“He is not difficult,” Anne said quietly one morning, standing beside his stall as he refused to take the feed bucket from a groom. “He is unsettled.”
The groom hesitated. “My Lady, he nearly bit off my hand yesterday.”
“He did not mean to,” she replied, without looking away from the horse.
That particular certainty, delivered so calmly, became something the stablehands learned not to argue with. Anne was uncertain as to whether or not they believed her, but what mattered was that they did not disagree with her. They would see that she was correct in time; she was certain of it.
It was on the third morning that the Duke joined her. He did not announce himself—he rarely did in places where he felt less required to perform. She heard him before she saw him, the thud of boots on packed earth slowing as he entered the stable yardand stopped a short distance away, assessing whether he was interrupting something that belonged entirely to her.
To her surprise, she found that she did not consider him to be intruding.
“I was told,” he said, “that I might find you here.”
“Then you were told correctly.”
A pause. “I am beginning to suspect that the stables are where you retreat when you wish to avoid the rest of the world.”
“I am not avoiding anything,” she lied.
“Of course not,” he said lightly. “You are simply spending every waking hour with a horse that tolerates you better than any of my servants.”
Only then did she glance at him.
He was dressed simply for once, his coat unbuttoned and sleeves slightly rolled up. It suited him better than she had expected, which seemed to amuse him faintly.
“I do not believe Tempest tolerates me,” Anne said.
“What would you call it?”
“Understanding.”
“I am not sure I understand anything in this building.”
“That may be your problem,” she quipped.
A groom nearby made the mistake of suppressing a laugh. It was subtle, but Anne noticed. The Duke did too, though he chose not to acknowledge it.
He stepped further into the stables and stopped beside Tempest’s stall, though he kept a careful distance between them. The horse lifted his head at once, tensing in a way that made the nearby stablehand shift uncomfortably.
“I believe that I should attempt to build trust,” the Duke said.
Anne shot him a skeptical look. “Are you willing and able?” she asked.
A faint smile crossed his face. “I will report back when I have evidence, though I believe I will manage. I have handled worse things than a horse.”
“Like what, pray tell?”
“Mothers during the social season.”
Anne laughed at that.
She noticed that Tempest had calmed down once again, even though the Duke had not retreated.
“He is worse when there are too many people watching,” she explained.
“I have noticed,” the Duke said. “I can also see that he does not trust this place yet.”
“No,” Anne agreed. “Neither do I.”
