ready, as you requested, my lord. And Mallow. Shall I have them brought out?"
"Yes, Blackstone, thank you. Oh, and, Blackstone, this is Lady Vanessa MacIan. She is visiting my mother."
Blackstone ducked his head. "Morning, my lady."
"Good morning," Van returned.
"Did I tell you yesterday that I think I've got a buyer for Beau, Blackstone?"
The man looked suddenly alert. "No, my lord, you did not."
"Stanmore caught me at my club a few days ago. He's looking for a hunter. We'll have to get Beau out over fences a few times to get him in condition."
"Right, my lord."
There was the sound of hooves and Van turned to look at the two horses being brought out of the barn. She swallowed. They looked so big. The earl reached up to rub a dark bay forehead. "This is Marcus," he said.
Van had never seen a horse like Marcus before. His elegant head, with widely spaced, large, lustrous eyes and narrow, tapering nostrils, was set on an arched and powerful neck. His strongly sloped shoulders and muscled rear proclaimed sheer power, yet his legs were slender, even delicate-looking. He did not look as if he belonged to the same species as the shaggy, sturdy ponies Van had grown up with. He was magnificent, but Van thought she would much rather look at him than ride him.
"And this is Mallow," Edward went on. "He'll carry you very nicely."
Mallow was, mercifully, not so big as Marcus, nor so powerful-looking. He was a golden chestnut in color, with a dished, Arabian face and very soft, kind eyes He was wearing a sidesaddle.
"Up you go," Edward said cheerfully and, before Van realized what was happening, his hands were around her waist and he was lifting her into the saddle. "How's the stirrup length?" he asked, and Van gave him a look of pure dislike. He had lifted her as easily as if she had been a child.
"Fine," she said, slipping her toe into the single stirrup iron.
Edward swung easily into his saddle and Van looked at him nervously, expecting the great bay stallion to begin to dance around. Marcus stood rock-still, the flickering of his ears his only motion. "Ready?" Edward asked genially.
Van raised her chin. "Yes," she said. Marcus began to walk forward and Mallow followed.
They walked through the stableyard and along a road that led by the paddocks. Van stiffened in nervousness as the horses in the paddocks came to gallop alongside the fences, but neither Marcus nor Mallow stirred out of the steady, even, forward walk. As they entered a wide ride that led through a wood, Van began to relax.
"Feeling better?" Edward asked.
"Yes," Van answered shortly. Then, "I'm not accustomed to such large horses. At home I ride ponies."
"If you can ride a pony over rough ground, you'll have no trouble at all with my horses," Edward said calmly.
Van was beginning to think he was right.
"Let's trot, shall we?" said Edward, and before she could protest, the two horses moved forward.
It was like sitting on air. Van couldn't believe how comfortable Mallow was. She looked over at Marcus. The great stallion appeared to be floating, he was so light.
When they came down to a walk again Edward looked at her and, unbidden, Van's rare smile dawned. "They're marvelous," she said.
"Training a horse is like working on a piece of music," he said. "The end product must be smooth, light, effortless, but to get to that point takes a lot of hard work." The tone of his voice changed. "Speaking of music"—he was looking straight ahead now—"why didn't your parents send you to Paris to study? Why London?"
Van was silent, thrown off balance by the sudden change in topic and in tone.
He looked at her out of the side of his eyes, a flash of blue quickly withdrawn. "I take it from your none-too-veiled comments last night that you are still Jacobites in Morar?"
Van's face was still, her eyes veiled and wary. "Yes," she said. "We are."
"Then why not Paris?"
"My mother has no social contacts left in Paris," she replied carefully. "And your mother and she
"Yes, Blackstone, thank you. Oh, and, Blackstone, this is Lady Vanessa MacIan. She is visiting my mother."
Blackstone ducked his head. "Morning, my lady."
"Good morning," Van returned.
"Did I tell you yesterday that I think I've got a buyer for Beau, Blackstone?"
The man looked suddenly alert. "No, my lord, you did not."
"Stanmore caught me at my club a few days ago. He's looking for a hunter. We'll have to get Beau out over fences a few times to get him in condition."
"Right, my lord."
There was the sound of hooves and Van turned to look at the two horses being brought out of the barn. She swallowed. They looked so big. The earl reached up to rub a dark bay forehead. "This is Marcus," he said.
Van had never seen a horse like Marcus before. His elegant head, with widely spaced, large, lustrous eyes and narrow, tapering nostrils, was set on an arched and powerful neck. His strongly sloped shoulders and muscled rear proclaimed sheer power, yet his legs were slender, even delicate-looking. He did not look as if he belonged to the same species as the shaggy, sturdy ponies Van had grown up with. He was magnificent, but Van thought she would much rather look at him than ride him.
"And this is Mallow," Edward went on. "He'll carry you very nicely."
Mallow was, mercifully, not so big as Marcus, nor so powerful-looking. He was a golden chestnut in color, with a dished, Arabian face and very soft, kind eyes He was wearing a sidesaddle.
"Up you go," Edward said cheerfully and, before Van realized what was happening, his hands were around her waist and he was lifting her into the saddle. "How's the stirrup length?" he asked, and Van gave him a look of pure dislike. He had lifted her as easily as if she had been a child.
"Fine," she said, slipping her toe into the single stirrup iron.
Edward swung easily into his saddle and Van looked at him nervously, expecting the great bay stallion to begin to dance around. Marcus stood rock-still, the flickering of his ears his only motion. "Ready?" Edward asked genially.
Van raised her chin. "Yes," she said. Marcus began to walk forward and Mallow followed.
They walked through the stableyard and along a road that led by the paddocks. Van stiffened in nervousness as the horses in the paddocks came to gallop alongside the fences, but neither Marcus nor Mallow stirred out of the steady, even, forward walk. As they entered a wide ride that led through a wood, Van began to relax.
"Feeling better?" Edward asked.
"Yes," Van answered shortly. Then, "I'm not accustomed to such large horses. At home I ride ponies."
"If you can ride a pony over rough ground, you'll have no trouble at all with my horses," Edward said calmly.
Van was beginning to think he was right.
"Let's trot, shall we?" said Edward, and before she could protest, the two horses moved forward.
It was like sitting on air. Van couldn't believe how comfortable Mallow was. She looked over at Marcus. The great stallion appeared to be floating, he was so light.
When they came down to a walk again Edward looked at her and, unbidden, Van's rare smile dawned. "They're marvelous," she said.
"Training a horse is like working on a piece of music," he said. "The end product must be smooth, light, effortless, but to get to that point takes a lot of hard work." The tone of his voice changed. "Speaking of music"—he was looking straight ahead now—"why didn't your parents send you to Paris to study? Why London?"
Van was silent, thrown off balance by the sudden change in topic and in tone.
He looked at her out of the side of his eyes, a flash of blue quickly withdrawn. "I take it from your none-too-veiled comments last night that you are still Jacobites in Morar?"
Van's face was still, her eyes veiled and wary. "Yes," she said. "We are."
"Then why not Paris?"
"My mother has no social contacts left in Paris," she replied carefully. "And your mother and she
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