Page 51 of Fair as a Star

Beryl paced the thickly woven blue-and-gold carpet, her arms folded at her waist. Her reticule hung heavy on her wrist.

Henry didn’t make her wait. He strode into the parlor not three minutes later. His frock coat was unbuttoned, as if he’d only just shrugged it on. “Beryl.”

“Henry.”

He gestured for her to sit. “If you’ve come about that horse, you may save your breath. I’ve already dispatched a groom to collect him.”

Beryl perched on the edge of a silk-cushioned settee. “I wish you hadn’t done.”

He sat down in the tufted armchair across from her, his body taut with impatience. “Your sister has given me little choice in the matter.”

“Surely you must realize that she won’t give him up to a mere groom. She’s as likely to send the poor man away with a flea in his ear.”

Henry’s face clouded with barely suppressed annoyance. “Do you know what I’ve been doing this week? I’ve been sorting out the six-month tenancy agreements with my steward. Applying myself to matters that directly impact the estate, and the lives of the men and women who live and work here.”

“I can appreciate that you’re busy.”

Henry was always busy. If not poring over papers at his desk in the library, then tramping about the grounds of the estate. The fact was, there was never a good time to call on him. Indeed, in the past, it was he who preferred to do the calling.

“Exceedingly busy.” He exhaled. “Dash it all, Beryl, I don’t have a moment to spare for this nonsense with your sister. Can you not make her see reason?”

“You think her unreasonable? Or merely emotional?”

“Both. She’s behaving in a completely nonsensical fashion.”

“Perhaps she is.” Beryl folded her hands in her lap. “Love can often make people behave irrationally.”

“Love for a horse?” he scoffed.

“For anyone. A family member. A friend. A much beloved pet.”

“Is this supposed to inspire my compassion? Your sister is behaving like a spoiled brat.”

She flinched at the insult. It wasn’t like Henry to be impolite. Impatient, yes. But never rude. She supposed her sister had finally pushed him past the limits of civility. “She’s behaving like a girl who loves a horse. She believes he’s her perfect match.”

“God save me,” Henry muttered. “There’s no such thing. What she believes is a girlish fancy.”

“I believe it, too,” Beryl said.

“You what?” Henry looked at her as if she’d spoken to him in a language he couldn’t understand.

“I believe in perfect matches. In soulmates.”

He shook his head. “Did you know he threw her? That she was tossed into the road in front of Malvern’s Emporium?”

“It was only a minor accident. He was spooked by Mrs. Doolittle’s gig. Winnifred is certain—”

“And next time? When he throws her again? When she breaks her back or her neck?”

Beryl inwardly recoiled at the prospect. One often heard of people suffering such injuries from riding. It was never pleasant to contemplate. “Isn’t that a possibility with any horse?”

“Less so with a gentle mare or gelding. But with a stallion the danger increases—and Vesper’s a temperamental beast. I admit she has a way with him. It’s why I permitted her to exercise him. That was my mistake. He’s too much horse for her.”

“I don’t agree.”

“You would risk her health?”

“Everything’s a risk, isn’t it? We all might hurt ourselves doing something or other that we love. What’s the alternative? To sit quietly in a parlor, attending to one’s needlework? My sister is no porcelain doll, Henry. She’s a vibrant, capable young woman.”