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She was reasonably sure she could manage it—as long as she stayed in the saddle.
Finally, he shrugged. ‘I suppose I must try riding some time, though the prospect of mounting a slowtop doesn’t appeal.’
‘There are alternatives between a beast and a slug,’ she pointed out.
His unexpected smile was like the sudden appearance of a winter sun on snow, dazzling in its brilliance. Gracious, but he was appealing, she thought dazedly, curling her fingers into fists to keep herself from reaching out to touch him.
‘You’re right, and I should stop being churlish. Very well, I’ll give it a try. I warn you though, if I can’t abide it, I reserve the right to return to Bildenstone and fetch the tilbury.’
‘Agreed,’ she said, delighted she would have her treat. ‘But I’ll wager you won’t need to.’
‘Shall I call for you at Thornfield—about nine?’
‘Nine would be quite convenient.’
‘Until tomorrow, then, Miss Branwell.’
‘I shall look forward to it.’ More than you can imagine, she added silently.
Prudently he refrained from taking her hand, and prudently she didn’t offer it. But she felt the lack of his touch almost like a physical ache as he turned to climb up into the tilbury. She waved as he flicked the whip and the equipage set off down the lane.
After it disappeared from sight, she turned back to her buckets and brooms, savouring the knowledge that before the responsibilities of managing the school and caring for the orphans relegated her permanently into matronhood, she could look forward one last time to spending a few hours in the company of that attractive, witty and intriguing man.
And it had better be the last time, she warned herself. Before her growing yearning for her dazzling neighbour destroyed any chance that she could satisfy herself with a lifetime of mere contentment.
Chapter Eleven
Just before nine the next morning, Dominic Ransleigh trotted a seasoned gelding down the lane towards Thornfield Place. He’d trained this horse, too, rejecting him as a mount since the animal lacked the fiery temperament he always sought in a hunter. He would have sold him off, but the animal had a soothing effect on Diablo and the speed and endurance, if not the spirit, to match the stallion. Still, though responsive to command, he wasn’t so docile Dom felt he was riding a hobbyhorse.
A little more spirit wouldn’t have been amiss, though. Any challenge that forced him to direct his attention away from the beguiling lady he was about to meet would be helpful.
He really did want to introduce Miss Branwell to the beauty of an English spring, but she had been wise to suggest they do so on horseback, not seated in the far too intimate confines of a carriage. Somewhere along the way to recovering his strength and vitality, he seemed to have misplaced most of his good judgement and all of his powers of resistance.
At least when it came to the appeal of the unconventional Miss Branwell.
Still, he was glad she’d overcome caution and agreed to accompany him. Were she any other maiden, she’d be bringing along a maid or a groom, but Dom bet the notion of a chaperone would never occur to her. Riding alone wouldn’t be as proper, but if she met him unescorted, he certainly wasn’t going to suggest adding one to the party.
For this excursion, he wanted her all to himself. He had a strong feeling she meant to severely limit their interactions in future—and an even stronger feeling he was going to miss them acutely.
A rising excitement gripped him as he approached Thornfield Place. To his relief, Miss Branwell, sans groom, stood near the entrance, her mare on a lead. As he rode up, she climbed on to a mounting block and tossed herself into the saddle.
She wore the same old riding dress—Dom thought again how he’d enjoy introducing her to more fashionable styles and colours that would bring out the chestnut in her hair and the velvety brown of her eyes. He recalled the disdain she’d expressed for shopping and laughed. How ‘Dandy Dom’ would love teasing and bedevilling her through a succession of modistes and dressmakers!
How much more he’d love easing her out of the old habit, using lips and hands to show his appreciation for her unclothed form, before fitting the new garments over her naked skin...
To his frustration and regret, there’d be no chance of that, so he’d best enjoy the innocent delights of conversation and companionship. They made excellent friends, after all. In fact, she was the cleverest, most entertaining and engaging individual he knew, excepting his Ransleigh Rogue cousins.
She rode up to meet him. ‘Good morning, and what a glorious one it is! As if England herself ordered up a perfect day to show me her wonders.’
‘What, you’re not going to credit me with arranging it?’ he teased.
She chuckled. ‘Very well, Mr Ransleigh. I’m sure there is nothing you could not arrange! So, which way first—to the bluebell wood?’
‘No, it’s been a fortnight, and their display will have faded. Along the lane leading north, there’s a stand of jonquils that should be coming into bloom, as well as meadow buttercup and red clover. The land rises as we go; from the highest point, we’ll get a good view over the estate.’
‘Lead on!’
They set off at a trot. Dom didn’t attempt conversation, content to watch Theo ride. As he’d expect for one who’d followed the army, she sat the horse effortlessly, moving as one with her mount, fluid, graceful, and lovely to observe.
They exited the Home Woods into an area where fields bordered both sides of the road. And just as he remembered, up ahead was a glorious stand of jonquils.
With an exclamation of delight, she spurred her mount. He followed, smiling at her excitement as she gazed at the tall yellow flowers nodding in the wind.
‘Papa told me about England’s daffodil meadows—but this is more beautiful than I imagined. And the scent! Sweet as vanilla.’
‘Heavenly, isn’t it?’ he agreed. ‘Shall we ride on? I seem to recall a patch of wood violets along the banks of the brook just ahead.’
* * *
For the next hour, they rode slowly from wildflower display to wildflower display, past a handful of farms. But as the ride continued, Dom’s initial enthusiasm began to dim.
The first farm they’d passed had seemed somewhat rundown, the roof thatch of the farmhouse old and dark, some of the surrounding field still fallow, with an old wooden-bladed plough left in the soil, as if the farmer had been unable to force it to finish its task. He’d noted it with some concern, wondering whether the tenant was old and in need of assistance.
But by the time they’d passed four such farms, each seeming more dilapidated than the last, he knew it couldn’t be a question of aged tenants.
Angry and troubled, he pulled up near a patch of red clover.
Looking at him soberly, Miss Branwell said, ‘‘I’m no agriculturalist, but it seems something is wrong. I thought your estate was profitable?’
‘It has been. It is. I’m no agriculturalist either, but the places we’ve just passed remind me more of the abandoned farms we saw in Spain after the French had plundered them, than a prosperous estate in the heart of England. I cannot imagine how they have deteriorated to this point, but I certainly intend to find out.’
She nodded. ‘Of course you must. These are your people, dependent on your leadership as surely as the men who served under you in the army. They need you to watch out and care for them.’
She hadn’t meant the words as a reproof, but they stung anyway. ‘These are my lands and my people, and their welfare should be my concern. I’d thought about riding the fields ever since I arrived—but there’s no excuse for my not having done so sooner. I find it strange, though, if the farms are in such dire straits, that I’ve not heard a word of complaint or dissension from anyone on the household staff.’
‘You said you’d been absent for seven years, and your family hadn’t resided here for much longer. It’s probably been like this for some time.’
Dom nodded grimly. ‘It might well have been. My father had little interest in agriculture. He prized Bildenstone only for the income it provided him to spend on his hounds and horses. Winniston, the agent, has been here for years, and his father before him. Trusting them to manage things, Papa came only to collect the rents. If the amounts were sufficient, he probably didn’t even check the account book.’
‘He must not have ridden the estate, either.’
‘Probably not. I know he was never gone long from Upton Park.’
‘Well, someone needs to fix this.’ She waved her hand towards another pasture half-grown up in weeds, with a dilapidated farmhouse in the distance. ‘Do you think you could take up the tasks of an agriculturalist? I shouldn’t think it would be so different than evaluating and cultivating horses—though less exciting than a gallop across the countryside.’
