“Yes,” Effie agreed. “I seem to remember her saying something about the poet Shelley having written an essay on the topic before Mr. Bull came on the scene, so we ought to credit him rather than Mr. Bull. One likes to credit poets whenever one can; don’t you agree?”
“Lord Harcourt,” Julianna said, “do you think I might persuade your wife to write about her dietary philosophy for the magazine?” Julianna would have to invoke the nobility of its author to convince Mr. Glanvil to print it, but what a coup such a story would be. “I read Mr. Bull’s pamphlet and found his tone unnecessarily strident. I would be quite happy to hear a similar argument made from a more even-handed perspective. And for the author to be a lady? All the better.”
Lord Harcourt chuckled. “I shall ask her. I can almost guarantee that she will be thrilled by your commission, but of course I cannot agree to something on her behalf.”
How remarkable. The way Lord Harcourt had phrased that, one would almost think he considered his wife an autonomous individual.
“What shall we do today?” Effie asked again as Julianna picked up her fork. “I admit I posed that question earlier partly to distract from the unpleasant topic of Mr. Shelley’s intellectual descendant, whom I shan’t be naming, but I really do want to know. It is a beautiful day.”
“What do you usually do on your holidays?” Julianna asked when no suggestion was forthcoming.
“The gentlemen looked at each other, seeming to consider the question. “Talk, I suppose,” Lord Marsden said.
“Drink,” Lord Harcourt said wryly.
“Archie usually sneaks away to hunt, and with any luck, he doesn’t accidentally shoot anyone,” Effie said, making a face at Archie.
Julianna gathered there was a story there. She was getting a sense, with these men, of a rich shared history. Of deep bonds stitched together with caring and humor alike.
“How about a ride?” Lord Harcourt asked. “The stables here are well provisioned.”
“Haffert has encouraged me to make use of them,” Lord Marsden said.
The gentlemen turned to Julianna.
“I’ve never been riding.”
“Would you like to?” Lord Marsden asked.
“I could walk your horse,” Effie said. “I wouldn’t leave your side.”
“I think I should find riding quite exciting,” Julianna said.
Later, at the stable, Effie pulled the groom aside and said, sotto voce, “My sister has decided to attempt to overcome a long-standing fear of horses. Have you a gentle mare, perhaps, a creature who shall do right by her?”
Oh, dear. Julianna had not thought through the fact that Effie’s sister, the daughter of an earl, ought to be an accomplished, or at least competent, horsewoman. But Effie, ever thoughtful, had come armed with a cover story.
“Oh, yes, my lord,” the groom said. “I have just the horse.”
Effie glanced over his shoulder and shot Julianna a secret wink. “I will gladly accept any expert advice you may have to soothe my sister’s nerves.”
The groom seemed thrilled with the prospect of making a convert to the equine life, and he and Effie undertook an earnest discussion about saddles and terrain and the like.
The groom was beaming when he introduced them to a gentle old girl called Poppy and explained to Julianna how she was meant to mount. “You’ve got to explain it to me, too,” Effie said. “I’ve never paid any mind to side saddles.”
Julianna managed to get herself situated and was only experiencing a minor attack of nerves as Effie, on foot as promised, took Poppy’s lead. She could see why people enjoyed riding. The prospect from up here was pleasing, as was the notion that she and the horse were working together to achieve motion. Or, rather, she could see how theywouldbe, if only she could get a hang of things. She kept forgetting the instruction to keep her right shoulder back, and the cane the groom had handed her at the last minute, telling Effie it would “stand in for the right leg when cueing beyond a trot”—whatever that meant—was cumbersome.
Once they had cleared the property and turned onto a road the groom had suggested, Effie stopped them. “Of course she’s expected to ride aside—I didn’t think.” He looked up at her. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be much of a guide.”
“Well, perhaps you can teach Miss Evans to fish, if not to ride,” Lord Marsden said. He and Lord Harcourt had brought fishing rods and had quizzed the groom about a pond a mile or so hence.
Which was how Julianna found herself on a grassy bank next to a murky pond digging for worms.
“I must say, Miss Evans, you are an awfully good sport,” Lord Marsden said when she held up a big fat one. “You’re not squeamish at all.”
She shrugged and allowed him to model how to twist the worm onto her hook—Lord Harcourt had lent her his rod. In fact, he’d been quite insistent that she take it. Effie had told her the man had all but given up hunting, despite the fact that he used to be mad for it, in deference to his wife’s animal-loving ways. Perhaps he’d given up fishing, too.
Lord Marsden demonstrated how to cast the line and reel it in. “What an ingenious little contraption this is,” she said, referring to the geared mechanism by which one reeled in the line.
