Page 38 of Managing the Major

“I suppose so, but sometimes I dislike being taken for one. When we met, you called me frivolous, which was utter nonsense.” She helped herself to some scrambled eggs and toast. “I hope you’ve learned since then not to make assumptions,” she said pertly.

“You’re somewhat cheeky this morning, Octavia,” he observed, the corners of his eyes deepening with amusement. “I thought I was extremely generous to overlook the colossal set-down you gave that day.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Carter bustled in with tea and a plate of eggs and toast.

“Good morning, Miss Merrick,” the housekeeper said cheerfully. “Would you care for more tea, sir?”

“Yes, I plan to keep Miss Octavia company.” After she left, he added sugar and stirred his cup, raising his eyebrows. “I take it your companion will join us later? By the way, Freya was downstairs when I arrived. Evidently, she heard the activity in the kitchen.”

“Oh, I am sorry! I’ve grown accustomed to leaving the door cracked for her.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We had a pleasant walk outside and brought these back for you and Miss Genevieve.” He indicated the daffodils.

“How thoughtful—they’re my favorite.” She found it charming when the color rose in Alastair’s bronzed cheeks. That and the flowers revealed a sensitivity she didn’t expect from someone so very masculine.

“Genevieve is notoriously slow to rise in the mornings, and usually just takes tea and perhaps some toast. I only need a few bites of breakfast, and I’ll be ready. I thought I might get on the gelding first and see how it rides.”

“Excellent. But there’s no hurry; we have all day. I’m afraid there’s not much outside activity near Fairfax this time of year to keep us otherwise occupied.”

“Oh, I have more than enough engagements in London. It’s rather nice to just enjoy the country for a bit. And we have the horses, after all.” She wiped her fingers and finished the tea. “Shall we go then?” Freya yipped and danced around Octavia as she stood, snatching at the hem of her skirt.

“Have you mice in your stable by chance?” she asked, shooing the dog away. “She’s an excellent hunter.”

“Perhaps. There’s a rather lazy tabby cat I spot in the rafters sometimes, but plenty of field mice to be had from the pastures.”

As they walked to the stone barn set a few furlongs behind the manor, she stopped at a grouping of bluebells and bent to pick one, lifting it to her nose. The scent was heavenly. “We need to give that gelding a name.”

“Have you one in mind?”

She didn’t—and the buckskin breeches clinging to his muscular thighs occupied most of her thoughts. “Well, he is most likely to be your horse.”

“When I was growing up, my favorite horse was called Thor. Perhaps this one can carry on the tradition.”

“That’s a good name.”

There was a fallen log in the path, and he stepped over it, turning to extend his hand to her. On the other side, Octavia rested her hand on his sleeve, glancing up in wonder. “Alastair.”

Concerned, he looked down at her tan leather glove against the dark wool, then back to her face. “Octavia? Is anything amiss?”

“No…something is wonderful. You stepped over that tree trunk and pushed off with your left foot. It didn’t falter. And I’ve noticed your left hand is swinging naturally by your side. Surely, you’re improving?”

Astonishment crossed his face, then relief. Laughing, he clasped her hand, gripping it tightly. “Good God! I am, aren’t I?”

He tucked her arm in his, and they walked the rest of the path quite pleased with the day so far.

Chapter Sixteen

Major Fairfax’s First Ride

When they reached the stone barn, Ned had Thor waiting in the aisle, groomed and tacked with Octavia’s sidesaddle. Alastair walked around the horse, found it well balanced and of good bone, then examined the legs for straightness and lifted its hooves to check the feet. He stepped away, well satisfied, and complimented Octavia on bringing him such a fine horse.

“I wanted to ride first so you could watch him move and judge how he handles,” she said. Ned gave her a leg up, and Alastair was glad to see the big gelding stand placidly as she settled lightly in the saddle and hooked her leg across the horn.

After twenty minutes of trot and canter in the riding field, Octavia pulled up to the fence where he stood watching. Freya had run alongside her mistress for most of the way and then crawled under the bottom rail to plop down next to him, her tongue lolling as she panted.

Octavia patted the gelding and stroked its glossy brown neck. Rather than the masterfully tailored riding habits she wore in Hyde Park, she had chosen a simple skirt with a military-style jacket. She wore neither hat nor veil, and her chestnut hair lay plaited in a thick braid that hung almost to her waist.

He had a glimpse of the young girl, rosy with sunshine and exercise, who had fallen in love with horses and never looked back. Octavia had that rare quality of fitting into many settings, but he liked her best here and would never forget this day.