Page 32 of The Cornish Mermaid

Undaunted, Ysella nodded vigorously. “When I marry,” she declared, “it will be for love. And I would like you to do the same, Kit. I would like to see you as happy as I intend to be.”

Kit shook his head. “I have no intention of marrying anyone for quite some time, Yzzie, so you can call a halt to your matchmaking plans.”

For answer, Ysella tapped her nose again and got to her feet. “I’m going to bed now, so I can be up early in the morning for a ride in the park before breakfast.” She leaned forward and kissed her brother on the cheek. “Goodnight, darling Kit.”

Chapter Fourteen

Morvoren

The next morning, Morvoren woke early, probably thanks to the extra sleep she’d had the previous afternoon, which was just as well, as Ysella came bouncing into her room dressed in a rust-red riding habit and carrying another over her arm.

“Good morning, good morning, good morning,” she gushed with the over enthusiasm of one who habitually rises early and expects everyone else to be happy to do the same. “I’ve brought you my old riding habit to try on, as I thought we should go for a ride around the park before breakfast.” She tossed the habit, which was of a deep royal blue, down onto the bed and continued her bouncing passage to the windows, where she threw open the curtains.

Morvoren rolled over in bed, rubbed her eyes at the bright sunlight streaming in, and yawned. It did look like a glorious morning and a ride would be fun, even if it had to be on a sidesaddle again. At least she’d now had practice so shouldn’t show herself up too badly.

“I’ve called your maid,” Ysella went on. “So now I’ll run downstairs and organize some hot chocolate and toast for us. We can’t ride on empty stomachs, can we?”

The chocolate and toast, served in the breakfast room, went down well, although not quite the sort of hot chocolate Morvoren was used to, being less sweet and not made with milk but merely hot water with cream added. Ysella poured it herself from a tall chocolate pot into narrow cups, and they sipped the scalding liquid as they nibbled their toast. It filled a hole.

Then it was out to the front of the house where two grooms stood holding a pair of horses easily as fine as Kit’s Prinny, and one more workaday beast. At least this time Morvoren knew the etiquette was to have a leg up onto the sidesaddle, this provided by the groom holding her horse, a pretty, dapple-grey mare.

She settled onto the saddle and gathered up her reins, much more comfortable in a riding habit than she had been in Lady Ormonde’s old dress, and the groom stepped back with a small bow. The one who’d been holding Ysella’s horse sprang into the saddle of the third horse and bobbed his head in respect. It seemed young ladies couldn’t go riding even in their own parkland without some sort of male escort.

Ysella clicked her tongue and her own horse, a rangy chestnut, broke into a long-strided walk, hooves crunching on the gravel.

Morvoren tapped her grey’s sides with the one foot able to do so, and touched the other side with the end of her whip. If only she’d had her phone, she could have Googled sidesaddle technique, but that must be on the bottom of the sea. Her mare fell in beside the chestnut and the groom took his place a discreet distance behind.

Ysella hadn’t stopped talking since breakfast and being on a horse didn’t slow her flow any. “Your horse is Sweetlip, a name that suits her perfectly as she’s the sweetest mare we own. Mama’s horse, of course. She trained Sweetlip herself. And mine is Lochinvar. Kit gave him to me for my birthday, this spring.” She patted Lochinvar’s gleaming coppery neck with pride. “Until then I only had my old pony, who I adored, of course, but he was just a pony, so not a lady’s mount. Kit said a lady needs a suitable steed.” She laughed, the sound echoing through the early morning, lovely to hear. What a happy girl she was. And how devoted to Kit. “My nephew Thomas has my old pony now. He’s my sister Derwa’s little boy. They live in Hampshire.”

“Lucky Thomas,” Morvoren responded, as a reply to this torrent of information seemed appropriate, but her eyes were absorbing the spectacle of Ormonde’s extensive parklands. She’d been so nervous yesterday she’d not really taken it all in. And it was beautiful. A gentle slope led down toward the lake. On the far side, thick woodland covered a steeper hillside, and where the lake curved to the north it narrowed, and a five-arched, stone bridge bestrode it.

Morvoren was glad to have been given Sweetlip, who had a very well-balanced stride and carried her head and neck well. If Lady Ormonde had schooled her, then she must be an accomplished horsewoman indeed.

As they reached the level ground beside the lake, Ysella urged Lochinvar into a gentle canter and Morvoren let Sweetlip follow along the wide green sward that followed this side of the lake. At the bridge, Ysella slowed to a walk again and their horses’ hooves clattered over the stonework. On the far side another wide green path skirted the lake and a second led uphill into the woods.

“Do you hunt?” Ysella asked. “Kit has had some obstacles built along the tracks in the woods, and they’re such fun to tackle. I persuaded him to have them erected because when I follow hounds it’s no fun to be the one having to take to the roads with a groom. I like to keep up with the huntsman and his hounds.”

Did she mean fox hunting? In Morvoren’s other life she’d been very much against any sort of field sports but no doubt two hundred years ago it was considered a normal country pursuit. Better not air her views. She shook her head. “Never, but I have done some jumping, just never sidesaddle.”

Ysella’s brown eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve ridden astride?” she exclaimed, her face alight with what could only be described as glee. “You lucky thing. I so want Kit to let me try it, but he always refuses. He says it’s not at all ladylike. How did you persuade your papa to allow you to do so?”

They were riding uphill now, under the sweeping branches of mature oaks and ashes. Morvoren bit her lip. Now she’d put her foot in it. Her response had just popped out before she thought about it. As a farmer’s daughter, she’d had a pony as a child, much like Ysella, but she’d taken hers to countless small horse shows and done a lot of jumping competitions. Astride, of course. So jumping was something she was used to.

“Where I come from…” she said, with caution, as she wasn’t at all sure how much she should give away. “Where I come from, young ladies learn to ride astride as we think it’s more natural.”

This shut Ysella up for a moment. But not for long. After a long pause, she spoke again. “You do? Well, I’ve often said this to Kit, and when my father was alive, I said it to him, and he said I was nothing but a hoyden.” She giggled. “But now I have you to cite as an example, perhaps I can prevail upon Kit to allow me to ride astride.”

Hopefully she wasn’t putting too much store on that. Kit didn’t seem the sort of man who would give in too easily on something like this, even to the pleading of his sister.

They came to a long ride slanting gradually uphill along which lay three low jumps—a kind of brush fence, a post and rail and log pile. Almost like the cross-country fences Morvoren had been used to riding over with her pony, Pippin. Her heart did a little flip. Sidesaddle? How did you stay on over even low fences like these when you were virtually sitting on a chair on top of a horse? Well, she’d have to give it a try, although not wearing a hard hat worried her considerably.

“I’ll go first,” Ysella said. “Sweetlip will just follow me over, but hold her back a little so you’re not right on Lochinvar’s heels.” She glanced back at her groom. “Eliott will ride down the side and not jump.”

Well, at least if she fell off, there’d be no danger of being trampled.

Ysella urged Lochinvar into a steady canter toward the jumps. The well-schooled Sweetlip was keen to follow but obeyed Morvoren’s firm hold on her reins. When Ysella had enough of a head start, Morvoren muttered a quick prayer and slackened her reins a little as her legs gripped the pommel. Eager to catch up with her friend, Sweetlip bounded forward into a springy canter.

Ahead, Ysella took the first jump, sitting well back in the saddle as she did so, and Morvoren remembered with a start that until the twentieth century everyone had ridden over jumps like that. It was called the backward seat as opposed to the forward jumping seat she was used to. Would it make a difference to Sweetlip if she folded forward as she’d been taught as a child? Only one way to find out.