Page 73 of Truly, Madly, Daring

He let out a breath and grasped her by the waist, bending to kiss her soundly.

“You are a marvel! And I’m an idiot for letting other people’s perception of what I can and can’t do influence me. Of course I can bloody ride. I bet I can still outride most anyone,” he added defiantly.

Emmeline laughed, delighted by his enthusiasm. “I don’t doubt it, but let us go slowly to begin with. It has been years since you’ve been in the saddle at all, and for my sake, you will be cautious, or I shall regret having said anything.”

“I’ll be good,” he promised, before turning and stalking to the adjoining door that led to his dressing room. “Lennox!” he bellowed as he disappeared inside. “Lennox! I’m going riding. Get me ready. Dash it, where are you, man?”

Emmeline sat on the bed and let out a breath of laughter as she heard poor Lennox enter the room and hurry to do his master’s bidding.

Emmeline bit her lip as Wrexham fidgeted in place, waiting for his horse to be brought to him. He had chosen a sweet-natured bay mare for her, and Emmeline stroked the beast’s velvety nose as she sent a silent prayer to the Almighty that this go well for her husband. His excitement had become a tense, nervous energy as he waited with impatience for his mount. The sound of hooves upon cobbles had Wrexham all on alert and Emmeline held her breath as he greeted his favourite horse for the first time in three years. He’d not been here in all that time, too broken-hearted to visit when he’d believed he would never ride again.

A huge chestnut gelding stepped proudly into the yard, head tossing until he caught sight of Wrexham. With an excited whinny, he tore his lead rope from the astonished groom’s hand and cantered up to Wrexham, skidding to a halt before him in the moment before Emmeline shouted to warn him. The horse bent his head and pushed at Wrexham’s chest.

Wrexham staggered back a step and laughed, embracing his old friend. “Good afternoon, Jaeger, old fellow. Sorry it’s been so long. Can you forgive me?”

The horse made a low, rumbling noise that, to Emmeline, sounded like part grumble, part acceptance, but Jaeger pushed his head into Wrexham’s hands again, seeking another caress and Emmeline had to blink away tears. Looking around, she saw that she was not the only one so afflicted. Several of the groomsmen were surreptitiously wiping their eyes on their sleeves.

To her relief, Wrexham mounted with ease, but Jaeger looked back at him, turning his head to nibble at his boot. Emmeline watched as her husband gave the horse instruction to walk on, only for Jaeger to baulk, once again turning his head, this time pushing gently at Wrexham’s leg.

“He knows,” Emmeline said, her voice faint.

Wrexham’s expression tightened for a moment, but he leant down and stroked Jaeger’s neck.

“I’m just the same, old fellow,” he murmured. “I need a little more help, but I’m just the same.”

Jaeger whinnied, scratching at the cobbles with a hoof, before reluctantly walking on. Wrexham had a groom guide him to the outdoor menage, and with a little encouragement got Jaeger trotting in a circle. Soon, they were cantering, doing figures of eight, with Wrexham effortlessly guiding Jaeger into a flying change. The obvious connection between horse and rider was a pleasure to watch. As Wrexham brought his mount to a halt, Jaeger tossed his head, apparently eager to go now Wrexham had reassured him his rider was in no danger.

From that moment, the afternoon was an extraordinary success. The only problem from Emmeline’s point of view was the desire to keep her husband from pushing too hard, too fast. That he had been a fantastic horseman was immediately apparent, as was the bond between him and Jaeger. With vast, flat expanses of land, it was an ideal environment for Wrexham to ride out and, with a horse he trusted so completely, it was not long before he was begging Emmeline to gallop across his favourite stretch of land.

“Can you see the windmill to the left?” he asked, such exhilaration in his voice she knew she could not deny him, no matter how hard her heart thudded with anxiety. “Which means Arnup’s farm is over there, behind that little copse.”

He pointed to a stand of trees on the far side of the great expanse of green before them.

“I see it.” She turned back to stare at him and found it impossible to look away. He was breathtaking, his golden hair glinting in the winter sunshine like barley, broad shoulders highlighted by the beautifully cut riding coat, and his powerful thighs encased in soft buckskin trousers. Emmeline’s heart swelled with love and pride. No man in the world could match him, and he belonged to her.

“It’s our last stop before we go to the pub. Will you guide me?”

“Of course I will,” she said, for she could refuse him nothing. She turned back to regard Humboldt behind them, atop a sturdy brown cob. He smiled reassuringly and moved to the far side of her husband, just to be safe. “Are you ready then, my lord?”

“I am,” he said, grinning at her.

Emmeline urged her horse into a canter, waiting until Wrexham and Humboldt were level with her, and then with her heart thudding, she called out, “Now!”

They flew across the field, and she heard his shout of triumph and so she shouted too, and laughed and cried at once, as the wind buffeted her and the ground sped past in a blur of colour and motion.

Wrexham was still buzzing with exhilaration by the time they reached the Buck’s Arms. The door creaked open and the familiar scent of beer and sawdust, of working men and well-polished wood, embraced him and wrapped him up with memories. He did not need to see it to remember the huge, scarred oak bar and the worn wooden stools. He could hear the fire crackling in the deep inglenook fireplace and smell the scent of something rich and meaty, which would fill empty bellies to the sound of laughter and conversation when the taproom filled up. He wished this was just a usual day, that he could have brought Emmeline and introduced her to the landlord, Mr Wells.

That was not the case, however. Gabriel Knight had posted lookouts all around the village and sent runners to keep Wrexham informed. They had seen the duke and Cecil at Ingworth, the neighbouring village. Wrexham did not doubt for a moment that they would appear.

Humboldt murmured in his ear that two of Knight’s men were seated at the bar, and several of the footmen and gardeners from the hall were seated around the taproom. Wolf and the rest of Wrexham’s available staff were hidden, waiting in the private parlour. Wrexham had spent the afternoon explaining why he had been absent for so long, and detailing his father’s plans to his tenants. They had been hearteningly furious on his behalf, promising everything from taking up arms to cursing the duke’s nether regions to blacken and shrivel like a rotten mushroom, an image Wrexham could have done without.

Instead, Wrexham had channelled their indignation into this afternoon’s little theatrical display, and prayed he could both avoid a riot and thwart his father so thoroughly he would never dare show his face here again.

Humboldt guided him to his usual spot, and Wrexham smiled when he heard a familiar greeting.

“Bless me, if you’re not a sight for sore eyes, my lord,” exclaimed the jovial voice, swiftly followed by an awkward silence. “That is to say—I mean, it’s good to have you here, is what I meant to—forgive me, my lord. Hardly got your foot in the door and I already put mine in my mouth.”

Wrexham laughed and shook his head. “Good afternoon, Wells, and no offence taken. I beg you will treat me no differently to before. It has taken me a while to convince myself of the fact, but I’m just the same as ever I was.”