Page 39 of The Siren of Sussex

“He’s not off his feed.”

“I should think not. It would take more than a change of address to ruin his appetite. His stomach has always been in good order.” She scratched Hephaestus behind the ears. “What about the rest of him?”

“He’s restless. Pawing at the door of his box.”

Restless.

So was she.

“He’s longing for his paddock.” She ran a hand over the stallion’s silky neck. In Combe Regis, he spent the better part of his day roaming the fenced perimeter, rolling in the mud, or dozing under his favorite shade tree. Not a care in the world.

No. It was she who’d begun to worry, watching him grow from a homely colt into a big, magnificent beast—an eminently valuable piece of bloodstock. She’d always assumed that when she married Stephen Connaught, she’d take Hephaestus with her to her new home. That he’d be her riding horse, her much-doted-on pet, for decades to come.

More than that.

If she was married, Hephaestus could be put out to stud. It was what Papa had originally planned for the stallion. Evelyn had been powerless to arrange it on her own. Not because she didn’t understand the particulars of horse breeding, but because unmarried ladies weren’t meant to know about such matters. To involve herself in them would have been seen as dangerously eccentric—injurious not only to her reputation but to those of her younger sisters.

Yet another reason she’d hoped to marry Stephen.

All that was needed was for him to propose. He’d seemed to like her well enough. They’d been friends, hadn’t they? It only wanted time. Another summer spent riding together, and then he’d have asked her.

Of course, that had all changed with Fenny’s disappearance.

Now any thought of marrying Stephen Connaught was at an end.

Evelyn had set her mind to marrying someone else. Someone new. As much for her younger sisters’ benefit as for her own. Not because she desired a fine house and fine clothing. Not because she longed for riches, or even because she desired children. But because a riding horse was expensive. Far too expensive for a family of rapidly dwindling fortunes. The sale of a stallion like Hephaestus could bring in a pretty penny.

Aunt Nora hadn’t said anything. Not yet. But she would, and soon, if Evelyn didn’t return from London with a proposal of marriage in hand.

“I’ll take him for another gallop tomorrow,” she said. “If you can have him ready at sunrise?”

Lewis bobbed his head.

The next morning, Evelyn left the house at dawn for her ride in Rotten Row. Hephaestus danced and pranced beneath her, tossing his head as they entered the park. She put him through his paces, just as she had the previous morning, riding him until his neck, shoulders, and flanks were damp with sweat.

No one else was about, save a few stragglers walking on the mist-covered grass. Working people, by the looks of them. As Evelyn rode, she kept an eye out for Julia Wychwood. But there was no sign of her, or her outsized black hunter. No riders at all to speak of.

Perhaps Miss Wychwood had resumed riding in the afternoons, during the fashionable hour, with Lady Anne and Miss Hobhouse?

The three Furies.

Evelyn smiled to think of it.

She’d rather be thought of as a Fury than a wallflower or a bluestocking. The Grecian Furies were formidable sisters. Women of justice—and vengeance.

The thought appealed to her.

Which only went to show that she was a bluestocking at heart.

Smile fading, she urged Hephaestus back into a trot as she exited the park, Lewis following close behind them.

She was going to have to work on making herself more agreeable, if for no other reason than to appeal to the eligible gentlemen she’d meet during the season. No man wanted to court an oddity. Gentlemen wanted ladies who were soft and sweet. Who would listen to them in awestruck silence, only opening their demure little mouths to agree with a man’s ideas or to laugh at his feeble witticisms.

It wasn’t her. It had never been her.

You don’t have to change, she assured herself. Not really. It’s only a game. A game you must play for a very little while.

Once she met a suitable gentleman, she could revert back to her true self. She’d do it in stages, little by little. Who knows? The gentleman in question might come to like her as she really was. Perhaps he might even fall in love with her.