Page 45 of A Fragile Enchantment

“Have you forgotten already?” Sinclair removed his hat and clasped it in front of him. “I am here to call on you.”

Oh.Gods, that wastoday? She’d lost track of time again. “Oh, Sinclair, I am so sorry!”

“It’s quite all right,” he replied. “If you are still amenable, you should accompany me on a ride. Kit will chaperone, of course. He is hardly respectable enough for the job, but desperate times, as they say. I simply could not wait another moment to see you.”

“As your chaperone,” Kit said dryly, “I object to that kind of talk in my presence.”

“It’s all right, Kit.” Sinclair smirked. “You can admit it’s working.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

It relieved her to see that whatever tension she’d sensed between them in the park had dissipated. Sinclair’s offer was tempting, but she’d far too many things to do. Yesterday, she’d pored over her sketches with Rosa, who had a far more exacting vision than Niamh anticipated. The amount of lace she and her assistants would have to make was… staggering, to say the very least.

“I can see the cogs spinning in your mind,” Sinclair said. “Donot fret. We shall have you home before your embroidery even knows to miss you.”

“Very well,” she relented. “But you should know that I am not a very accomplished rider.”

Kit muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously likeshocking.Niamh decided to ignore it—just this once. Few people in Caterlow could afford to own horses, save for her friend, Erin. As girls, they would take a pair of mares out at dawn and ride along the coast. It’d been many years, but she supposed it wasn’t the sort of thing one easily forgot.

“You will do wonderfully, I’m sure,” Sinclair said.

“I will join you shortly, then. Just give me a moment to change.”

“I’d suggest something dark,” said Kit. “Dirt will show less.”

Her ears burned as she took in his stupid, self-satisfied smirk. He was clearly referencing her little mishap in the greenhouse. She’d say he was mocking her, but… No, she could not dwell on the alternative. With feigned innocence, she said, “Of course, I shall accommodate your preference, Your Highness.”

“It’s not—” he blustered, then cut himself off with a defeated sigh. “We’ll be at the stables. Come on, Sinclair.”

Sinclair raised his eyebrows but followed after Kit without comment.

Niamh lingered by the bay window. The nettle still garlanded the eaves and waved gently in the breeze. Kit must’ve cleared some of it away, for she now could enjoy an unimpeded view of the lawn outside. She watched the two of them trek toward the stables. They spoke animatedly—although Kit, frankly, seemed to be yelling—but the conversation ended abruptly when Kit shoved Sinclair into a thicket of gorse growing at the border of a garden bed.

She winced. He’d be pulling thorns out of that lovely coat for weeks.

Even from here, she could hear Sinclair howling with laughter and see Kit’s face burning a bright, livid red.

Avlish ladies, Niamh learned, did not ride astride. It would take Sinclair, Kit, and a prayer to hoist her into the sidesaddle.

Her horse’s name, the groom told her, was Ferdinand, a palfrey who boasted the dubious honor of being the most reliable, gentle gelding in the stables. He snorted good-naturedly when Niamh lifted a hand and patted him on the nose. Her powder-blue gloves contrasted charmingly against his chestnut coat.

“He hasn’t had a single thought in all his life,” Sinclair assured her, holding Ferdinand still by the bridle.

Kit lowered himself onto one knee and knitted his fingers together. With all his usual charm and grace, he said, “Get on.”

It took her a few moments to process that he wanted her to use his hands as a step. “Are you sure, Your Highness? I don’t want to hurt you.”

He sighed so exasperatedly, the loose strands of his hair fluttered. She wasn’t certain if her reversion to formality or her hesitation vexed him more. “You’re not going to hurt me. A strong wind could carry you away.”

The same could be said for you.Very nobly, she refrained from saying that aloud. However, she found it strangely difficult to argue with him when he was on his knees before her. With a fretful groan, she grasped the saddle with one hand and placed the other on his shoulder. Kit was surprisingly solid beneath her palm—and surprisingly warm, even with the leather of her riding gloves between them. She had the dim awareness that she’d frozen where she stood, if only because of the impatient stare he leveled at her like a rifle. Very reluctantly, she stepped into the foothold of his hands.

“All right,” he grunted. “Up you go.”

With that, he boosted her. Niamh yelped as her other foot leftthe floor. Ferdinand swiveled his massive head to watch her with placid confusion. As soon as she was perched on the very edge of the saddle, Kit steadied her by the waist. Warmth unfurled through her at his touch. She hurried to hook her knee in the horns of the saddle’s pommel. Her skirt slid up her calf, revealing a flash of bare skin. Kit’s eyes flickered down, just for a moment, before he turned abruptly away from her.

“Good?” he asked.

“Now I am,” she choked out, adjusting the fall of the fabric. “Thank you for your assistance.”