Page 73 of The Work of Art

Greene was a man of middle age with a muscular build, a shock of sandy hair, and a grim, weather-beaten face. Philly sensed he’d be the last man on earth to share any estate gossip with her, and wasn’t at all surprised when he gave her a typically ambiguous answer.

“Not as bad as some places, I’d wager, but best to take care, Mrs. Heywood.”

Philly walked on with Persephone, and Greene stayed near her side. Persephone flattened her ears and showed her teeth to the chestnut gelding, warning him not to get too close. “And…are poachers hereabouts particularly villainous?”

“Villainous, ma’am?” Greene furrowed his brow. “Can’t ever tell, can you? But, best to take—”

“Yes, I know. Best to take care.” She sighed to herself as she guided Persephone down the hill.

Arthur had told her she was his treasure, and it was becoming apparent he meant to guard her like one. She’d known he was overprotective from the day they married, but in the past week it had become markedly worse. She now took a groom with her on all of her rides, and Arthur himself escorted her on most of her walks.

Philly knew she had no cause to be unhappy. She had far more freedom here with Arthur than she’d ever had in London. Besides that, she had the pleasure of Arthur’s company, and the growing intimacy they shared together during his now nightly visits to her room. Of course, he still wouldn’t allow himself to spend the night in her bed. And he hadn’t yet told her that he loved her. But many women were far less privileged than she was. Indeed, Philly considered herself extraordinarily fortunate.

“…right on the arm. Might have bled if he weren’t wearing his heavy coat.”

She glanced up, uncertain what Greene had been telling her. “Oh?”

“Told him to tie her up short next time, so she couldn’t reach back to him.”

Philly flushed with embarrassment as she realized, quite suddenly, that Greene was explaining to her that Persephone had bitten one of the grooms.

“Don’t you fret, Mrs. Heywood. Can’t say your mare will be the only animal in the Heywood stable that’s hard to manage. Just you look at that stallion of the master’s.”

“Hyperion?”

Greene nodded. “A right devil.”

“Is he? I thought him rather gentle. At least, he has been whenever I’ve come to see him.”

“No, ma’am. He’d kick down the whole stable if it weren’t made of stone.” Greene chuckled. “Captain Heywood can tell you as much himself, if he has a mind to.”

Philly smiled. “I shall ask him.” She drew up Persephone, allowing Greene to take the lead as they descended the steepest part of the hill. “He’s had Hyperion a very long time, I believe.”

“Aye. He come here from Stratfield Hall as a three-year-old, just under saddle. Was a devil then as much as now. Couldn’t no one ride him but Captain Heywood.”

“My husband must have been a very accomplished rider.”

“I’ve not seen better.” Greene’s chest swelled with uncharacteristic pride. “Could handle the most vicious brute in the stable. Not a bit of fear about him. Ready to do or dare anything was Captain Heywood.” He fell quiet for a moment before adding rather gruffly, “The path we ride in the morning was his favorite.”

“Was it?” Philly looked at Greene. “Did he used to ride this path on Hyperion?”

“Aye, ma’am. See just there, beyond that rise? The master practiced his shooting there.”

Philly turned her head to peer out across the grounds, her eyes squinting against the morning sun. Arthur had only ever mentioned his prowess with a pistol to her once, and then only in the vaguest of terms. He was bitter that he could no longer shoot, that much she knew. And from that bitterness, she’d deduced all on her own that his skill must have been something truly extraordinary. “I imagine he was an excellent shot.”

“Better at shooting than he was at riding,” Greene said. “He should’ve joined the Rifles, and so I told him. But he was that set on the cavalry.”

He said nothing else the entire way back to the stable, and Philly didn’t press him. She contented herself with the little scraps of information he’d given her. Along with other things she’d heard about Arthur, it served to create a picture of the man he’d been before he left to fight in the Peninsula.

When they arrived back at the stable, her dogs ran to meet her. Persephone knew them well, and though she flattened her ears, she refrained from kicking out as they leapt about her legs.

Philly dismounted and handed her reins off to a waiting groom. She thanked Greene, and having assured him that she would indeed be riding at the same time next morning, left the stable yard and returned to the house, her dogs trotting along at her side.

When she crossed the threshold into the main hall, Mrs. Lamb rushed to meet her. “Mrs. Heywood, thank heaven you’ve returned.”

“What is it, Mrs. Lamb? Is something the matter?”

“I should say so, ma’am. A young woman arrived shortly after you left for your ride. She’s in a right state. I tried to send her off, the impertinent little wretch, but she made such a commotion. I didn’t like to bother Captain Heywood—”