It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(32)

“Hush, Daisy,” Lillian muttered.

“—is going to be very challenging, and I am fairly certain—”

“Shut up,” Lillian said in a fierce undertone.

“—that my sister is going to break her neck,” Daisy finished, returning Lillian’s glare with one of her own.

Annabelle looked troubled by the information. “Lillian, dear—”

“I have to go,” Lillian said curtly. “I don’t want to be late.”

“I know for a fact that Lord Westcliff’s jumping course is not appropriate for a novice.”

“I’m not a novice,” Lillian said through gritted teeth.

“There are some difficult jumps, with stiff bars at the top. Simon—that is, Mr. Hunt—took me through the course not long after it was built, and counseled me on how to approach the various jumps, and even then, it was very difficult. And if your riding position isn’t perfect, you can interfere with the free movement of the horse’s head and neck, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” Lillian interrupted coolly. “Heavens, Annabelle, I never knew you could be such a wet goose.”

Inured by now to the sharpness of Lillian’s tongue, Annabelle studied her defiant face. “Why is it necessary that you endanger yourself?”

“You should know by now that I never back down from a challenge.”

“And that is an admirable quality, dear,” came Annabelle’s smooth reply. “Unless you’re applying it to a pointless exercise.”

It was the closest to an argument that they had ever come. “Look,” Lillian said impatiently, “if I fall, you can give me a complete rake-down, and I’ll listen to every word. But no one is going to stop me from riding today…and therefore the only pointless exercise is for you to wag your jaw about it.”

Turning, she strode away, while she heard Annabelle’s exasperated exclamation behind her, and Daisy’s indistinct but resigned murmur, “…after all, it’s her neck to break…”

After Lillian’s departure, Daisy looked at Annabelle with an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry. She didn’t mean to sound sharp. You know how she is.”

“There is no need for you to apologize,” Annabelle said wryly. “Lillian is the one who should be sorry…though I suppose I’d have to go hang before she would ever say so.”

Daisy shrugged. “There are times when my sister must suffer the consequences of her own actions. But one of the things I adore about her is that when she’s proven wrong, she will admit it, and even make sport of herself.”

Annabelle did not return the smile. “I adore her also, Daisy. So much that I can’t let her walk blindly into danger—or in this case, ride straight toward it. It is obvious that she doesn’t understand how dangerous that jumping course is. Westcliff is an experienced horseman, and as such, he had the course built to suit his own level of skill. Even my husband, who is a powerful rider, says that it is a challenge. And for Lillian to attempt it when she is not accustomed to jumping sidesaddle—” A frown shuttered her forehead. “The thought of her being hurt or killed in a fall is unbearable.”

Evie spoke softly then. “M-Mr. Hunt is on the terrace. He’s standing by the French doors.”

The three of them glanced toward Annabelle’s large, dark husband, who was dressed in riding clothes. He stood with a group of three men who had approached him as soon as he had set foot on the back terrace. They all chuckled at some quip that Hunt had made—no doubt some off-color remark. Hunt was a man’s man, and therefore well liked by the usual crowd at Stony Cross Park. A sardonic smile curved Hunt’s lips as he glanced over the clusters of guests seated at the outdoor tables, while servants moved among them with platters of food and pitchers of fresh-squeezed juice. His smile changed, however, when he saw Annabelle, the cynicism transforming into a tenderness that made Daisy feel slightly wistful. It seemed as if something passed through the air between the couple, some intangible but intense connection that nothing could sever.

“Do excuse me,” Annabelle murmured, standing. She went to her husband, who took her hand as soon as she reached him, and lifted it to press a kiss into her palm. Staring at her upturned face, he retained possession of her hand, and his head inclined toward hers.

“Do you think she is telling him about Lillian?” Daisy asked Evie.

“I hope so.”

“Oh, he must handle the matter discreetly,” Daisy said with a groan. “Any hint of confrontation, and Lillian will turn mulish.”

“I imagine that Mr. Hunt will be very circumspect. He’s known as a very effective negotiator in business matters, isn’t he?”

“You’re right,” Daisy replied, feeling marginally better. “And he’s accustomed to dealing with Annabelle, who has a rather fiery temperament herself.” As they conversed, Daisy couldn’t help noticing the odd phenomenon that happened whenever she and Evie were alone…Evie seemed to relax, and her stutter all but vanished.

Evie leaned forward, unselfconsciously graceful as she leaned her chin in the shallow cup of her hand and propped her elbow on the table. “What do you think is going on between them? Lillian and Lord Westcliff, I mean.”

Daisy smiled ruefully, feeling a twinge of concern for her sister. “I think it frightened my sister yesterday to realize that she might find Lord Westcliff attractive. And she doesn’t react well to being frightened—it usually makes her go off full-tilt and do something reckless. Hence her determination to go and kill herself on horseback today.”