It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(33)

“But why would that frighten her?” Puzzlement colored Evie’s expression. “I should think it would please Lillian to attract the notice of someone like the earl.”

“Not when she knows that they would be at constant loggerheads with one another if anything were to come of it. And Lillian has no desire to be crushed by a man as powerful as Westcliff.” Daisy sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t want that for her either.”

Evie nodded in reluctant agreement. “I …I suppose the earl would find it difficult to tolerate Lillian’s colorful nature.”

“Rather,” Daisy said with a droll smile. “Evie, dear…I suppose it’s tasteless of me to draw attention to it, but in the past minute your stammer has disappeared.”

The red-haired girl tucked a shy smile in the concealment of her palm, and glanced at Daisy from beneath a sweep of auburn lashes. “I’m always much better when I’m away from home…away from my family. And it helps if I remember to talk slowly, and think about what I’m going to say. But I’m worse when I’m tired, or when I have to speak to str-strangers. There’s nothing more terrifying to me than going to a ball and facing a room full of people I don’t know.”

“Dear,” Daisy said softly, “the next time you face a room full of strangers…you might tell yourself that some of them are just friends waiting to be found.”

The morning was fresh and misty as riders congregated before the stables. There were approximately fifteen men, and two other women besides Lillian. The men were dressed in dark coats, breeches that ranged from fawn to mustard, and top boots. The women wore habits that were fitted closely to the waist, trimmed with braid, and finished with voluminous asymmetrical skirts that were buttoned on one side. Servants and stable boys moved among the crowd, bringing out horses and helping the riders to mount at one of three mounting blocks. Some guests had elected to bring their own horses, while others made use of the renowned stock of the Marsden stables. Although she had toured the stables on a previous visit, Lillian was struck anew by the beauty of the well-tended thoroughbreds that were led out to the waiting guests.

Lillian stood beside one of the mounting blocks in the company of Mr. Winstanley, an auburn-haired young man with attractive features but a weak chin, and two other gentlemen, Lord Hew and Lord Bazeley, who chatted amiably as they waited for their mounts to be brought around. Having little interest in the conversation, Lillian let her gaze wander idly around the scene until she saw Westcliff’s lean form striding across the stable courtyard. His coat, though neatly tailored, had been abused by many wearings, and the leather of his top boots had been worn into butter-soft leniency.

Unwanted memories jolted her heart into a rapid rhythm. Her ears burned as she suddenly recalled his silky-rough whisper…I want to kiss you everywhere…Aware of uneasy stirrings within herself, she watched Westcliff approach a horse that had already been led out…an animal that Lillian remembered having seen before. The horse, named Brutus, was mentioned in nearly any conversation about equine matters. There was no hunter currently more admired in England than Brutus, a magnificent dark bay with an intelligent, workmanlike disposition. The bay’s girth was deep, and his shoulders were muscular and heavily sloped, allowing him to travel easily over rough terrain and jump with remarkable proficiency. On the ground, Brutus had the discipline of a soldier…in the air, however, he soared as if he had wings.

“They say that with Brutus, Westcliff needs no second horse,” remarked one of the guests.

Lillian, who stood at the mounting block, glanced at the speaker curiously. “What does that mean?”

The auburn-haired man smiled a bit incredulously, as though it were something everyone should know. “On a hunting day,” he explained, “one usually rides his first horse in the morning, and then changes to a fresh replacement horse in the afternoon. But it seems that Brutus has the stamina and endurance of two horses.”

“Like his owner,” one of the others remarked, and they all chuckled.

Glancing around the scene, Lillian saw that Westcliff was involved in a conversation with Simon Hunt, who was quietly relating something that had caused a slight frown to appear on the earl’s face. Standing beside his master, Brutus shifted and nuzzled the earl with rough affection, calming as Westcliff reached out to rub his nose.

Lillian was distracted as a stable boy, one of the ones who had engaged in the rounders game yesterday, brought a sleek gray to the mounting block. The boy winked conspiratorially at Lillian as she ascended to the top step. Winking back, she waited as the stable boy checked the tightness of the girth and the balance strap of the detested sidesaddle. Assessing the horse with an approving gaze, she noted that the gray was compact and refined, with flawless conformation and a look of lively intelligence. He was no more than thirteen hands high…a perfect lady’s horse.

“What is his name?” Lillian asked. At the sound of her voice, one of the horse’s ears pivoted toward her attentively.

“Starlight, miss. You’ll do well with him—he’s the best-mannered horse in the stables, next to Brutus.”

Lillian patted the horse’s silky neck. “You look like a gentleman, Starlight. I wish I could ride you properly instead of bothering with a silly old sidesaddle.”

The gray inclined his head to glance at her with reassuring calmness.