Mary raised her crop. “And this isn’t a sufficient substitute? I can do anything you can do. And if you say it can’t be done, I’ll take that as a challenge and request to be saddled astride.”
Duncan raised his brows. That was a sight he was not at all prepared to witness. No, on second though, that was a sight he was not prepared for anyone else to witness. He, however, would have fantasies about such a vision for at least a month.
“I don’t doubt you, my dear,” he said. “My concern is the horse would learn riding techniques in a way he’ll not see on the battlefield. Leave the training to me. You could, though, aid in other ways. What about riding out with Athena and providing a distraction for these horses? That would help with the battlefield training.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “Not what I had in mind. You doubt my prowess?”
“Mary, love, I do not doubt anything when it comes to you and horsemanship, but these horses are being trained for war, not the hunt.”
“Challenge accepted,” she said before turning the horse back to the stables.
The fluidity with which the horse responded to her was impressive, to say the least. So impressive, it stole his attention from the so-called challenge.
Shrugging at her retreating back, he returned to his task with a pat to Tristan’s neck and a swipe of the snow from the stallion’s mane. Success was swift, as though the horse had been motivated by Mary’s presence. They worked the maneuver several times before changing tactics to haunches-in, a movement Tristan took to easier than shoulder-in, never mind it was a more difficult task. And then Duncan’s attention was distracted again.
He never should have doubted her.
On his final round of working the horse haunches-in, Mary rode towards him once more. That she returned did not shock him so much as the fact that she was all too clearly riding astride.
The sight of her riding habit’s skirt hiked up to mid-shin, revealing some sort of legged petticoat for propriety and warmth, her hips undulating to the gait of the horse, and both legs spread wide about the horse’s girth, caused a single reaction in Duncan.
Desire pulsed through him.
He was rock hard and shifting in the saddle from discomfort by the time she reached him.
She greeted him with a smirk. “Now you cannot tell me I can’t perform your maneuvers. Instruct, sirrah! Let us train together before my nose freezes.”
She expected him to concentrate while staring at her mounted astride? By Jove. No woman should ever ride astride, and no man should witness it if it ever did happen. Never would he be able to forget the sight of her thusly.
Running a gloved hand along the back of his neck, he grimaced. “One lesson only.”
“You think me incapable of doing more?” Her tone formed icicles.
“Not you, darling. Me. I’ll last one lesson before I’ll have to carry you to the hall for a tête-à-tête.”
“Ah,” she said, her cheeks rosy, though not from the wind chill.
The next day, Mary woke early enough to take care of the household tasks, dress, and be at the stables before Duncan arrived for another day of training.
Poised atop one of the horses, seated astride, she looked down her nose at her husband, a single brow arched, baiting him to argue. It did not take a telepath to know he was displeased. His lips set in a grim line, a crease forming between his brows. He humored her for less than an hour before instructing her to return to the hall. Blood was almost shed as she kneaded her talons on the reins.
Thinking it best not to argue against him in front of the staff, she huffed and returned as ordered. Not until supper did she see him again, by which time he was too exhausted to argue with her. In bed, hours later, bare-skinned and sweaty, they physically took out on each other their passionate disagreement of her place in the training yard.
Two days followed similarly, Mary hoping to wear down his reserve to allow her to assist. Both days resulted in the same outcome. She rather liked the evening battle between the sheets, but not being shooed from the stables.
Sunday was a day Mary cherished, for there was no talk of training or horses, just a day of visiting the village church, seeing the people with whom she was becoming more familiar with each passing week, and a day together as a family, building snowmen and enjoying snowball wars. His hand held hers throughout the day, and he sneaked kisses every chance he could get. A perfect day.
Training resumed the next day. Though she stayed busy with household tasks, she did not see Duncan until supper. As with the previous week, he was too exhausted to do more than listen to her talk about her day and answer her questions in monosyllables. He was, in fact, too tired to do more than fall asleep upon reaching the bed.
Tuesday brought more frustration. Try as she might to assist with the training, he brushed her aside. As exhausted as the day before, he fell asleep after only a quick kiss.
Wednesday, Mary pointedly avoided him, taking her supper elsewhere and joining him in bed well after he retired. To her chagrin, he was snoring rather than awaiting her arrival.
And that brought them to Thursday. Today.
Mary sat in the parlor, arms crossed, legs crossed, foot swinging. Fingers drummed against her arm.
Nearly three weeks after the horses had arrived, she had seen her husband so few times during the day she could count the cumulative total on one hand. Nights did not count. No, on second thought, they did count. This week, specifically, they counted. For two weeks, they had shared the nights together, a blessed reminder of their mutual affection, even if by day he was little more than a ghost. For the past week, he had been too exhausted for more than a few chaste kisses.
This would not do.
To top off her annoyance, Bernard had taken ill with sniffles and a chill. Every day he had gone out with his papa for at least an hour, sometimes far longer, working the horses in the snow. Three years old and he was not only lunging the new horses but riding Caesar—in the freezing cold.
This would not do.
The door opened. Duncan swaggered in, closing the door behind him. He shook snow from his hair and patted it from his coat.
For crying in a horse trough, he was still wearing his coat! Her foot swung faster.
“I hope this is important,” he said. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
“Am I interrupting your schedule? Oh, dear me, well, I do apologize. Carry on, then,” she said through gritted teeth.
With a quizzical stare, he made for the door.
“Don’t you dare leave this room, Duncan,” she said when his hand reached for the knob.
“But I thought you—never mind.” He ran his hands through his hair and took the chair nearest her. “Has something happened to the new butler? He was snowbound last I heard. Is he delayed again?”
“This has naught to do with Mr. Sherman. This is to do with you.”
His eyes wide and brows raised, he looked genuinely surprised. “Me?”
“Yes. You. This is not working. It’s supposed to be our program, and yet you won’t allow me to help. On top of that, you’re out there all day, every day, and always exhausted. Even Bernard is so desperate for your attention that he’s made himself ill from the weather.”
Duncan propped his elbows on the arm of the chair and laced his fingers. His expression remained surprised.
“Heavy charges you lay at my feet, Mary. Where do I begin?”
It might have been a rhetorical question, but Mary took it literally. “Bernard is a fine place to start. What are you thinking by allowing him out in this weather for hours? And he’s far too young to be working with horses.”
“I learned my way around horses at his age. It’s never too early, and he’s fast becoming a skilled horseman. I’ll not coddle him.”
“I’m not suggesting you coddle him, simply be aware of his age.”
“And would you have me leave him in the nursery all day to be raised by his nanny?” There was an edge to his voice.
“I’m not my mother, and I resent the insinuation.” She glared in response, her foot swinging again.
Duncan heaved a sigh. “I’m not insinuating anything. My point is, I will not have my son spending his days by the fire, unable to work a horse. I don’t know what his future may hold, but maybe he will want to take over as trainer one day, should this program be successful. Or maybe he would want a profession with horses, such as joining the cavalry like his papa.”
Mary gave a mirthless laugh. “Absurd. A tutor will see he’s prepared for Eton and Oxford.”
“A tutor?” Duncan leaned forward. “What’s wrong with his being educated in the village?”
“Oh, really, Duncan. It’s not like he’s going to be a blacksmith. A village education is as good as no education at all. My nephew is a year younger and already learning penmanship. I want the same for Bernard. He’ll have only the best.”
Duncan ran a hand over his face. “I have a village education.”
“Oh.” Mary blanched.
“My father taught me until I was ten. At that time, the vicar took it upon himself to open a village school in the church. We met every Sunday after service.”
“Well, that might have been good enough for you, but it’s not good enough for a son of mine. I’ll not have him reaching the age of ten without knowing his letters.”
“I repeat: my father taught me. What do you suppose I’ve been doing with Bernard? I’ve been teaching him myself these past few months and intend to continue. As it is, his professions will be limited. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but he is an illegitimate boy who lucked into guardians. He can’t even inherit the baronetcy. Before you insult me again, you should think on those points.”
Mary sat up straighter, uncrossing her arms to clench her fists in her lap. “I did not intend to insult you. I only want what’s best for him. I believe that to be a tutor. When the time comes, he can choose for himself if he wishes to go to Eton or not. You should want the best for him, as well, and not resign him to some low fate. Let him decide.”
Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Some low fate, eh? And should he wish to join the Army?”
Mary wrung her hands. “No. I’ll not allow it.”
“What happened to letting him decide?”
“I meant let him decide his education, not allow him to wake up one morning and decide he wants to face the pointy end of a sword. I spent enough years worrying about you. I’ll not do it all over again with my son.”
Frowning, Duncan studied her. He did not respond for some time, leaving a heavy silence between them. Mary hoped she had not overstepped. She did not mean to imply his choice to enter the Army had been a bad one or that it was a low profession. But not again could she suffer the waiting and not knowing. Though he looked well now, he had not come back unscathed, and the wound could have been far worse.
“Your other charges?” he asked at last, sidestepping further discussion of Bernard, or perhaps conceding to her point of view.
“I want to help. I’m a skilled horsewoman, and this ought to be a joint effort. Simply because I’m a woman does not mean I should deal only with plans and successes. I want a hand in the process.”
He leaned back against the chair and rested an ankle on his opposite knee. “I understand, but no. Not now at least. When we train in the future, we’ll work something out. For now, I’m under a tight schedule and can’t have you as a distraction.”
“I am not an ornament hanging about the stables! I am a skilled horsewoman and can—”
Duncan held up a hand to interrupt her. “You are a distraction to me. Riding astride is strictly off limits. When I see you astride, all I think about is—well, I’ll not have it. And I’ll not have the grooms seeing you on a horse like that. Besides, I don’t want you to take a chill. Please, let me handle it this time. After London, should all go well, we will have our own schedule to work with and can work together.”
Mary gave a curt nod. She was not at all pleased, but he had his points.
Chin raised, she said, “If I’m not to participate, then neither are you. Every day, all day, you’re out there doing the work of a groom. I did not marry you to spend my days alone.”
Duncan propped his temple on a fist. “Right. Shall I notify Archer we forfeit the program?”
“Don’t be silly. Instruct the grooms on what to do, and let them do it. There’s no reason you should be out there doing all the work. That’s what servants are for.”
“Leave our entire livelihood to a handful of grooms who have never seen the battlefield or handled a warhorse? I think not, Mary. I’m up against an impossible task of breaking-in horses and training them for the field within only four months. Just getting a horse to leap from a gallop is a ten-week long training, and I’m going to have to do it in two weeks. Let’s not forget there are four horses, not one.”
“But you needn’t do it on your own. We have the grooms. Use them.”
“They’re already helping with what they can,” he said. “When it comes to it, I’m the only one with field experience and technique. If a groom makes on error in training, all our plans are ruined. Too much is at stake. These horses need to be perfect for what I plan to demonstrate in London. I don’t have time to correct habits that inexperience may create.”
Mary sighed, frustrated. “Wouldn’t it be better to take a day or so to train the grooms than to spend all your time doing the work? You can supervise for a few short hours each day. I’m tired of an empty house. We’ve not even called on anyone in a month. What must the neighbors think?”
“I’m trying to fulfill your dream and secure us financially, and you’re worried about what the neighbors think?”
“Keeping good relations is important. We’re new here. It’s vital we establish ourselves and build a reputation. I appreciate all you’re doing, but we needn’t worry about finances. We have my dowry, of course. If seeing my dream come true means never seeing you, I would far rather live off the dowry. I did not marry to see this dream fulfilled. I could have done it on my own, need I remind you. I married to be with you.”
Duncan sat up and reached a hand to take hers. Her heart fluttered at his touch. Oh, he did care! He did understand.
“My pride will not allow me to use your dowry. Set it aside for whatever daughters we may have, or use it for pin money. Before you argue, know it’s not all to do with the dowry. I need some occupation, Mary. I can’t sit idle, twiddling my thumbs and calling on people all day. I need a purpose, a mission. I am a leader and a horseman. What would you have me do all day without some occupation?”
“You don’t have to spend all day training. If you don’t trust the grooms, couldn’t you hire someone? Our stablemaster should know someone perfect for the task. What if you had an officer do it? You could even have soldiers come to work the horses. You train the officer to supervise the enlisted or recruited, and together the horses and privates could learn. Isn’t that part of the problem, both unskilled soldiers and horses, not just the horses?” Looking at her hand in his, she asked, “Why do you have to do everything yourself? If you’re a leader, then lead.”
He squeezed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. “It would take too much time to arrange. Not to mention I couldn’t leave them unsupervised until I was certain. But you have a point.”
She looked up, shocked to see his brown eyes smiling. “I do?”
Duncan nodded. “Yes. It’s a shame we can’t somehow train the officers alongside the horses. Don’t you think? A well-trained warhorse is wasted on an officer arrogant enough to think foxhunt dressage is sufficient preparation for military equitation. I’m not in a position to train both, though. It’s something I could take up with Archer for the future, assuming this goes we
ll.”
“Yes, for the future,” she muttered, disappointed.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “In the meantime, will you be satisfied if I agreed to instruct the stablemaster in my techniques so that he might then train and supervise the grooms?”
Mary bounced and clasped his other hand. “Yes! Oh, yes. Anything so that you can be here with me rather than out in the snow.”
“If this fails, it’s on your head. We’ll have no recourse other than to take up as highwaymen to support your dreams of horse breeding.”
“We shall be the very best highwaymen. No one will outrun us.”
Duncan laughed and pulled her into his lap. Home, Mary wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her temple to his.
Chapter 22
A world of white looked back at Mary from the carriage window. Bare branches flexed against fallen snow, the treetops naked in the wind. It had not snowed since Friday, but neither had the sun shone to melt the flakes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Childress were amiable,” Duncan said, seated across from her.
She turned her attention to her husband. He looked stunning in blue. The ensemble was not new, but there was something about him in blue that made Mary’s heart pound. Perhaps it was the memory of his dragoon regimentals on their wedding day. She did like how the intricate knot of his cravat gave him a distinguished air, which was a curious sentiment since she had always favored him for his devil may care attitude of youth.
His attire and presentation had never been disheveled. Such was not Duncan’s style. But there had always been a careless air about him. No longer, though. Lost were such sensibilities on a battlefield. Now, his attitude was more serious than carefree, somber more than comical. His clothing reflected care. There could be no doubt he took pride in his appearance. With each passing day, Mary found it more to her liking, enjoying her own sense of pride at having him on her arm when calling on neighbors or attending church. Never had she found a distinguished gentleman attractive. Until now.
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