The stables were as impressive as the rest of Hedingham. They were crafted from the same stone as the house, which made for a cohesive and handsome appearance. The barn was as tall as Daphne’s own home, with open rafters that made the ceiling seem even taller. She could get lost in the stables alone, for it had dozens of stalls and almost as many rooms. The entire outhouse was larger than any other house she had known – at least those that did not qualify as manors themselves.
Daphne knew that Benedict had always possessed a particular affinity for horses. He found them to be loyal and intelligent creatures of equal parts beauty and strength. The Gildons kept a number of horses in their stables: among the ones she knew from memory were two Shires, one Clydesdale, a Cleveland Bay and three English Thoroughbreds. They also had two fine Connemara ponies brought over from Ireland which were the greatest delight of Lady Vivian, both gifts from her son.
Benedict’s favourite horse was the darkest of the Thoroughbreds, a handsome stallion he had christened Alexander. The black beast stood at seventeen hands and had a mean streak that only Benedict seemed able to assuage.
Benedict asked the stable boy to ready his horse before turning to Daphne. “Do you have a preference of steed for the day?”
Though not as taken by horses as her companion, Daphne could certainly appreciate the value of the animals. She led the way down the stable corridor, taking a moment to gaze upon each one of the horses. It appeared that the two ponies were already put out to pasture – a shame, for they were certainly the most manageable of horses for her.
“Whoever is of most even temperament,” she replied. Though she and Benedict had ridden numerous times, she was not as familiar with his beasts as he was. When they were younger, they used to ride a single horse together, with Daphne seated at the front of the saddle, and Benedict behind with the reigns.
This memory appeared to her now, but even if such an act would be considered acceptable, she was not brave enough to mount Alexander; and Benedict would not easily ride anyone else. She passed him by now, pausing at the front of his gate. She gave a quiet gasp as the large horse turned to snort at her. The muck from his mouth would have done little to improve her already subpar appearance.
Benedict grinned and rubbed the horse’s nose. After a moment, he directed her attention to the Cleveland Bay in the stall beside them, who was placidly munching at his hay bag.
“Charlton does not much have the stomach for hunting, so he has been relegated to a leisure horse. I’m sure you’ll be quite enchanted with him.”
The brown horse seemed entirely unbothered with his position. Daphne reached out a hand to brush his flank and Charlton did not flinch once. Satisfied that his temperament would not result in her getting into any strife, Benedict had him readied for Daphne alongside his own horse.
“I hope you remember enough about horseback riding to navigate it in your skirt,” he said once they were outside again.
Daphne laughed. “I suppose we will be finding out. Though I implore you, Benedict, please do not take us at a pace above a trot. I am anxious that I would fall.”
“I would never let you fall, Miss Blanton.” He said it with complete sincerity, if not with the slightest lilt of humour to his words.
There had been only one incident past when Daphne had fallen from her horse. The two had been out riding together, each on their own horse, just navigating the property. Benedict had decided to take Daphne through the forest. It had been early spring and he was keen to take count of the game that was present in the woodlands. They had been riding for perhaps a half hour before they came across a large deer – the biggest buck either of them had ever laid eyes on.
Benedict’s horse at the time had spooked and bucked, kicking Daphne’s own horse which then reared up and sent her off the back of it. Benedict had been unable to rein in his horse. Both steeds had bolted, one sans rider. Daphne was left to face down the buck alone before Benedict could calm his horse down and return to her. To this day it had been the scariest moment of her life, even though the buck had simply watched her before disappearing into the trees.
That was many years ago, though. Both Daphne’s mother and Benedict’s father had been alive during that incident. All the parents were extremely concerned for the children. Daphne had been chided on her wrecked appearance until Benedict had recounted the story. Even from early on, he had always made it a duty of his own to protect his friend.
The horses were led out, where Daphne mounted first with Benedict’s assistance. The brush of his hands was light and respectful; he was always reassuring in his familiar touch. A true gentleman both in blood and of nature. She thanked him earnestly, steadying herself in the stirrups and gripping the reigns the way he had instructed her when he first taught her to ride.
Benedict swung into his own saddle with little effort despite the great height of his horse and they set off together at an ambling pace. Their horses’ hooves clacked evenly on the pathway as they rounded the garden and began following the road down the gentle slope of the hill.
There was something about Hedingham Manor that became even more magical in the saddle. It was obvious why Benedict enjoyed his routine rides about the property. The gentle plod of Charlton beneath her lulled Daphne into a state of relaxation. He did not knicker and throw his head and dance about the same way the energetic Alexander did.
Ever the skilled horseman, Benedict kept a steady rein on his horse, urging him forward and back with his heels. The black stallion pranced beneath him, clearly finding a certain exhilaration in this morning’s ride. He was likely agitated by the fact that, for once, he and his master were not alone. Daphne very much doubted that Benedict often asked for company on these rides about the property. She was honoured that he had offered her a chance to partake in one with him.
Eventually, under Benedict’s authority, his horse calmed down. Daphne found herself smiling at the man and his steed. It seemed that anyone who had the pleasure of interaction with the young Lord Gildon could not help but listen and respect him. Even the animals.
He had always been that sort of man, even as a child. He was eager to help others, please others, with little reflection on the standing it would have on himself. He was pure in his intent with a genuine desire to provide assistance and with no ulterior motive. It was a rare sort of kindness that Daphne had never seen in anyone else, nor believed she ever would. She truly did treasure him as a friend and confidant, and she was so grateful that their mutual affection for one another had not weakened with the passing of time.
Indeed, these days it often seemed that the opposite was true: that their connection had strengthen as they had aged. With the passing each of a loved one, they had found in one another a kind of solace, a deep understanding that no other could possibly have.
It was a true shared experience that allowed them to, on more than one occasion, bear the brunt of their hearts to each other. Daphne had always believed that she was the most herself, the most comfortable, when she was with Benedict. He had told her on many an occasion that his views of her with the same.
Whilst all of these thoughts entered and exited their minds, they ride one. Neither of them spoke aloud before they reached the flat of the hill’s base, both too focused on enjoying the movement of the horses beneath them. Daphne tried not to dwell on Lady Vivian’s words at the dining table. Of course she was aware of the differences between her and Benedict; her position in life was dictated by her birth family. This was the way of the world, and it is not something she had ever disagreed with.
Though this may have been because she had not ever truly stopped to reflect on the nature of society. It was only by chance that she was born a merchant’s daughter, just the same as her closest friend was born as a Lord. She had never resented her position, nor Benedict for his. Perhaps she had not so keenly noticed their differences as she had when the words were spoken aloud by his Lady mother.
“What thoughts must be going through Miss Daphne Bl
anton’s mind to make her brow crease so?”
Daphne’s reverie was broken by Benedict’s voice. He was a short distance away, and yet her expression must have been so bold that he spied it from his position. She had never been much good at hiding her true feelings from the man who had known her since they were both children. He was, after all, the closest thing she would ever have to an older brother. It was often the case that Benedict felt closer to a family member than her own two, true brothers.
She wished she could have had the same kind of relationship with Jasper and Lionel that she had with Benedict, but in truth, she and the Lord had more in common, and were closer in age, than the twins were to her. She loved her brothers, of course. But the admiration and affection she felt for Benedict seemed to exist on a different plane.
The same was true for him, with her feeling akin to a sister, or as close to what he would believe affections for a sister to feel like. Unlike Daphne, Benedict had no other relationship to compare theirs to. Whilst he had respect for her younger brothers and had always endeavoured to treat them well, Jasper and Lionel were notably less taken with the “Little Lord” than their sister.
They seemed to possess an engrained dislike of those of nobler status – either that, or they just did not much care about anybody beyond themselves. The twins lived very much in their own world. Lionel and Jasper were, to each other, what Daphne and Benedict had grown to be: inseparable, and kindred.
Which suited Daphne perfectly well. The last thing she needed were her wily brothers meddling in all her affairs. Their spinster teases and lack of contribution to the family were enough to contend with.
“Oh, nothing,” was her response. It must not have sounded nearly as convincing as she hoped, for he drove Alexander up alongside her. Even standing abreast the big black horse, gentle Charlton plodded along. She silently thanked the horse for his good nature.
“Why did you come by, Daphne? Lovely as it always is to see you, and as much as you are always a welcome guest at Hedingham regardless of the reason, I am sure you did not make that journey on foot for so fleeting a reason.”
He was right, of course. Her companion had always possessed an uncanny ability to know what was going on in her head at all times. So much had happened in the morning already that she did not have patience enough to write it all down. How could she wait on so dramatic an event for word to reach him by letter? Especially when he lived just a few miles from her, it was just more sensible to see him for herself in person. It was regretful that she had entered whilst he and Lady Vivian were taking lunch, but she was grateful that he was present at all and not distracted by his many tasks.
She released a resounding sigh. “I cannot lie to you, dearest Benedict. The truth is that I have had a truly woeful morning.”
Benedict pulled Alexander up by the lake, and Daphne’s horse followed the lead of the larger one, immediately dropping his head to graze. The motion pulled the reins from her hands and Daphne had to grip the saddle to maintain her balance.
Benedict dismounted with grace and assisted her climb down from the horse. She cursed her clumsiness; she was not nearly as adept a rider as Benedict and knew that she should have been wiser. Her mind was torn between needing to focus on the task at hand but being so full of worry for all the other things that were happening around her.
“Thank you,” she said as her feet once again kissed solid ground. Benedict offered her his arm, and together they left the horses to graze the yard as they walked the shore of the lake. The air was sweet and pleasant and for a moment the world felt entirely theirs. Daphne took advantage of the surrounding peace and her ever-attentive companion to relay the events of the morning to him.
After she had spent a time recounting the tale, Benedict spoke. “I knew, of course, that you father was unwell. You had mentioned that the last time you wrote. But Daphne, your letter led me to believe that his sickness was not altogether serious?”
“Oh, it surely isn’t,” Daphne replied. “Yet he has worked himself into such a state. His mind has plagued him more than his body. His suffering is due to a mere cold.”
Benedict nodded. “What is your belief on his condition then?”
“I am certain he is pining for the attention of his wife. She has been cold to him since their union. I suspect her expectations of what a marriage into our family would be was not met.”
This was her truth, or at least what she assumed of Roberta’s opinion of her family. She had always wondered what tales her father had told the woman to delight her enough to marry him. Her father was often silly in his advancements and was known to make wistful promises with no true hope of ever being able to fulfil them.
Whilst such a personality had resulted in strong relationship with his first wife due to her compassionate nature, his second wife was of a much different make. Daphne harboured suspicions that when her father had announced to Roberta that he lived on an estate, he had perhaps exaggerated which part of the estate he lived on, and in what respect.
Not that she at all blamed her father for her stepmother’s demeanour, nor her distaste with their life together, nor her departure that morning. That was entirely Roberta’s doing.
“Had you known much of her past before they were wed?”
“None,” Daphne declared. She raised her face to the sun and drank its warmth. Her stepmother had never been a particularly kind or affectionate woman. Her father’s fondness for her was due to her beauty, and his loneliness Their marriage was of mutual benefit, or so Daphne believed, despite the fact that she was always sure that Roberta harboured some level of discontentment with her father.
“I fear the only thing they had in common was that both had lost their previous marriages to death.”
Benedict contemplated this. “Roberta was a widow?”
“Yes,” Daphne said. “Or so she told me.”
“You do not trust her story?”
Despite their solitude, Daphne lowered her voice. “I have never trusted a word she has said. Believe me, Benedict, there was a time where I wanted to have a relationship with her beyond what we have. But something about the woman strikes me as deceitful. And now, she has made off to London!”
“I am sure she will make plans to return,” he said, patting her arm. “Perhaps she had business to attend to, or a relative that required attention.” His response was even-tempered, as she would have expected.
But then, examining her expression, he added, “Strange, though, that she would not share that information with her husband, if that were the case.”
Daphne paused, meeting his eyes with hers. “Dear Benedict. You always have believed the best in people. I wish that was a trait I could share.”
They walked on in silence for a few moments more, both mulling over the exchange. How Daphne wanted to believe that Benedict was right; that Roberta had simply been taken away on sudden business, so sudden that she was unable – or unwilling – to share it with her husband.
Perhaps a tragedy had befallen her family, or a scandal. She did not like the woman, that much was true, but the thought of any harm befalling her father as a result of Roberta’s actions was unthinkable. Walter had already endured so much since the death of her mother. How was she, Daphne, ever supposed to share with her father the news of his wife’s departure?
“I will not be presenting in London this season,” Daphne announced after a time.
Benedict paused again, halting their stride. “Why ever not? Because your father is unwell?”
Daphne nodded, sighing deeply. “We have no housekeeper to attend to him and only a single maid to help keep the house. His wife has departed. There is no one to look after my brothers for we have no governess.” She had considered each side of the scenarios and deemed staying on and missing the season to be the only possibility now. “It is as if she will be taking my journey to London for me, and I am to stay home with her husband.”
Once Upon a Dreamy Match: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 4
