Page 49 of The Cornish Inheritance

Nat nodded. “I’m riding over to Wheal Jenny.”

Caroline raised her eyebrows in a question.

Nat shrugged. “One of our tin mines. The nearest one. You can see its chimney from the upper windows. I once had friends who worked there, and I wanted to see how it was faring for myself.” What he didn’t say was that he wanted to see how it was faring under Trefusis’s iron hand and unsympathetic management. “An inspection, you might call it, as I haven’t seen the place for years.”

“You’re going to the mine?” Yves asked, impressed. “Can I come too? I’ve never been, and I’ve always wanted to see inside one of the mines. Are you going down the shaft?”

“I’m riding over,” Nat said. “I’m not sure…”

“Oh, I can ride,” Yves declared. “I ride the garden pony, Blossom. I’d like a horse of my own, but Aunt Ruth won’t let me…” His voice trailed away in disappointment.

“I’m sure Blossom is perfect for you,” Caroline said. “You can’t have a horse until you’re bigger. I only had a small pony until I was twelve, and that’s three years older than you.”

“But I’m a boy,” Yves tried. “Boys get to ride horses before girls do because they’re better riders.”

“Nonsense,” Nat put in. “When I was your age, all I had was a pony.” At least, thanks to his father, it hadn’t been the garden pony though, and he’d pretended it was a flashy thoroughbred as he galloped along the beach with Jacka, who’d had to make do with his father’s cart pony.

Yves squinted up at him. “You haven’t said whether I can come.”

Caroline caught his hand. “I’m sure your cousin has business he wants to conduct at the mine, Yves, and won’t want us hanging about.”

The thought that Caroline might come too caused Nat’s heart to give an unaccountable little flip. Now, why would it do that? But without a doubt, the thought of riding out in female company, despite what he’d just said to his mother, pleased him, after so long amongst just soldiers. Just to have a woman to talk to would be good. That was all. Nothing more. “Do you possess a riding habit?”

Caroline nodded. “I don’t know why I brought it with me. Not many governesses get to ride, I fear. But something prompted me to do so. It was that or give it away, I suppose, and I hate to part with things I love.” Her eyes twinkled at him. She must be relishing the idea of escaping from Roskilly on horseback as much as he was.

“Then Yves and I will go and organize the horses while you change,” Nat said. Hopefully she wasn’t the sort of woman who took forever with her toilette. She didn’t look as though she was, but you never could tell.

She flashed him a smile. “I won’t be long.”

She wasn’t lying, either. Young Pascoe was leading out the mare Nat had asked him to prepare for her just as she emerged from the house. There hadn’t been a lot in the way of horseflesh to choose from. There being no man of the house with his grandfather bedridden, most of the livestock seemed to be for driving. Maybe Trefusis, who must have a horse or two of his own, kept his in his own stables.

Two riding horses remained, though. He had his mother’s aged bay mare, Duchess, again, and Young Pascoe had put a side-saddle on a smaller chestnut with a pretty, Arab head and a long white blaze. Hetty’s horse, Folly. Yves was already astride Blossom and lounging with a negligent hand on her rump, looking at Folly with an acquisitive expression as though he’d have liked to ride her.

Caroline’s habit was of a rich burgundy that suited her well, bringing out the hidden red highlights in her dark hair, on top of which perched a fetching hat. He could almost have described her as pretty, which had not occurred to him before. In fact, now he paused to think about it, the description he would use for her was striking, especially dressed up like some Amazon princess. Prettiness could be a fleeting thing, but a woman with Caroline’s strong features would always be striking.

She used the stone mounting block and was soon on board Folly, gathering up her reins with an air of experience. Nat, who’d waited, mounted himself, observing the way she sat as though a natural. This was a young woman who’d done a lot of riding, perhaps to hounds. Interesting.

Yves, on the other hand, was more of a novice, or if not a novice then a boy who cared nothing for riding style. He had his feet thrust too far into his stirrups, his legs stuck forward and his reins too long. Blossom had the air about her of a pony who intended to get the better of her young rider.

“Can I go first?” Yves asked, the moment Caroline was on. “I know the way, I think. You can see the mine chimney from the nursery window. Just.”

“You’ll go where your pony fits in best,” Nat said. “Which by the look of her is bringing up the rear. She doesn’t strike me as a front-line cavalry horse.”

“Neither is Duchess,” Yves retorted. “Aunt Ruth likes a plodder. I’ve heard her say so. That’s why she won’t sell Duchess to the knacker man and buy a livelier mount.”

“Nevertheless,” Nat said, hiding the smile that threatened to emerge, “you can ride behind Caroline and me. Where a good child should be.”

Yves’s cheeky grin suggested being a good child was furthest from his ambitions just then, but he brought Blossom in behind Folly and Duchess for the time being.

“And don’t poke your feet that far through your stirrups,” Caroline scolded. “If you fall off, your foot might get stuck and you could be dragged.”

“If I fall off,” Yves said with a scowl, “Blossom will stop. She’s only walking because I keep kicking her. Why’s she so slow when she’s ridden?”

Caroline laughed. “If you recall, she wasn’t fast when in harness, either. I had to keep tickling her with the whip.”

“Can I have a whip, then?”

Nat shook his head. “Learn to use your legs correctly when you ride, and only then can you have a whip. Where you have them at the moment, Blossom doesn’t even know they exist.”