Page 43 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

He never second-guessed his interactions with her. They knew each other too well to worry over taking a jest too far, even if she did act put out by him from time to time. He always caught the edge of her smile when she would turn away from him. And he liked making her smile. Especially of late, with the frustration and fear over the unrest in London.

The five of them, four men and Josephine, lined up along the open gate. They would race along the main path back to the stables, rather than uphill to the castle. Racing up the steep incline wouldn’t be kind to their mounts, and Andrew would never encourage something that would bring harm to a horse.

“We will let the lady call the start,” Andrew declared as all of them bent over their horse’s back.

Josephine, despite riding sidesaddle, was a force to be reckoned with when she rode. He had seen her take jumps that other ladies would never even consider.

“We proceed on three,” she shouted. “One. Two. Three!”

The horses leaped forward, and the five of them were off. The narrowness of the road meant they would have to work to pass one another, but the course they had set was no more than a mile long.

Josephine took an early lead, and Andrew kept behind her. As Simon passed on Andrew’s right, he wore a smile larger than Andrew had seen in some time. The worry over his parents in London had kept both the duke’s eldest children from their usual cheer. If the race did nothing more than grant them a reprieve from that anxiety, Andrew would be pleased enough.

The dogs kept with the groom that had followed them out, which meant the horses could run freely, without worry of tripping over the canines.

Andrew shouted encouragement to Honey and moved aside to block Lyness Eastman from passing, but that left the way clear for Hartwell to charge forward and draw even with Josephine. He didn’t pass her, keeping the two of them riding alongside each other for several lengths.

The baron and the duke’s daughter were a well-matched pair in their riding. Both elegantly dressed, on horses that would cost hundreds of pounds if they went up for auction, and laughing as they rode.

This was who Simon wanted for his sister.

Lord Hartwell and Lady Josephine, wedded. Living far away, in York, where she would be mistress of the barony’s home and heart.

Andrew’s stomach dropped, and the world went quiet. A rushing filled his ears. A frown curled his lips. And the warm spring day turned gray and cold.

Honey stumbled, hitting a rut that nearly sent both of them to the ground. Andrew shifted, guided her to more even ground, and slowed to let her regain her footing. Her balance returned, her stride lengthened, and Andrew looked up again to see four riders ahead of him, and the agreed-upon finish line in sight.

He’d lost the race.

But the knowledge he must serve the others tea while wearing an apron, frills or not, didn’t disturb him. No. But the feeling that he was soon to lose something far more precious had touched his heart. Dread had clutched at that vital organ as he finally gained the end of the course, and it took some time for him to breathe easily once more.

He endured the jests at his expense, wearing a good-humored mask, and let the rest of the party return ahead of him with the excuse that he must see to his horse after her stumble. Ensuring she had suffered no injury.

The men started up the path to the castle, but Josephine, her cheeks pinked by the exercise and her shoulders relaxed, didn’t follow right away. She came to stand beside him, her hand on Honey’s nose.

“Poor girl. You do not think she did herself a serious injury, do you?” she asked, not looking at Andrew, and missing the way he stared at her. The moment he realized he was studying her profile, the curve of her nose, the way her lips parted as she murmured to the horse, he yanked himself a step away. Shook his head. Forced a laugh.

“No, of course not. She put a foot wrong is all. The stable master will have her set to rights if there’s so much as a hair out of place.” He took the lead and stepped away. “Come, Honey.”

Josephine lowered her hand as the horse turned away, and from the corner of his eye, he caught the startled expression on her face. “Andrew. You aren’t upset about losing the wager, are you?”

“No.” He forced a laugh. He needed to get away from her before he said something foolish. His composure had slipped, and Josephine couldn’t see—she knew him too well. Letting her guess at his thoughts would prove disastrous. “May I depend on you to procure my apron? I think a maid might have an easier time handing one over to you than to me.” He didn’t meet her gaze. Not quite.

There was a too-long measure of silence before she answered. “Of course.” She took a step closer, and his gaze flicked to hers and away, but not before he saw the concern in them. “Andrew? Is something—”

A large dog appeared at her side and barked. Whether it was Athena or Apollo, Andrew didn’t know, but the beast drew Josephine’s attention away, and he made his escape into the stables.

By the time he and the stable master finished their conversation about Honey’s care, Josephine and the others were long gone. Leaving Andrew to walk up to the castle alone.

“What is wrong with me?” he muttered to the gravel path. He took off his hat as he trudged upward and found a handkerchief to wipe his brow. He wasn’t overly hot. Not dizzy. Nor did he have an upset stomach. Yet despite all of that, he felt distinctly ill.

And it had started the moment he’d thought of Josephine going away.

The moment he’d thought of her leaving, with Hartwell, to live in faraway York.

What business was it of his where she lived? She must, eventually, leave Clairvoir. And her family. That meant leaving him behind too, of course. That was the nature of things.

But things had been odd between them lately.