“Hmm. I suppose my point is that regardless of the circumstances of the bequeathment of Effie’s affections, once bestowed, the recipient has power to injure him greatly.”
“There I concur. Lord Featherfinch is very sensitive. That is what makes him such a good writer. He opens himself to the world, to experience, in a way and to a degree that is really rather remarkable.”
“Yes. Perhaps that was what I was trying to say.”
Julianna waited for more, but nothing was forthcoming. She didn’t need words, though, to understand that therewasa warning of sorts being issued. Lord Harcourt didn’t want to see Effie hurt.
She would never hurt Effie.
Would she?
“Oh!” A sharp tug on the line startled her out of her thoughts. Lord Harcourt got a bite, too, and he showed her how to reel the line in slowly, a little at a time.
Effie and Lord Marsden joined them, speaking words of encouragement. Soon, Julianna had a surprisingly large fish dangling from the end of the line. She kept her attention on it as it flopped and fought, its gray-gold scales glinting in the sun.
Effie, who’d come to stand nearby, applauded. “I say, Jules, splendid job!”
He shouldn’t be calling her “Jules.” “Julianna” was one thing, but “Jules,” in front of his friends? Perhaps Lord Harcourt had been correct. Perhaps she had more power here than she’d realized.
Lord Marsden removed her fish from its hook. Lord Harcourt did the same with his, and he threw it back into the pond with a plop that created a big enough splash to dampen the hem of her dress.
“A fine carp, Miss Evans,” Lord Marsden said. “Shall we keep it?”
It had never occurred to her that they wouldn’t. Wasn’t the whole point of catching fish tocatchthem?
Perhaps this was another quirk of the aristocracy. They wore impractical shoes, and they caught fish only to throw them back. But then she thought of Lord Harcourt’s hook, which had remained unbaited for so long.
“I think,” she said, “that I ought to follow Lord Harcourt’s example and let the creature return to its watery home.”
“Have you had enough fishing, Miss Evans?” Effie asked earnestly. She was back to being “Miss Evans.” That “Jules” of earlier must have been a slip of the tongue. She missed being “Jules,” though she knew formality was for the best.
“I think so, yes,” she replied. The meditative contentment of before seemed far away.
“Then I’ve a proposition. Marsden and I have cooked up a scheme whereby we swap your horse for his. He and Harcourt will take your horse back to the house, and you and I can go for a proper ride. I hadn’t thought through that of course you were going to be mounted aside. I think you would find great enjoyment in riding the proper way. There’s nothing like a good gallop. We can ride together, on the same horse,” he added, anticipating her objection, which was that although she had been keen to try riding in a circumscribed way, she felt quite unqualified for a solo “good gallop.”
She glanced at the other gentlemen. Lord Harcourt’s countenance was friendly and open as he proclaimed his approval of the plan. Perhaps the cautionary issuance she’d perceived earlier had only been her imagination.
“All right, then,” she said. “A good gallop. Though I admit to some trepidation about the ‘gallop’ part.”
“A good trot, then,” Effie said with a smile as wide as the sky was blue.
* * *
Riding, it turned out, was like fishing: rhythmic—almost lulling—and capable of putting one into a deeply contemplative state. It was not dissimilar to what sometimes occurred when Julianna attempted her flame-visualization exercise.
“All right?” Effie said, speaking into her ear. He was mounted behind her. After saying goodbye to his friends, Effie had seated Julianna in the saddle of a pretty white horse called Genevieve and himself behind her. He’d taken the reins, which had the effect of closing her in his embrace as they set out at a sedate pace.
“Yes,” she said. “More than all right.”
“Would you like to try a trot?”
“Would Genevieve like to try a trot?”
He laughed, but she had been in earnest. “Genevieve would like to do what we would like to do.”
“Isn’t it painful, or at least awkward, for her to bear two riders?”
“I wouldn’t recommend we embark on a cross-country journey two astride, or charge into battle, but for this short time, and given that our combined weight is not terribly high, she will be fine.”
