The Spinster and the Rake

by Eva Devon

  It was an astounding sight.

  She waited patiently, watching him care for each horse, her entire view of him changed, and she blinked back tears of amazement.

  Edward was not cold. He was a gentle soul. And now she realized something had happened to him as a child and that was what made him so in tune with these animals who had known travail.

  Because he understood them.

  As he stroked a black mare’s mane, he said, “I was born unable to see the world as others do.”

  “I don’t understand.” she said. “You had trouble with your sight?”

  He shook his head firmly. “Let me explain another way. When I was four years old, one of my nannies told my mother that I was destined for a madhouse. Another told her I was possessed.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  She did not repeat his comment about madness or possession. She wouldn’t even countenance the absurdity. But such a supposition must have had a profound effect upon him as a child.

  “You see, I would throw myself on the floor and scream.”

  “Many children do such things,” she said, shocked by how intensely she wished she could defend him.

  “But not like I did,” he corrected quietly, all the while keeping his attention on the horses before him. “I would scream for hours and I could not be contained, and I was angry all of the time. The slightest sounds could set me off. Or being touched the wrong way. Or being surrounded by a group of people. None of this bode well for a future duke.”

  His chest expanded, stretching his coat, as he took in a deep breath. “My mother and father could not bear the idea of sending me away. Thank God, they refused to take the advice of my nannies…and even a doctor who insisted there was something mentally wrong with me, that I was going to be a stain upon the family’s honor.”

  He swallowed and said with pride, “My mother and father refused to believe this was true, and my mother never left my side from that day forward. She became my tutor, my nanny, my governess. And I will never forget the power of her love.”

  It was then that he turned to her and met her gaze.

  “My mother gave me love, even when I did not wish to hug her or to give her the affection she likely longed for. I simply did not like it. It is the truth of it, Georgiana. I do not always like to be touched or to be hugged or to converse. But she never gave up.”

  “I wish I could have met her,” Georgiana replied, her heart going out to the mother and boy so long ago.

  “She would have liked you and your practical nature a good deal. But I must explain fully. I…withdraw sometimes and unlike people, these horses understand my need for silence. They feel it, whatever strangeness that is my nature, and accept it. And so, I do all that I can for them. Many of them have been abused by masters who are unkind to them. Together we survive this tumultuous world.”

  “I see,” she said, though she didn’t. Not entirely. But she knew it was imperative to listen. It was remarkable that he was telling her this.

  “So your mother took you under her tutelage?”

  He nodded. “And somehow we found ways of managing my inability to take on the world as others did. As I said, I retreat. I often have to be alone. I must fortify myself before going into company. I have ways of clenching and unclenching my hands that make certain I do not rattle apart before a host of people. I have a way of breathing, which stops panic from encroaching upon me, and I also sometimes must be silent.”

  He looked away then, his voice catching. “Th-that silence appears as a vast arrogance and rudeness to many people. But, truthfully, it is just myself doing my very best not to come apart at the seams as I stand in a situation that nearly drives me mad.”

  As his story raced out of him, her heart ached for all that he had endured and the worst that she had assumed about his nature. “How long have you felt this way? How long have you had to be alone because people did not understand? Why did you not tell me this before?”

  For several moments, he said nothing, but the look upon his face was the look of someone who had endured pain for a long time.

  “Do you remember the morning after our wedding?” he asked softly. “Our true wedding.”

  “How could I forget it?” she asked, her heart beginning to beat rapidly, wondering what he was about to proclaim.

  “I was being myself,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Truly myself.” He blew out a long breath, then continued. “That is how I behave, Georgiana. I become engrossed and swept up in a world I cannot explain to others. My mind riots with numbers and figures and facts, and I must complete the tasks that suddenly come to me, because if I don’t… It is the most infuriating, terrible feeling. You felt as if I was ignoring you, but I was not. I was so engrossed by the need to do what had to be done, that I could not look away from it. It was not my intention to be unkind or rude, but…it is physically painful to me if I cannot do what my mind requires of me.”

  She nodded, trying to show she understood, though she was astounded.

  “And as in pain as you felt,” he said, reaching out now to slip his hand around hers. A decisive gesture to bring her closer to him. “If I am honest with you now as I intend to be from this moment on, I felt rejected that morning, too.”

  “What?” she gasped, tempted to pull back, but she did not.

  “You felt as if I was ignoring you, and I felt as if I had failed once again, with someone I cared about, that the person who I hope cares about me would not be able to accept me…for myself.”

  What he was saying dawned on her and she held onto his hand then, a lifeline in a wild world. “I am the person who cares about you,” she said softly.

  “I hope so,” he murmured. “I pretend that it doesn’t hurt when people don’t understand. I show a great face to the world because it is important I appear strong, but I let few people see the real me.”

  She stepped toward him then and slowly raised her hand to his jaw, allowing time for him to shake his head if he didn’t wish it. But he did not move away, and so she caressed his beautiful face that was so haunted. “Forgive me. I didn’t understand then. I couldn’t. But now that you have explained it to me, I understand it is no small thing to you. That what you did? It was not just some disinterest on your part.”

  His eyes closed and the tension drained from his face. The worry he had been carrying for so long faded away and her heart leaped, for she had helped him to remove that.

  “Edward, I am honored you would share this with me, that you would share the pain of your childhood.”

  “Only Aunt Agatha knows.” He turned his lips to her palm and said against her fingers, “No one else.”

  He kissed the soft hollow of her hand then drew it down to his shoulder. Pulling her close until her body was pressed to his, he laid his cheek against the coiled tresses of her hair.

  “She has been my support since my parents died,” he said. “When they died, my God, my world fell into darkness. I did not know how I would survive, for they were the only people who truly understood me, and I have been alone since then.”

  He had overcome so much. All this time…all these weeks, she had judged him so harshly, making assumptions about him and his behavior. She’d allowed herself to often think the worst of him without daring to discuss it with him.

  Her husband? Her husband had walked through fire over the years to arrive at this moment where he bared the trials he had fought through.

  He was a man to be greatly admired. What had she fought through? What had she overcome? If not as privileged, her life had been one of love and ease. She saw him in a new light now, and she wondered, in her haste to judge him and the little turmoil that she had faced, would she and her family truly be capable of matching his spirit.

  She hoped so. She would endeavor to live up to his strength. As she thought of the small boy who had struggled alone,
she ached for him. She ached, knowing that she had not seen him as he truly was. But now? Now she would try with every fiber of her being to shore up what mattered most to him, his family honor and name. No matter what it took.

  He’d given up so much to make his parents proud, to uphold the dukedom with honor. Surely, now she could do the same. She held on to him tightly, as if she could save him from all those years of pain, even though she knew she could not. “You are not alone now. You have me and you’re correct. I care about you deeply.”

  He tilted her head back. “And I, you, Georgiana. Now, will you trust me to teach you to ride?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly, her heart daring to care for him. Daring very much.

  “Good, because I have a friend just for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The relief coursing through Edward’s veins increased exponentially with every moment. He led Georgiana into the immaculately kept stables, so proud of the place he could barely contain it.

  Horses that no one else would wish to own were a strange thing for a duke to be proud of. Most would have had the animals shot. But he understood broken things, and the power of patience.

  So many others of his class were proud of acts in Parliament, houses built, jewels obtained, but no, this was his crowning glory.

  This place and the gift the horses had given him in turn.

  The stable block was long.

  Several horses were able to simply be here with no expectations put upon them. Some, when they arrived, were wild, kicking at their stables, attempting to bite the stable workers’ hands. But over time, they all came to understand that no harm would come to them in this place.

  Only green fields awaited them where they could frolic and graze to their heart’s content.

  Here, they could simply be horses, free of human brutality, free of the demands so often put upon such perfect creatures. It was in gaining their trust and riding those that enjoyed it where he found his greatest peace.

  When he was not in Yorkshire out upon his estates, here, adjacent to London, he could find peace. Eventually, London always leached his resources. This haven was his salvation where he came to renew himself and his strength.

  Slowly, he walked down toward the final stable and stopped before a beautiful black mare. He had spent a great deal of time with this particular horse over the years. She’d come here skittish and uncertain of people, but over time they had built a rapport, and he had taken her out almost every day for a year. The other hands easily took her out, too, and she was happy with any rider as long as they were gentle.

  Now the mare was happy to see him, and he beamed at her. She nickered away gently, and he slipped a carrot from the bin by her stall and fed it to her. She gobbled it up happily.

  “And who is this?” Georgiana asked.

  He patted the mare’s neck. “This is Beatrice. Indeed, she is feisty and steady, just like the Shakespeare heroine you so admire.”

  Georgiana laughed, and the horse lifted her head up and down, as if enjoying their good humor.

  Beatrice eyed Georgiana for a moment, turning her head slowly, then gently blowing air through her lips, a sign that Beatrice approved of Georgiana. He’d known that she would.

  “Come,” he urged gently. “Do not touch her face. It’s just like with a human. When you go up to a human, you do not immediately stroke someone’s cheek.”

  Georgiana grinned at that. “Oh, dear. How terribly inappropriate I’ve been with horses over the years.”

  He nodded. “Most people are. They think that’s what you do, but it isn’t. You may stroke her neck, of course. And she adores a good scratch.”

  Georgiana approached Beatrice slowly. He kept a steady hand on Beatrice’s shoulder, ensuring a good meeting of the two.

  His wife met gazes with the horse, and much to his astonishment, she said, “How do you do, Beatrice? It is a pleasure to meet you. I understand you are a friend of my husband’s and, therefore, you shall be a friend of mine. I hope you agree to this.”

  Beatrice, much to his pleasure, drew in a breath through her nostrils and then gave a lovely sound of pleasure, that gentle nickering a horse made when happy. Ever so carefully, Georgiana reached her hand out and stroked Beatrice’s soft neck. Beatrice leaned into that touch, her lids heavy showing that she was relaxed. Georgiana instinctively scratched.

  Beatrice gave a tremble of pleasure and leaned into Georgiana’s hand, despite the stable door.

  “She likes you,” he concluded, pleased he’d been correct in his prediction.

  “I see that,” said Georgiana. “And I am very glad.”

  “Good. You shall have to ride her. The two of you will get along famously.”

  “Well, I’m glad you think so.” A wide smile parted her lips. “Mayhap if you believe it, I can, too.”

  “I believe a great deal of you, Georgiana. You’ve surprised me, and I am loath to admit it. You are clearly a capable woman.”

  “Thank you, Edward,” she said.

  A strange look crossed her face for a moment. It was so fleeting he was almost certain he had been mistaken. Before he could ask, Georgiana glanced about and queried, “Are there no stable hands or stable boys? Surely, it takes several to run this place. It’s in such good order.”

  Her subtle compliment was a balm. He loved that she could see how much care he ensured was taken here.

  “There are. At present, they are in the far pasture, tending to several of the horses who are new. I wished us to have this place alone for some hours. I shall saddle Beatrice for you.”

  He opened the stable door and easily guided the mare out. He made quick work of the leather saddle and bridle. In one swift, smooth swing, he helped Georgiana atop Beatrice.

  She sat rather rigidly for a moment.

  “Though I know it is easier to say than to do,” he said, “relax. Allow yourself to feel her beneath you and trust her. Beatrice is an excellent mare and a good friend, if you let her be.”

  Georgiana gave a nod, even though he could see this was far beyond her usual comfort. He adored that about his wife. Whatever she did, she did fully. No hesitations.

  Georgiana drew in a deep breath through her nose, blew it out threw her mouth…and visibly relaxed. She was an excellent study. Her whole body seemed to soften as she allowed herself to become more at ease.

  He would not torture them both with a sidesaddle, and he was glad he didn’t care about such things. One day, if she rode on Rotten Row, she’d have to make use of one. But not now. Not on a day when they were attempting to feel so free.

  As he gazed up at his wife, he could not express the joy building inside him. She had so easily taken the truth about his past. Some might’ve recoiled. He had decided it was worth the risk to confess it. He could not spend a lifetime hiding from her.

  No, he wished to go boldly through it with her, just as she seemed to be doing with him. Which was also why he had brought her here, to the secret place that had made him well over the years since his parents’ deaths.

  Quickly, he went over and picked one of the more energetic but still safe horses, Antigone. Edward didn’t bother with a saddle. He liked the feel of riding without the accoutrements of man too well.

  He swung up onto the black mare, who sometimes still liked to take the lead, and he was content to let her have her head whenever necessary.

  He subtly urged Antigone to walk out of the stables first, allowing Beatrice to follow gently behind. He stroked Antigone’s shoulder, allowing his body and the horse beneath him to become as one.

  His tensions floated away.

  They rode out into the field at an easy pace. Georgiana followed, laughing all the way at Beatrice’s rolling gate. It was what he liked so well about his wife, the fact that she met life and its challenges with such joy.

  After a few moments,
they were circling the pastures easily.

  “It is like flying,” Georgiana proclaimed, her face positively glowing.

  It wasn’t exactly how he would have described it. But her enthusiasm was catching. In his estimation, horseback riding was probably a bit more bumpy than he imagined a bird at wing, but he was glad that Georgiana was enjoying herself so very much.

  Time rushed by quickly and soon the sun was high overhead. Edward led them back into the barn. “You understand why this place is so important to me?” he asked, as he jumped down from Antigone.

  “Indeed, I do,” she replied, adjusting her hands upon the reins.

  She had an instinctively light touch and little fear.

  “Would you like to have a moment of rest? Cook prepared a basket for us.”

  “Oh, yes.” A pleased smile tilted her lips. “I am most surprised by how much strength it requires in ones limbs. Walking has prepared me, thank goodness.”

  He had observed her morning ritual of a good five-mile walk in Hyde Park. Most people went to be seen. Georgiana went to make ground. It certainly had assisted her today, keeping her seat.

  He led Antigone to the small corral where she could walk for a few moments, and then Edward returned to his surprising wife. He savored the feel of his hands about her waist as he helped her slip down off Beatrice.

  A look of indecision creased her features for the barest instant as she shifted weight in the stirrups and swung her leg over the mare’s back. Then she was bracing her hands on his shoulders, their bodies pressing together.

  They stood like that, gazing into each other’s eyes, their bodies aligned, slowing. Without mention, their breath seemed to come at the same pace and her lips parted ever so slightly.

  Beatrice, wise mare that she was, walked over to Antigone, and though Edward hated to slip away from Georgiana, he secured the horse behind the gate.