AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
“It is Cullfield’s tradition to have a mare selected for the breeding season,” Rhys said close to Elizabeth’s ear. “And the Marchioness is supposed to bless the mare by feeding her. This is believed to bring about prosperity.”
It was the day of the Spring’s End Festival, and it provided Elizabeth with a distraction from her worries. William had given the description of the man who had injured him, and Redman had drawn him. Now, he was being searched for all over the county and beyond.
Rhys had remained at Elizabeth’s side since the festival began, and although he appeared calm as he conversed with people, she knew he was anything but because his eyes sporadically moved to search their surroundings for anything that might cause a disturbance.
“That is rather pagan, do you not think?” Elizabeth mused.
Rhys shrugged and smiled. “The tradition has existed for more than a century.”
“These are workhorses to be bred, you say.”
“Yes.”
“Why does only one mare have to be blessed by me?”
Rhys laughed. “I knew you would ask me a thousand questions, Liza.” He took her hand and placed it on his elbow, and they began to walk toward the prize mare in the village square. The sun was setting, and the lamps that hung from the trees around them had been lit, giving the square an almost magical appearance.
They stopped in front of the small fence that had been put up to keep the mare. “This mare is believed to have the best traits. She has a good temperament, and she is beautiful. The foals she will bear will grow to become great workhorses.”
Elizabeth was immediately annoyed by that. “So, this is quite like declaring the most beautiful lady at the start of the Social Season.”
“You could say that.” He turned her to face him. “I know how this makes you feel, and I was once one of those foolish men who believed that one must marry the lady the public declares the most beautiful.” He kissed her hand. “Thetonknows nothing about true beauty.” He stepped back and gazed down at her, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “I am the most fortunate man in England.”
Elizabeth smiled, believing only some of what he said because she did not dare believe him entirely. She had once been the woman he wished never to find himself married to despite the deep attraction between them. That was not easy for her to forget. Still, she wanted to be right for him. She longed to be the Marchioness he wanted. And she had to stop questioning these foolish traditions and feed the mare.
“Gather round, ladies and gentlemen,” a young man announced as he opened the fence for Elizabeth and Rhys to meet the mare. “The Marchioness of Guildford will now bless the mare.” He walked up to Elizabeth and bowed before giving her an apple.
Rhys smiled to encourage her, and she looked at the many faces that expected her to do what was right, what would make them accept her as their leader. Her eyes moved past the mare to find Heather smiling at her from the other side of the fence, and she seemed very interested in what was happening. Elizabeth beckoned her forward. Heather eagerly climbed through the gap in the fence and hopped to Elizabeth’s side. Rhys tenderly ruffled her hair and laughed.
As Elizabeth raised the apple toward the mare, Heather asked, “Can I feed her, too?” Without thinking, Elizabeth placed the apple in the little girl’s hand then took her wrist and guided the apple to the mare. Heather giggled when the mare took a bite of the apple.
When she felt Rhys’ hand on her shoulder, she looked up at him, expecting to find a measure of disapproval for allowing Heather to feed the mare instead of doing it herself as she was expected to. What she saw there stole her breath instead. It was almost a loving look, and his smile radiated out to wrap her in warmth. Her gaze moved to the crowd surrounding them, and all she found was admiration. Her heart swelled with joy when they began to cheer, and she felt as though she had found something she had been seeking here: the sense of not being alone.
“She is very adorable,” Heather said.
“So are you, my dear.” She stroked Heather’s cheek.
“I think you have just become Cullfield’s most beloved Marchioness,” Rhys whispered.
“I thought I broke tradition,” she confessed, grinning.
“No, you did not. You honored Heather, a little orphan.”
Elizabeth gazed up at him. “I think I might cry from the joy I feel.”
“I will be here to wipe your tears away.” Rhys smiled tenderly and kissed her hand again. She took Heather’s hand, and they moved away from the mare. They were quickly surrounded by people who thanked her for a splendid festival.
It seemed as though Elizabeth’s joy would only grow from here, but when she saw the Dowager, and the darkness in her countenance, she knew she had one more approval to gain, and she might never receive it.
* * *
Redman was waiting to meet with Rhys when they returned from the festival, and Elizabeth decided to read in the library when she was left by herself. As she settled into a comfortable chair before the hearth, the Dowager walked into the room. Elizabeth sat up, hoping her grandmother-in-law was not here to talk to Elizabeth about what she had done at the festival even though she was aware that hoping was futile.
“Did my grandson tell you how old that tradition is?” the Dowager asked, coming to stand in front of Elizabeth’s chair.
“Yes. He told me it is about a century old.”
