Page 33 of The Cornish Mermaid

The first jump felt awkwardly like a cat jump, but she folded forward surprisingly easily, despite the pommels being in the way, and bobbed up again ready for the second fence. Sweetlip clearly had found the different style confusing, even though Morvoren had given with her hands to allow her to stretch her neck forward. However, the little mare sensed her freedom of movement over the second fence, and it was altogether more comfortable and less of a cat jump. And by the third fence she’d realized her rider wasn’t going to be interfering with her mouth and soared over it beautifully.

Ysella had glanced back over her shoulder after each of her jumps, and as soon as Sweetlip landed after the third fence she urged Lochinvar into a gallop, flying up the track. Confidence brimming after her success over the fences, Morvoren let Sweetlip have her head and galloped after her.

To her relief, when the track took a turn downhill again, Ysella slowed to a walk, and the horses fell in side by side, flanks heaving. Behind, the groom brought his horse to a walk a polite ten yards back.

“Goodness,” Ysella said. “Who taught you to ride? I’ve never seen anyone jump like that before. Didn’t it unseat you?”

Morvoren shook her head. “Not at all. It’s a far more natural way of jumping. It helps the horse’s balance.”

Ysella’s face lit up. “Do tell.”

As they rode down the track toward the far end of the lake, Morvoren gave Ysella a lecture about the forward seat, centers of gravity for the horse and rider, and how much better it was for the horse to allow it to stretch its head and neck and how much bigger jumps could be tackled if you did so. By the time they reached the lake, Morvoren had a convert on her hands who wanted her to teach her how to jump in the forward position, “Astride, of course!”

They swung around the head of the lake, where a small sluice gate sat beside a mill, then headed back along the other bank toward the house, woodland to the right and the lake to the left.

Which was when their friendly conversation was interrupted.

From a path through the woodland came the sound of galloping hooves, and out of the trees a rider emerged, hauling hard on the mouth of his horse to steady its pace. Morvoren was beginning not to be surprised by the clothes everyone wore, but this gentleman’s immaculate garb so drew her attention she didn’t recognize him for a moment.

He wore elegant, tight-fitting buff trousers topped with a blue tailcoat that fitted his muscular form like a glove. Top boots had been polished to the sort of sheen you’d be able to see your face in, and when he halted his horse and took his hat off, his hair appeared to have been artistically styled into a very Grecian look with lots of curls that couldn’t possibly have got that way naturally.

As he returned his hat to his head, Morvoren realized this was Captain Carlyon from the coach journey. The journey that already felt a lifetime ago.

“Why, Miss Lucas and cousin Ysella,” he said, laying on the lazy charm with a shovel. “I could hardly have hoped to be so lucky as to meet you two this morning when I took my constitutional before breakfast.”

Ysella dimpled at him in pleasure. “Why cousin Fitz…” she began, eyes twinkling invitingly. “It’s so long since we’ve seen you here at Ormonde, I quite thought you’d forgot all about us. It’s been so dull without you around. Are you staying with your grandfather again, or have you arrived to visit us?” She laughed. “I’m sure Kit will be pleased to see you.”

Pretty unlikely.

“I’m staying with my grandfather,” the captain said with a grin. “He’s always most gratified to see me, as you might imagine, with me being his only male heir.” He laughed in an offhand, rather smug tone that set Morvoren’s hackles bristling. How could Kit and he, two cousins, be so different in every aspect? But Ysella seemed to like him, so best to be polite.

His heavy-lidded and rather insolent gaze moved on. “And Miss Lucas, what a pleasure it is to meet you again so soon.” His eyes slid over her riding attire. “And so becomingly outfitted… this time.”

Ysella turned questioning eyes as Morvoren forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Captain Carlyon and I met on the mail coach, when I was otherwise attired.”

Ysella chuckled. “Well, in that case you must be old friends and will need no introduction.” Her eyes went to her cousin’s face. “And I’m sure you will agree that this habit is much more becoming on dear Morvoren, with her eyes and complexion, than it was on me last year. How lucky it is that Morvoren is much my size, even down to her feet. Such bad luck to be shipwrecked the way she was without any of her trousseau.”

Morvoren would have pinched Ysella’s arm had she been close enough, but probably she wouldn’t have had the sense to recognize it as a warning to stop talking. Knowing her luck, she’d have asked why she was pinching her. Morvoren groaned inwardly. Now the captain was privy to some of her story. Why couldn’t Ysella have kept her mouth shut? Morvoren plastered on her sweetest smile, but it was too late.

The captain benefitted her with a curious stare. “Your story sounds most fascinating, Miss Lucas. I had no idea you’d undergone such adventures. Perhaps you might be happy to tell the tale yourself, now we are better acquainted?”

Damn this interminable polite conversation you had to stick to. “No, thank you,” Morvoren said, hoping he’d take the hint. “It was so traumatic I’d rather not talk about it.”

“So romantic,” Ysella said, on a gushy breath. “Like a heroine in a book.” She batted her eyelashes at her cousin in a way one could only describe as coquettish. It was all too easy to fall into the Regency way of thinking.

“Very much so,” came the captain’s reply. Perhaps Morvoren was reading too much into it, but she had a distinct sense of him wanting to find out more, and not for a good reason.

“For how long are you staying with your grandfather this time?” Ysella asked, as her chestnut laid its ears back at the captain’s horse. Something Morvoren would have quite liked to do to its rider.

He smiled, a charming smile but a villainous one. Or maybe Morvoren was just biased. “For a week, at the most. I have a new posting to Cornwall that I must take up shortly. I’ve been visiting friends in Devon, and should be able to visit them again from time to time.” He laughed. “They have a very pretty daughter and I’m anxious to further my acquaintance with her.”

Ysella pouted. “Prettier than me, Cuz?”

This time his laugh was genuine. “How could any girl be prettier than you, little minx. But this young lady has a fortune to her name, and as, despite my place as only male grandson at the moment, I’m certain my uncle will produce a boy before too long, I need to marry into money. So her fortune does much to increase her beauty in my eyes.”

Ysella gave a snort of laughter. “Always so open with your intentions, Cuz. And I love you for it. I should like to meet this young lady one day, if you have your wish and she becomes your wife.”

He laughed in return. “And so you shall, so you shall. But not yet. She has no idea of my intentions, so after a brief sojourn with my grandfather, to make sure he hasn’t forgotten my existence, I’ll be off west again to take up my new post from where I should be able to continue our acquaintance and hopefully to press my suit.”