by Megan Walker
Mr. Gregory appeared in the doorway. “My lady?”
Everyone at the table turned to the butler.
“Sir Ronald and his company have rounded up a good majority of the herd, though a few head have been lost. And all the horses were found, excepting the colt.”
“Oh no.” Lady Demsworth lifted a hand to cover her face.
“Summer’s colt? Winter?” I blurted without thinking.
“Yes,” Lady Demsworth answered, surprised, before turning to the butler. “How long has he been away from his mother? Could he even have survived?”
“There is no way to know for sure, but I think, barring any injury, he could have. Is there anything else, my lady?”
“Please keep me informed. Thank you, Mr. Gregory.”
He bowed and retreated from the room.
I scrutinized the faces around the table, each unaffected and relieved. That the losses were few was indeed good news. But what of Summer’s colt? Was there nothing to be done? I could not bear to think of Summer having to bear the loss of her son.
No. I had to do something. If there was even a small chance Winter was alive, I had to make my best attempt to find him. Assuming the men had already secured the perimeters, they would give up soon, leaving the fields empty for my search.
“Excuse me,” I said, standing from the table. “I am unwell, please forgive me.”
“Of course, dear.” Lady Demsworth reached out for me, though she was hardly composed herself, but I hurried out of the room and up to my bedchamber. Quickly pulling on my pelisse, I raced down the stairs and toward the entryway.
“. . . too gentle and easily upset by such events,” Georgiana was saying as I flew past the open doors of the breakfast room and through the front door.
Shutting it behind me, I surveyed the dreary scene. The rain had lessened to a thin mist, hazing my view. Think, Amelia. If I hadn’t missed Sir Ronald’s tour, I might’ve known where to start. I needed help, but there was only one person I could think of who might actually be able to find Winter. Not a person, actually.
Summer.
The stables were south of the house, and I set off as quickly as I could. My slippers were no substitute for sturdy boots, but they would have to do. With each step, the drenched grass sloshed at my feet, soaking my ankles. I shook my head with a moan. Did I really think I could find Winter without the good sense to properly dress for the excursion?
Pushing the thought aside, I focused on the stable doors until I shoved them open with my own hands.
Summer’s stall was the first inside, and I could hear her whinnying and rustling in the hay that should have been a welcome breakfast.
“It’s just me,” I whispered as I unlocked her door. Hands up, I tried to steady her. I had no idea how to saddle a horse, nor the confidence to ride her bareback. But what choice did I have? My eyes scanned the stall for help of any sort and landed on a stool. On top of it was a small blanket. I looked from the stool to Summer’s back, and my stomach knotted.
Summer whinnied again, her hooves restless against the stone floor.
There was no time to think. I spread the small blanket, light enough that it wouldn’t slip, on Summer’s back and edged the stool parallel with her.
“If we’re going to do this, you mustn’t run. I’ll fall straight off,” I lectured as I braced my hands upon the blanket. The stool lifted me high enough that I could swing my leg across, and once I was on, I clung to Summer’s mane, wrapping it around my hands. I tried to steady myself before kicking lightly into her side. She took off obediently out of the stables and into the wide-open pasture.
I could feel her spine working beneath the blanket. I had to pull back on her mane slightly to keep her from moving as fast as I knew she wanted to.
Our journey took us up a hill and straight into the woods. Would Winter have been so brave? Drier earth beneath the canopy of trees seemed enticing enough to me, despite its being covered in last winter’s coarse needles and leaves. My breath came deep and heavy from exertion, billowing from my mouth like smoke in the chilled air. The bare parts of my legs rubbed uncomfortably against Summer’s side as I held fast to her with every muscle I possessed. She weaved through the trees, then stopped to dip her head low to the earth.
I took the opportunity to swing my leg across Summer’s back and drop to the ground. If this was where Summer thought her colt was, then perhaps separating would help us find him sooner.
Eyes alert to the smallest movement and ears focused on the smallest sounds, I walked a few paces ahead of her, until at last clouded sunlight led us to another clearing. Something moved just outside the perimeter, stepping forward and then backward. Summer whinnied, and I looked back to find her eyes fixated forward, ears perked at the sound.
She darted past me into the clearing, and I quickened my pace to run behind her. Lifting my skirts, I leaped over sticks and debris from the storm, faster and faster, following behind Summer.
When I broke free of the tree line, I saw him standing right in front of me, swaying in an effort to balance himself, before he collapsed on the grass.
Racing forward, heart in my throat, I screamed, “Winter!”
Summer was pacing back and forth, nudging him with her nose. I fell helplessly to my knees beside him, stunned and afraid. What could I do? Had Winter not been standing just moments ago?
His eyes were closed, his form still. We were too late.
Feet suddenly shuffled around me, and I tried to see through my tears.
“Miss Moore, what are you doing out here?” My blurry eyes focused on Lieutenant Rawles. His voice was kind, but fervent, as he tugged me to my feet. “You must leave at once. This is not for you to see.”
How was I moving? I could not feel my feet, and yet Winter seemed farther from me. Looking past Lieutenant Rawles, I saw Sir Ronald holding the colt in his arms while Peter examined its body. All I could hear was Summer’s hooves beating the ground and a whine from deep within her throat.
“He is still,” Sir Ronald said flatly. “We are too late.”
“No,” I called around Lieutenant Rawles, his arms wrapped around me like a doctor consoling a patient. My voice was desperate. “I just saw him moving. He is alive.”
“Sometimes the eye sees what it wants to see.” Mr. Bratten stepped beside Lieutenant Rawles, blocking my view. “You should not be here, Miss Moore. Let us take you back to the house.”
Did they not see? Did they not even wish to try? Summer deserved better.
“Get out of my way.” I pushed Lieutenant Rawles off, but Mr. Bratten grasped my arm. Despite raising my voice, I was not heard. “You must do something!”
I could see myself in the pity of their eyes. They thought me irrational, desperate. Sir Ronald lowered the colt to the ground. Peter rubbed the back of his neck, and Lieutenant Rawles stood near them, shaking his head in disappointment.
I broke free from Mr. Bratten, stepping toward the colt. My foot hit something hard, rolling me forward and paining my ankle. Looking down, I saw a hard, green ball, and upon closer examination, realized it was actually a tree nut. The thought struck me so fast, I had no time to think, no time to explain.
“Check his mouth,” I shouted at Peter. “His mouth, now!”
“Miss Moore,” Sir Ronald said, and I could tell by his tone he was losing patience. “You need to go back to the house.”
“His airway.” I barely managed the words as I stepped in front of Peter. Tears ran down my face, their salty taste in the creases of my lips. “Please.”
Peter’s mournful expression deepened, but he moved to Winter. Sir Ronald scoffed as Peter opened Winter’s mouth, reaching inside gently.
“It’s blocked,” he said breathlessly as he reached deeper. An audible pop sounded, and Peter fell back.
Lieutenant Rawles reacted instantly, rubbing, patt
ing, and shaking the colt’s still body. We all watched in silent shock. Three steady raps on his back, then a twitch of a leg, and Winter’s eyes flew open.
“There you are.” Lieutenant Rawles breathed a laugh, half in shock.
“I cannot believe it.” Sir Ronald examined the colt, who was standing, shaking out his tail.
Summer bowled into the men, rubbing her face all over Winter as if checking every inch of him.
I wiped my seeping eyes clear, relief flooding my chest. Summer had led me to this very spot at this very moment, and were it not for Peter’s actions, for Peter listening to me, it would have all been for naught.
Peter smiled in awe, watching Winter take awkward steps around the clearing. The men all patted Peter on the back and praised his quick thinking, but he turned to me. His cheeks were reddened as he beamed at me.
“Give your praise to Miss Moore, gentlemen. Did you not hear her?”
“Well done, Miss Moore,” Lieutenant Rawles called.
I swallowed the emotion in my throat, nodding.
“Forgive me, sir,” Mr. Beckett said to Sir Ronald. “Might I suggest returning both the colt and his mother to the stables? He should eat and regain his strength.”
“Indeed, Beckett. If you’ll take Summer, I can lead Winter.” Sir Ronald held out his arm to me. “Miss Moore, forgive me. I am sure you are cold and exhausted. I should get you home straightway.”
“Allow me,” Peter said. “As I have no horse, I can see to Winter and accompany Miss Moore on foot as well.”
Sir Ronald looked between us, before nodding to Peter. “Very well. See that you do not tarry too long, Peter. I am sure Miss Clara worries over her sister.”
Mr. Beckett brought Sir Ronald’s horse to him, then secured Summer, while the others found their horses tied to nearby trees. The men mounted their steeds and raced off through the wood.
“Are you all right?” Peter asked me at last, securing a lead around Winter.
“I am still recovering,” I said feebly. “But yes, I am well enough.”
“You saved him.” Peter’s eyes searched mine. “And we are all amazed. But what were you doing out here alone? I do not need to tell you how dangerous that is.”
I rubbed Winter behind the ears, and we strode toward the stable together. I would not tell Peter how I’d ridden Summer bareback across the pasture.
“No one would have allowed me to search for him on my own. And I knew what Summer stood to lose if I did not help her.”
“I think you two will be bonded forever.” Peter rubbed the colt’s head.
“Thank you, Peter,” I said solemnly. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes, and I fought them back. I wanted Peter to know what his actions had meant to me.
“For what?” he asked, slowing his pace. He looked alarmed, as though I might break. And I felt as though I might.
“For hearing me.” I could not contain my emotions. It was so silly, how one small choice influenced me. I rarely cried, and when I did, it was in private. Absolutely not in front of Peter Wood.
Peter stopped, calming Winter before lifting my chin with a finger. He hesitated, and an energy pulsed between us. “Of course I heard you. How could I not pay attention to you, Amelia?”
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, steadying my breath. “That’s not what I mean. You listened when no one else did. You tried when no one else would. You can’t know what that means to me.”
Peter thumbed away a traitorous tear from my cheek. “I am glad to hear it then. Only please stop crying. I cannot bear to see your tears. You’ve just saved this colt’s life; you should be happy.”
“I am,” I said weakly. “I fear I am feeling quite a lot of emotions right now.”
“Come,” he said, wrapping the lead around his hand. “You need to rest before our afternoon together. You still owe me, remember?”
I should have cringed at the reminder, but instead my body calmed. It was an odd feeling that radiated through me, overtaking the rush of shock. For once, I did not feel foolish in Peter’s company. On the contrary, I felt seen. Seen and accepted.
Peter let Winter set the pace, and we followed along, unrushed. The wind blew through Peter’s hair, and his eyes were more gray under the clouds than green. He had not shaved, nor had he bothered to button his coat, under which he wore a thin nightshirt dampened by rain. It clung to his chest, and I blushed to have been so near him only moments ago and yet so unaware.
When Summer saw Winter again, she nearly broke through her stall to get to him. Peter placed Winter with his mother, who embraced him for a moment with her nuzzled head and neck before pushing him under her to eat.
I held myself perfectly still, taking calming breaths through my nose to keep from crying, though Peter eyed me knowingly. He laced my arm through his, pulling me close, and said nothing as he led me to the house through a drizzle of rain.
This was not the same Peter who hurt Clara with his scheming and attempted to drive a wedge between her and Sir Ronald. This man was real, genuine. My foggy mind could not find the anger and irritation that had so comfortably dwelled there. Instead, I leaned into Peter’s arm, letting him bear the weight I struggled to carry. Judging from his small smile, he did not seem to mind.
We entered through the servants’ quarters to avoid questioning. Peter was in no mood to relay the event, nor was I. He looked exhausted, as I was sure all the men were from such an early, stressful morning.
At the top of the stairs, he released me. As I walked to my room, I had the oddest desire to glance over my shoulder. My legs were weary, my eyes heavy, but my heart for some reason was alive.
I opened my door as another one closed down the hall. I hadn’t realized Peter was staying so close.
“Miss Moore, thank heavens you’re safe.” Mary pressed her hands to her chest, voice thick with anxiety. “The house has been in fits with you being out with the men this morning. When Sir Ronald burst through the door of the drawing room to tell the story of you saving that colt, Lady Demsworth liked to have had an attack. If anything had happened—”
“Mary.” I cut her off, peeling off my damp pelisse and mucky slippers. My arms were suddenly shaking, my hands trembling as though my body knew it could finally rest.
“You know that a lady ought not to interfere—”
“Mary.”
Mary’s eyes fell, and my shoulders sank. I had not meant to scold her. There was silence save for the water dripping from my skirts.
I sighed, exhausted. “Forgive me. I know you mean well, and I am sure I have caused you quite the fright. But I dearly need a bath.”
Mary smiled her motherly smile, though she was hardly older than I, and nodded. “Of course, miss. Never mind my prattle. A bath it is, and a bath you rightly deserve.”
“Amelia!” Clara burst through the door and rushed to my side. “Are you hurt? Your dress! It is ruined.” Her words were as near a reprimand as any I’d heard from her, yet still as gentle as ever. “What were you thinking going out alone? What would I have done if something had happened to you?”
“I had to help.” I shrugged, and she pulled me into an embrace.
“So I’ve been told. Sir Ronald is very grateful.” Clara drew back with a scrunched nose. “You are sopping wet.”
“Indeed. How are you, sister?”
“Well enough, though being locked inside has been miserable. I cannot bear Georgiana in the same room for more than a half hour. I fear she is more irksome than her brother.” Clara frowned and rubbed my arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Do not worry over me. I shall join you downstairs soon.” I tried to nudge her toward the door.
“Take your time to rest and recover,” Clara said as I closed the door behind her. After days of oversleeping, this one morning had drained my energy entirely.
Within the
hour, Mary had a tub filled with warm water, and every muscle in my body sighed as I fell into it. I was still as tense as if I’d run for miles. I breathed in the freshly cut lavender leaves floating around me, soaked in the water, and let myself relax, closing my eyes and emptying my mind.
Mary let me soak for an hour before returning to help me into a peach-colored muslin dress. She had lit a fire in the hearth to dry my wet clothes and slippers. A tray of meats, cheese, and raspberries, paired with tea sat upon a small table.
I ate in silence, staring out my window at the afternoon sun drying the grass. How very unlike me to interfere in the matters of men. Would Lady Demsworth be angry with me for not only refusing to leave when Sir Ronald asked but also further demanding he oblige me? I did not regret my actions, but I could not bear to have Clara suffer for them.
I pulled on my boots and descended the grand staircase. I needed to see Lady Demsworth. I needed to know how she felt about this morning.
I heard voices from a room toward the back of the house. Instinctively, I followed the sound through an open door into the library. Bookshelves lined the walls and reached nearly to the ceiling. The ladies mingled with the men in close quarters throughout the room.
“Miss Moore!” Lady Demsworth flew across the room, encapsulating me in a suffocating embrace. “You dear, dear girl! I confess I did not even know you’d gone, but Ronald told me everything, and I am without words. What kind of hosts are we to have subjected you to such terrible circumstances?”
“The fault was mine entirely.” I drew back, and she loosened her hold. “Forgive me for interfering without permission. I had ridden Summer a few days ago and was quite taken with her. I could not bear to subject her to sorrow without doing something to help.”
Lady Demsworth squeezed my shoulders. “We are indebted to you, Miss Moore. Absolutely indebted. Summer is mine, and I thought I could love no horse greater until I met her colt.”
“I am glad I was able to be there at the right time.” I had not really done anything worth praising. I’d been most unladylike stealing Summer and riding her bareback in my morning dress, not to mention raising my voice at the man of the house and demanding the attention of four very capable men.
