His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(101)

“Man knows how to sit a horse, meaning no disrespect.”

This birching of Philippe’s conscience was as predictable as Harriet’s outdated fashions, but far less endearing. “Talbot, don’t start.”

“Hah. You may play the duke on any other stage, but I know what it costs you to eschew the saddle. You were a natural, just like your brother. You’d pick it back up in no time.”

“All my brother’s natural talent didn’t keep him from falling to his death, did it?” The silence became awkward, then bitter, then guilty. “I’m sorry, Talbot. I know you mean well. I’ll be going, and if you send an invitation over to the Hall, expect me to be on better behavior when I accept it. I can’t vouch for Ramsdale’s deportment, but Harriet seems to enjoy keeping him in line.”

Perhaps Harriet was sweet on Ramsdale. She liked big, dumb beasts. Ramsdale might have agreed to this frolic in the countryside because he was interested in Talbot’s daughter.

Ramsdale was devious like that, very good at keeping his own counsel—and he rode like demon.

“No need to get in all in a lather,” Talbot said. “Young people are idiots. My Dora always said so. Let’s say dinner on Tuesday.”

He braced his hands on the blotter as if to push to his feet, and that too, was a change.

Not for the better. “No need to get up,” Philippe said. “Bargaining with Dudley was doubtless tiring. I’ll see myself out.”

“Until Tuesday,” Talbot said, settling back into his chair. “And do bring along the earl. He’s the only man I know who can make Harriet blush.”

Talbot shuffled a stack of papers as if putting them in date order, while Philippe took himself back to the front door. A sense of betrayal followed him, of having found a childhood haven collapsing in on itself. He’d always been happy in the Talbot household, had always felt like himself, not like the ducal spare, and then—heaven help him—the heir.

Harriet emerged from the corridor that led to the kitchen, a riding crop in her hand. “You’re going already?”

Was she relieved, disappointed, or neither? “I have orders to return on Tuesday evening with Ramsdale in tow. Where are you off to?”

“I have another pair of two-year-olds to work in hand. I’ll walk you out.”

Philippe retrieved his hat from the sideboard. “You train them yourself?” When had this started?

“The lads have enough to do, and Lord Dudley’s visit put us behind. The horses like routine, and I like the horses.”

She pulled driving gloves out of her pocket, and eyed the horse waiting for her in the arena as Philippe walked with her down the drive. Already, she was assessing the beast’s mood, taking in details of his grooming.

Philippe hadn’t seen Harriet for more than year, had scanned every letter from Ada for details regarding the Talbots, and had missed Harriet more than was comfortable.

She paused with him by the gate to the arena. “You walked over?”

“Of course. Most of the distance is along the bridle path, and Berkshire has no prettier walk.”

“Well, then, have a pleasant ramble home. I’ll look forward to seeing you on Tuesday.”

She was eager to get back to work, clearly. Eager to spend the next hour marching around in the sand, her side pressed to the sweaty flank of a pea-brained, flatulent horse.

Of whom, Philippe was unreasonably jealous.

The least Philippe could do was give Harriet something to think about between now and Tuesday besides horses. He leaned close, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and lingered long enough to whisper.

“Until next we meet, don’t work too hard.” Up close, she smelled not of horse, but of roses, and surprise.

Her gloved hand went to her cheek. “Until Tuesday, Your Grace.”

Now here was a cheering bit of news: Ramsdale was not the only fellow who could make Harriet Talbot blush. Philippe offered a bow and a tip of his hat, and went jaunting on his way.



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