Page 96 of The Work of Art

“I almost believe you mean it!” Lady Eliot laughed. “Very well then, Mrs. Heywood. I shall wish you happy in return. But you’ll get no more from me.”

Their handshake was observed by Mrs. Ogilvy, and as Lady Eliot climbed into the curricle and gathered the reins, she edged close to Philly’s side.

“My dear, I accompanied you to meet your guests in anticipation of a terrible row.” She linked arms with Philly as they walked back into the house. “Instead, I’ve seen you shake hands with that horrible woman as if she were your dearest friend. Whatever can you mean by such behavior?”

Philly looked back over her shoulder to see Lady Eliot’s curricle disappearing down the drive. “A wounded animal will bite and claw,” she said to Mrs. Ogilvy. “And it often cannot tell friend from foe. One mustn’t judge such a creature too harshly.”

Philly bounded down the stairs in her newly made riding habit, her dogs running alongside her. She was to meet Arthur at the stable for their early morning ride, and though she was even more tired than usual, nothing could diminish her spirits. The previous day they’d cantered together in the paddock. It had been utterly thrilling, and she had every hope they would repeat the experience today. Arthur was getting ever so much stronger. She was sure it wouldn’t be too long before they could ride out on the estate together.

The sun was just creeping up over the horizon, burning away the edges of an unusually heavy morning fog that had settled over Heywood House. Visibility was poor. Indeed, it wasn’t until she reached the stable yard that she saw Arthur.

And then she saw Hyperion.

The giant bay stallion was saddled and bridled. He tossed his head and stamped his hooves, barely under the control of Thomas, the young stable boy who held him.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Where’s Greene?”

“A mare foaled in the north pasture, ma’am. Mr. Greene told me to—”

“It seems he instructed Thomas to saddle our riding horses,” Arthur said.

Philly looked at Hyperion, understanding at once the mistake the young groom had made. She was on the verge of telling him that he must put Hyperion away and saddle Erasmus, when she glanced at Arthur.

His eyes were fixed on Hyperion, a strange expression on his face.

She wondered what was going through his mind. Images of all he’d been capable of before the war? Memories of how he’d galloped Hyperion across the grounds? Bitterness? Regret? She saw it all manifesting its melancholy weight across his brow.

“He’s a bit fresh today,” Thomas said breathlessly, struggling to quiet the giant stallion.

Philly turned her attention back to Hyperion just in time to see the boy narrowly avoid being stamped on. “Oh, do be careful!”

Suddenly, Hyperion reared up, striking out with his powerful forelegs. Thomas strained to pull him back down by the bridle. For a few seconds, the boy’s feet were lifted straight off the ground.

Arthur stepped forward to assist him. “Here.” He reached out to catch Hyperion’s reins. “Give him to me.”

It happened so quickly that Philly couldn’t say a word. Arthur had reflexively extended his left hand. His fingers closed around the reins. The great horse shook and leapt. Arthur hadn’t the strength to hold him. The reins were torn from his injured hand as Hyperion bolted, nearly knocking Arthur down in the process.

“Arthur!” She rushed to his side to support him.

Thomas ran after Hyperion, who cantered out of the yard and through the gate, disappearing into the morning fog.

“Leave him!” Arthur shouted at the boy.

Philly flinched at the anger in Arthur’s voice, even as she took his arm securely in her own. “But he must fetch him back, surely.”

“He’ll find his way back to the stable in time for his supper. There’s no point chasing him.” Arthur was tense underneath Philly’s touch. “You needn’t cosset me,” he said under his breath. “I’m not a cripple.”

Philly blinked in surprise. Arthur had never spoken to her thus. “Of course you aren’t. I only meant to—”

“Forgive me. I’m returning to the house.”

“Arthur, wait.” She tugged on his arm, willing him to look at her. “You mustn’t let this experience sour you on riding altogether. Greene told me that Hyperion was the most ill-mannered beast in the stable. He said he was impossible to handle—”

“Yet I once handled him with ease.” Arthur’s expression was closed off. Unreadable. “Thomas, stay with Mrs. Heywood while she rides in the paddock and then escort her back to the house.”

Philly allowed Arthur to disengage from her arm. “Are you angry with me?”

“I’m angry with myself. And in my present mood, I’ll be poor company for your ride this morning.”