Page 3 of Managing the Major

Peter Grimm had worked at Merrick since she was a young girl and now took excellent care of her horses. She hurried back to the stable yard, where the young man stood grooming the bay stallion in the crossties, a woolen rug thrown over its rump.

“Miss Octavia?” The ginger-haired young man looked up in surprise. “Is there aught I can do for you?” He couldn’t have been much more than her age of five-and-twenty. Peter’s uncle, who managed the stable, brought him in as a gangly teenager.

“If you could give Lucifer a bran mash, that would be wonderful, Peter. I meant to say something earlier, but I’m a bit out of sorts this afternoon.”

She glimpsed a shy smile as he vigorously kneaded the horse’s damp coat with a rub rag. “Was he good to ride today, miss? I saw a devilish glint in his eye when you left the barn, that’s for sure.”

“No, he behaved abominably, and I’m afraid we put on quite a display, and right in the middle of Hyde Park.” She crossed her arms and gave the stallion an exasperated look. “Of course, there were people everywhere, but at least I managed to stay in the saddle.”

“I’m sure you did a lot more than that, Miss Octavia. You’ve quite a hand with the beastie.” Peter patted Lucifer’s rump affectionately. “He’ll come around. He’s only turned four, after all’s said.”

“I suppose you’re right. My brother’s manager, Jerome, knows more about horses than anyone, and he says they never progress in a predictable pattern.” She sighed and stroked Lucifer’s sleek neck. “Perhaps we should cut his feed a bit. He’s been feeling very fresh, and with the amount of wind present today, he never really settled.”

“Aye, miss.” Peter moved around the horse, picking out the stallion’s hooves with a curved piece of metal.

“I thought he favored his right hind leg today when we started, but after entering the park, he seemed perfectly fine.”

“Come look here, Miss Octavia; there’s some thrush in that foot.” Peter lifted the shod hoof for her inspection. “See here. It wasn’t there yesterday.”

She noted the dark residue in the horse’s frog and the noxious odor permeating the air. He gently set the hoof down and straightened. “I reckon the cobblestones hurt him a bit, but once you got to the riding paths, ’twas softer on his feet. Some turpentine will help dry it out.”

“Of course. Thank you for catching that, Peter.”

He nodded. “We’d best give him a few days off. Should I saddle Felicity for your ride tomorrow?”

“Yes, but earlier—nine, perhaps. I don’t believe Mother has plans tonight.” Peter tipped his cap and picked up a curry brush, whistling as he applied it to the stallion’s coat. Octavia left him to his work.

As she retraced her steps to the house, the annoying Major Fairfax intruded on her thoughts once more. She wasn’t used to criticism, especially where her horsemanship was concerned. Most of the eligible men in London society pursued her, and even a few not-so-eligible ones. The ton indulged her amusing and unconventional ways, but Octavia wasn’t naïve; she was the daughter of an earl and sister to one of the most powerful men in the country.

But the major obviously didn’t approve of independent women. And to make things worse, he called her mature. A lady of twenty-five was not mature. Just because he was irritatingly attractive was no reason to judge her harshly. Women might swoon over his appearance—she didn’t care if he was slightly bronzed from the sun, with wheat-colored hair curling over his collar and striking eyes. She hardly noticed his looks. Anyway, a man who knew nothing about horses and possessed antiquated notions of a woman’s place did not appeal to her in the least.

A footman in black livery snapped to attention and held open the door, while another waited in the foyer to take Octavia’s leather gloves and riding crop.

“Frivolous, indeed…how dare he say so?” she muttered to herself, handing them over with a perfunctory smile.

Excited barks echoed down the hallway, and a black-and-white terrier scampered into the room, jumping up on her velvet skirts. She raised a finger to her lips, and the dog quieted and sat on its haunches with an aggrieved look.

She laughed, turning up her empty palms. “I have nothing in my pockets, Freya. See?” The terrier yipped, looking expectantly at the Sèvres jar on the hall table and raised a paw prettily.

“You are far too clever, sweetheart. I suppose you may have a treat before dinner.”

She fetched one and tossed it to the dog, who caught it neatly between its teeth and quickly disposed of the biscuit. A housemaid appeared. “Shall I send for your maid, miss?”

“No, thank you. Is Mama at home?”

“Lady Amelia is in the drawing room, Miss Merrick, awaiting your brother and his family.”

“Oh, botheration…it’s Tuesday. How could I forget?”

At her raised voice, the terrier leaped up excitedly and jumped into her arms. Octavia chuckled, covering the soft muzzle with kisses. “Really, Freya, your mistress is an absolute ninny, isn’t she? Isn’t she?”

Freya licked her face enthusiastically and squirmed closer. “Let’s just blame it all on the nasty Major Fairfax, shall we? He has quite ruined my day.” Sighing, she set the dog down at her feet.

“Then I’d best hurry and change. Please have Marie meet me upstairs and let my mother know I will be down shortly.”

She would be late for dinner—another reason to dislike Major Fairfax heartily.

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