overseas.
Perhaps that was why he and Adrian still remained close—Oliver’s time in service was even more recent than Adrian’s and he had not forgotten, as the rest of England seemed to have forgotten, the price of war.
“If you really feel our visits are too sparse,” Oliver mused, “you should come to London every now and then. I am only in this isolated part of the world because I am passing through to see my cousin. Otherwise, I am more easily found in a London assembly hall.”
“Or the plains of northern Africa,” Adrian reminded him. “Was that not your most recent posting?”
Oliver took a sip of the port, and leaned back comfortably in his chair again. “That is excuse enough when I am gone, but I have just been in London for a full three months and heard not a whisper from the great Viscount Marwood. What excuse do you give?”
Adrian set aside his port, untouched. “You know I cannot endure the company of crowds for long.”
“Your sister seems comfortable enough in the center of the social scene,” Oliver said, dropping his gaze to the amber liquid in his hand.
Adrian nodded. “She is happy enough in London, and urges me often to join her.”
“Perhaps you should listen to her, every now and then,” Oliver pressed. “She is a wise woman.”
“She is a young woman, who knows little of the world.”
Oliver drained his glass, and shook his head. “She tells me you had some excitement here last night.”
“You and Honoria are oddly close these days, sharing secrets and informing on me to one another,” Adrian retorted. Was that a blush he noticed on Oliver’s cheeks? Impossible. His war-hardened friend was not the sort to fall for Honoria’s simpering sighs and fashionable giggles.
“You are changing the subject. Tell me about this lady you had in your library all night.”
Adrian held back a snort of derision. “That is a tawdry way of describing a rather dull scene, my friend. Miss Thorne’s brother, Harry—a mere boy—was injured riding a pony on my property. I found him and brought him hence to recover while I sent for the doctor.”
“Was the sister with him when he was injured?” Oliver asked.
“She followed shortly after, having tracked him to the place where the wounded pony was tethered, and then here to the estate.” He would not soon forget the way she had looked as she sprinted towards him, hair streaming behind her, intensity in every fiber of her body.
“A woman, tracking?” Oliver smiled. “I can see from your face that you were as surprised by her skills as I am.”
Adrian cleared his throat. “I think it was fairly obvious where to go, once the pony had been discovered—a short path towards the open fields of the estate, and from there she would have easily seen me up ahead.”
“You would not wish to give the lady too much credit, would you?” Oliver grinned. “Because then you might be at risk of confessing some admiration for someone other than yourself.”
“That is rather harsh, even for you,” Adrian retorted, but a smile curved his lips nonetheless. “In truth, I was taken aback by Miss Thorne. I knew her from the past, but she seemed so different in the present that I hardly recognized her.”
“How old is she?”
“A few years older than Honoria,” Adrian said, rubbing his chin as he remembered her bright blue eyes. “And the strange thing is, she has the features of someone far more fragile—pale and delicate—but in person she is quite stern and stubborn. I found the difference to be somewhat disorienting.”
“I assume the brother recovered, or else you would not be lingering so completely on Miss Thorne’s appearance in your description,” Oliver teased.
Adrian waved his friend’s mockery away. “I was only painting a picture to a dear friend, nothing more. Yes, her brother awakened and seemed to steady as the night went on. She would not take much help—only what was barely required to make it home safely. I offered her a room, and food, but she refused.”
“She sounds like a woman that does not suffer fools,” Oliver said, shrugging.
Adrian laughed despite himself. “I would not classify myself as a fool.”
“No,” Oliver said with mock gravity, “a fool never does.”
“You should be glad that I am a man of the world now,” Adrian said, grinning in response, “and too mature to hurl you across the room as I would have when we were hot-headed youths.”
“You may have been a hot-headed youth once,” Oliver said with sarcasm dripping from his tone, “but I was always the grave and composed gentleman you see before you today.”
Their shared laughter eased some of the tension in Adrian’s shoulders, and for a moment he let the caution of years slip away. All that was here was friendship, and the memory of a beautiful woman in his recent past. Nothing that could threaten the calm with which he had surrounded himself.
***
Adrian awoke early in the morning with a distinct visage in his mind’s eye—that of the slim boy laying on the settee and turning towards him.
What had the boy said? Something about the bay hunter stallion.
Adrian had seen the dreamy awe in the boy’s eyes, and heard the hunger in his voice. This was a boy that wanted to ride.
Still, Adrian knew a little something about the being thrown from a horse, figuratively and literally.
He knew that after life took a sharp edge and sent some poor sap tumbling to a painful end, one’s mind could be sure of moving forwards, but if one’s body had not been trained to climb back into the saddle the fear would get the better of him.
The boy needed to get back on a horse, or the imprint of that crippled pony and the terrifying fall would be all the boy could associate with riding.
Adrian could almost hear Honoria retorting, “And just the same, brother—one must step back into society after a broken engagement, or the terrifying loss will be all you associate with love and women.”
He blinked in the darkness, tossing and turning to the other side to rid himself of the thought. This was entirely different. This was about helping a child overcome a fear before it hooked him for a lifetime.
He tossed this idea around for the remainder of the night, until the early fingers of morning light gave him permission to rise and write out a short note in flowing cursive.
Miss Thorne,
I would like to offer you the loan of a quiet cob in my care for your brother’s further education in the art of horseback riding.
I imagine you will be seeking a new mount soon, but perhaps in the meantime you will consider me as a viable alternative to teach the boy proper riding.
A boy once thrown needs back on the horse before fear sets in.
Sincerely,
Viscount Marwood
Even to his own mind, the letter sounded a bit curt. He did not rewrite it. When he was tempted to consider the words too forward or harsh, he simply forced himself to remember the cold manner with which she had rebuffed his attempts at comfort, or her continued refusal of his assistance.
Miss Rosalind Thorne was not expecting warmth and companionship from him, and he did not intend to simper around when the situation required forthrightness.
He rang for a servant, and sent the letter off before breakfast.
When he walked downstairs for the morning meal, he found Honoria and Oliver chatting easily with each other over poached eggs and toast.
Honoria was wearing a white muslin dress, her black curls tied back in a thick pink ribbon, while Oliver was in casual walking attire. Both looked comfortable, as though they meant to linger.
“I thought you intended to travel to London today,” he said to Honoria, smiling to soften the question. “Although I am pleased to see I am wrong.”
She shrugged, and dipped her toast into the egg yolk. “Oliver is here. Why should I wander off when you have allowed a bit of society to visit? No, I shall linger here for a few more days until all is dull and grey at Marwood again.”
Adrian rolled his eyes and seated himself across from the two. “And you, Oliver? Simply passing through on your way to see your cousin? Though you are dressed like a man who will not consider travelling for a fortnight.”
“Perhaps I will linger as well,” Oliver said, shooting a quick glance at Honoria. “Just to be certain that you are adequately socialized. Lady Honoria has been telling me all about the upcoming Season, and how she longs for her brother to accompany her.”
“Do not put your heads together and launch a two-pronged attack,” Adrian said drily. “I am a military man myself, and know how to distract an opponent when flanked.”
“Besides,” Honoria said innocently, “there is something else of interest for me to observe here at Marwood… a certain Miss Rosalind Thorne, who seems to have made quite the impression on you.”
Adrian set his food down and fixed his gaze on his sister. “I do not know what you mean, Sister. If you are implying anything untoward—”
“Heaven’s no,” she said, rolling her eyes and laughing.
“I wish you would be untoward sometimes, but I have quite given up hope of such a thing occurring. No, I simply mean that Miss Thorne and her brother brought a considerable amount of excitement two days’ past, and this estate is in desperate need of some excitement. ”
“Well, whenever you feel that way I am happy to arrange for one of our neighbors to be gravely wounded on our property,” Adrian said, returning to his tea with a sarcastic smile.
The butler entered suddenly, a letter on a silver tray before him.
“My lord,” the stately man declared. “I have word back from Thornefield Hall.”
“Already?” Adrian asked, standing to his feet. It had only been a few hours. By his account, Rosalind would have had to read his letter and immediately respond for the reply to be so immediate, perhaps even sending her personal groom to deliver it promptly.
“Already?” Honoria mimicked, tilting her head to one side. “Brother, did you write Miss Thorne before you appeared at breakfast this morning? How very enterprising of you to complete your missives before the morning light.”
He ignored her teasing, and took the letter from the tray, opening it at once to scan the terse response.
My lord,
I shall be calling at Marwood Park at three o’clock this afternoon to discuss the presumption of your letter in person.
Miss Thorne
He folded the letter and looked up at his sister, utterly taken aback. She raised her eyebrows and said to Oliver.
“Heavens, look at the man. He reads a few lines of a letter and looks as though he has seen a ghost.”