Chapter Nine
AT TEN O’CLOCK in the morning, Lila took a final look in the mirror and then turned and left her bedchamber.
She wore her riding skirt—the train draped over one arm so it wouldn’t drag on the ground—and boots, a wool coat cut like a man’s with gold buttons and braid, and a jaunty, wide-brimmed hat pinned at a slight angle.
She loved the look of her riding habit—adventurous and rugged compared to the typical pastel dresses of daily life.
Truth be told she preferred to ride astride—the excessive skirts, shown off to advantage on a side saddle—were cumbersome until actually on the horse, and while she was quite good on a ladies saddle, she often thought she could be even better if she could distribute her weight more equally.
For some time she’d been trying to convince Uncle Peter to allow her to ride with a regular saddle, but he was as yet unconvinced it was appropriate.
Rather than argue she simply did her best to improve her form on the sidesaddle.
One day she would be a married woman and surely, if she could prove her mastery of the ladies’ version, her future husband would allow her greater margin than her uncle.
The thought brought her to a stop just inside the back door of the estate. Her husband.
For some time the title of “her future husband” and Neville’s name had been one and the same.
This morning, however, Neville had not been part of the equation.
Rather the expectation of her future husband was now a neutral one, based on title only but without a man attached to the position.
The change was somewhat worrisome, like finding an object once loved and not feeling the same joy with it you once did.
If Mr. Luthford were not waiting for her at the stable, perhaps she would have explored the change with greater attention.
Or perhaps she would not have. Thinking of Mr. Luthford, talking of Mr. Luthford, and mostly, talking with Mr. Luthford had created a kind of veil between her automatic expectations of just a week ago and the now vague and smoky expectations of possibility.
She did not want to ponder on the change too much—such things could be fragile—so she quieted the thoughts and focused her mind on the present.
She arrived at the stable to find Gordon and her uncle’s horse, Braystorm, already saddled at the far side of the paddock.
She had specifically told Mr. Luthford that she had a horse of her own; she had never ridden Braystorm and was unsure that a sidesaddle had ever graced the fine animal’s back.
Had Mr. Luthford been confused? The stable hands would not have made the mistake.
The sound of footsteps from behind caused Lila to turn, and then Mr. Luthford’s smile—first one side and then the other—filled her with sunshine.
“Good morning, Miss Grange,” he said, inclining his head as he approached. He was dressed in buff breeches and tall riding boots with a riding coat that hung nearly to his knees. “You look the very picture of a horsewoman.”
“I do like to ride,” Lila said, surprised at the sudden shyness she felt as he approached. “And I wish you would call me Lila.”
His smile grew even more. “Then you must call me Mortimer—or rather Mory, if you would.” He paused a moment. “Do you know that there are likely only three people left in all the world who call me that?”
“Really?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Other men call me Luthford, and in the military I was Lieutenant or Sir. With both my parents gone now, only my sisters call me by my Christian name. I had not thought of that until this very moment. What a strange thing to have so few people call me by the one name that is mine alone.”
The sentiment made Lila feel special, selected to have a level of intimacy and trust with this man that she would only share with a handful of other people.
“It would be an honor to be part of such an exclusive group, Mory.” Had she once thought the name stuffy?
Mory was better, of course, but even Mortimer no longer seemed so bad.
He smiled back in humor. “I am very glad you think so, Lila.” He held her eyes a moment longer and then turned toward the corral. “I hope you will forgive me for taking a liberty with our mounts today.”
She turned to look at the horses too and only then realized that it was Gordon with the sidesaddle, not Braystorm. Mory didn’t say anything, apparently letting her absorb the situation for herself.
Finally she turned to look at him. “I am to ride Gordon?”
“If you are rabidly opposed, I can have the groom prepare your horse instead, but if you are willing to take a chance, I think you would find Gordon a very pleasing bit of horse flesh, though she does not have the bloodline that would recommend her in polite circles.”
Lila cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes in a playful way. “Have you arranged this because I insulted her?”
“I agreed that she was not much to look at,” he conceded. “But ten to one you will fall in love with her as I have once you experience her charm for yourself.”
While they’d talked, Gordon moved toward them and, as she had the first time Lila was introduced, nuzzled her master’s hand.
“It seems the two of you have made a very happy match with one another,” Lila said.
Mortimer laughed. “A man could do worse in his female company, I dare say.”
“She is trained with a sidesaddle?”
“Or no saddle, a broken saddle, a cart, wagon—she is a horse of all trades. In Spain there were times when she was needed for some commander’s wife, so she is familiar with the different weight distribution.”
“And you don’t mind my riding her?” Most men were rather protective of their mounts.
“Not at all. I asked your uncle for a recommendation I might ride in her place, and he offered up Braystorm, which was very generous.” He was still stroking Gordon’s nose and turned to look at Lila. “Are you ready?”
Lila grinned. “Indeed I am.”
They started down Shrewsbury Lane, then turned onto Cotswall, talking of the weather and some properties in and around High Ercall that Mory would be visiting in a few more days.
“What brought you to Shropshire? Uncle Peter said you grew up in Essex.”
“That was where my parents lived, yes, but I went away to school when I was very young and then joined the military at fifteen after my parents could not afford my schooling. The land was sold off bit by bit as we had several bad years, and then when my father died my mother sold the home in order to secure dowries for my sisters. One of my sisters lives in Birmingham now, and another in Wales. Shropshire seemed a good place to plant myself between them.”
“That is a good reason, then. You will be farming?”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Are you going to lecture me on the importance of retaining my level?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “We do not stand on so much ceremony here.”
“I miss the physical toil of my military career; in fact, I avoided some promotions for fear they would put me behind a desk. To grow fat and useless is a fate I hope to avoid at all costs. An active farm seems the best way to maintain myself. I believe if my father had been willing to learn the management, he’d have done better than he did when he was determined not to work. ”
“That is an unusual perspective,” Lila said. “Especially amid a society that prides itself in not having to work with one’s hands.”
He smiled, but there was a sadness in it. “I find it harder to fit in with this society than I ever did with that of India or Spain.”
“Do you really?” she asked. “You don’t seem to have any trouble making friends and conversation.”
He shrugged but said nothing. She thought of the conversation she had with Mrs. Mason the night before, regarding Mory having resigned himself to this lifestyle.
“Do you regret leaving the military?”
He seemed to ponder this and then let out a heavy breath.
“More often than I thought I would,” he said.
“I always knew I wanted to return to England and have a family—I have planned this course for quite some time—and yet the actual fulfillment of that goal has been a difficult adjustment.” He glanced at her and forced his smile bigger.
“Purchasing my own estate will be a great help in the transition, I believe, and I hope to set up a household and nursery soon. I have great faith that not too far into the future I shall no longer miss the activity of my military career and be glad for having made the decision to begin a new life here.”
“Are there not any number of married soldiers?” Lila said, saddened by the idea that he had to give up one dream to take hold of another.
“It is hard on them, especially the wives,” he said.
“Not so much when they are unencumbered by children and can follow their husbands from post to post, but when they have a family, the wives often stay in British settlements while the men move with their assignments. They can go months, years even, without any interaction. Too often the children barely know their fathers, and the wives and husbands settle into an arrangement rather than the kind of union I hope to have.”
“Are there no happy military marriages, then?”
“There are some,” Mory said. “But the odds are against it, and I wanted to strengthen my potential. English women prefer English society, manners, climate, and ritual, and while there are British settlements formed around those ideals, it is a hard life—one that few women are truly capable of finding contentment within. I believe I will prefer a happy home over exotic locations; that is what it came down to for me.” He glanced her way again.
“Do not feel sorry for me, Lila. I am content with my place and, if I dare say, intrigued by my prospects here.”