The Raven Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt Page B

him. “Rats?”
    He nodded. “She has a fear of rats.”
    “I don’t blame her,” Anna murmured. She tentatively stroked the mare’s mane, feeling the stiff hair beneath her fingers.
    “Her name is Daisy,” Lord Swartingham said. “Shall I lead you about the yard for a bit so you can get used to her?”
    She nodded.
    The earl clucked and the mare rocked forward. Anna clutched a handful of the mare’s mane. Her whole body tensed at the unfamiliar sensation of moving so far off the ground. The mare shook her head.
    Lord Swartingham glanced at her hands. “She can feel your fear. Isn’t that right, my sweet girl?”
    Anna, caught off guard by his last words, let go of the horse’s mane.
    “That’s good. Let your body relax.” His voice surrounded her, enfolding her in warmth. “She responds better to a gentle touch. She wants to be stroked and loved, don’t you, my beauty?”
    They walked around the stable yard, the earl’s deep voice enchanting the horse. Something inside Anna seemed to heat and melt as she listened to him, as if she were enchanted, too. He gave simple instructions about how to hold the reins and sit. By the end of a half hour, she felt a good deal more confident in the saddle.
    Lord Swartingham mounted his gelding and led off at a walk down the drive. The dog trotted beside them, sometimes disappearing into the high grass beside the drive only to reappear a few minutes later. When they reached the road, the earl let the bay have its head, galloping down the road a short distance and back again to work off some energy. The little mare watched the male antics without any sign that she wanted to break out of a walk. Anna lifted her face to the sun. She so missed its warmth after the long winter. She caught a flash of pale saffron beneath the hedges that lined the road.
    “Look, primroses. I think those are the first this year, don’t you?”
    The earl glanced to where she pointed. “Those yellow flowers? I haven’t seen them before.”
    “I’ve tried to grow them in my garden, but they don’t like to be transplanted,” she said. “I do have a few tulips, though. I’ve seen the lovely daffodils in the copse at the Abbey. Do you have tulips as well, my lord?”
    He seemed a little startled by the question. “There may be tulips still in the gardens. I remember my mother gathering them, but I haven’t seen the gardens in so long. . . .”
    Anna waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “Not everyone enjoys gardening, of course,” she said to be polite.
    “My mother loved to garden.” He stared off down the lane. “She planted the daffodils you saw, and she renovated the great walled gardens behind the Abbey. When she died . . .” He grimaced. “When they all died, there were other, more important things to be seen to. And now the gardens have been neglected for so long, I should have them taken down.”
    “Oh, surely not!” Anna caught his lifted eyebrow and lowered her voice. “I mean to say, a good garden can always be restored.”
    He frowned. “To what point?”
    Anna was nonplussed. “A garden always has a point.”
    He arched an eyebrow skeptically.
    “My own mother had a lovely one when I was growing up at the vicarage,” Anna said. “There were crocuses, daffodils, and tulips in the spring, followed by pinks, foxgloves, and phlox, with Johnny-jump-ups running throughout.”
    As she talked, Lord Swartingham watched her face intently.
    “At my cottage now, I have the hollyhocks, of course, and many of the other flowers my mother grew. I wish I had more room to add some roses,” she mused. “But roses are dear and take up quite a bit of space. I’m afraid I can’t justify the expense when the vegetable garden comes first.”
    “Perhaps you could advise me on the Abbey’s gardens later this spring,” the earl said. He turned the bay’s head and started down a smaller dirt track.
    Anna concentrated on the business of turning the mare. When she looked up, she saw the