Читать книгу A Man Most Worthy - Ruth Morren Axtell - Страница 8

Awake since the sky had begun to lighten, Alice let out a massive sigh of relief when she saw Mr. Tennent walking across the lawn toward the court.

Not until that moment did she realize how disappointed she would have been if he hadn’t shown up. She’d prayed hard last night that he wouldn’t be discouraged after only one lesson.

She fingered the head of her racket as she watched his long stride. His serious air made Victor and the other boys of her acquaintance seem just that—boys! Biting her lip, she glanced down at her calf-length plaid skirt and sailor top. How she wished she were one year older and wore ankle-length dresses like a lady. Did Mr. Tennent see her as just a schoolgirl? She cringed, remembering the silly game of hide-and-seek she’d been playing the day she’d burst in on him.

She smiled as he approached her. “Good morning.”

He nodded, his dark eyes meeting hers, their formality lessening as he gave her a slight smile. “Good morning, Miss Shepard.”

She tilted her head. “Ready to have another go?”

“If you’ve the patience and fortitude.”

Her smile widened in relief. She handed him the extra racket. “You did very well for your first time. Come, I’ll serve first.”

“Very well.” He shed his coat this time and laid it carefully on a wrought iron chair by the side of the court.

She began gently, giving him a chance to review what she’d taught him the day before. They played for about twenty minutes before taking a break.

“I brought some water for us,” she said, leading him to the yew hedge where she had stashed two stone flasks. “It should still be cold.”

“Thank you.” He took the one she handed him then waited until she had uncapped hers and brought it to her lips before following suit. “How did I do today? Any improvement?” he asked, lowering the flask.

“Oh, a vast amount. You’re a natural athlete.”

He made a sound of disbelief.

“You don’t believe me? It’s the truth. I can tell. You’re nothing like most of the boys on the court who try and act as if they knew something.” She studied his face, hoping she was convincing him not to give up, but the steady way he regarded her was hard to read.

Mr. Tennent wiped his brow with his handkerchief, pushing back his dark curls.

Hoping to draw out more about his fascinating past, she said, “Tell me more about your mother.”

He looked away from her, and she bit her lip, afraid she had offended him. Her governess had always said she was too direct.

But he answered with no sign of displeasure. “She had to take us into the mill with her when we were young, and put us to work as soon as we could wind a thread around a bobbin.”

“She must have been a brave woman to raise four boys all alone.” His tale had haunted her last night. It had sounded so unbearably romantic.

He pocketed his handkerchief. He was standing in his vest and shirtsleeves. Even in his typical clerk’s attire, he stood out. There was something distinguished about him. “No matter how tired she was,” he continued in a quiet tone, “she always gave us a lesson after dinner in the evenings before we went to bed. She had saved a few school-books and one or two storybooks from her teaching days. Those and the Bible formed our only amusement at home.”

She pictured the cozy scene, a mother with her four boys surrounding her on a settee, or with her arms around them on a wide bed flanked by soft pillows. “It must have been nice to have a mother read to you at night.”

“Didn’t anyone ever read to you at bedtime?”

She blushed beneath his close scrutiny. “My nurse told me stories when I was very young, and then Miss Duffy, my governess, read to me when I was a little older.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a mother to read to you at bedtime,” he said softly.

His tone was so gentle it was as if he had known how lonely her childhood had been. Afraid he’d pity her, she set down her water bottle and picked up her racket. “Come on, let’s get back to our game before you have to work.”

He followed her out to the court. This time, she hit the ball a little harder and enjoyed watching him run to meet it. She, too, was forced to run across the court when he returned it equally forcefully. Laughing from sheer joy at the physical exertion, she swung at the ball and watched it clear the net.

By the time they finished their lesson, they were both red in the face, but never had she had more fun on the court.

“What about tomorrow morning?” she asked him, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

“It depends on your father. I might be called back to London.”

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Of course.” Trust Father to ruin her fun. “Do you think he’ll bring you back out again?”

“I have no way of knowing.”

“Well, if you should come back, I challenge you to a match.”

He nodded slowly, his deep set eyes looking into hers. “You’re on.”

As soon as he had a free moment back in London, Nick inquired of one of the clerks in the firm and found out where he could get tennis lessons. It meant money he could ill afford, and having to go across town to Regent’s Park, but he was determined the next time he faced Alice Shepard across the court, he would no longer be a clumsy novice.

He hadn’t been able to get the young girl out of his mind since he’d returned to the city, no matter how many times he’d told himself he was being silly to keep thinking about her.

But her smiling face wouldn’t leave his thoughts despite the effort he put into studying his employer’s files and tallying columns of numbers.

He’d never been in love. No young woman had yet caused him to veer from his single-minded focus on the path to success.

The feelings Miss Shepard elicited in him were a puzzle to him, not least because he didn’t know how to classify them. She was too young for it to be love, he felt. But if it wasn’t love, it certainly was a sort of obsession, which he’d have to eradicate sooner or later. He could ill spare time for such dangerous complications.

In the meantime, however, at a safe distance in London, he preferred to postpone the moment and content himself with daydreaming about her as he rode the early morning ferry to work, as he walked the distance to the office, as he made the return journey in the evening.

And every evening, after work and a light supper, he stood across the net from his new instructor, imagining Miss Shepard in his place. He’d spent part of his last salary on a lightweight pair of twill trousers and a linen jacket, vowing to look as dapper as any young gentleman when they next met.

Back and forth went the ball, the instructor calling out advice as he sent it across the net to Nick. Nick grew to enjoy the thrill of competition. He found it as thrilling as predicting the direction of the price of a company’s stock.

He remembered Miss Shepard’s words. You’re a natural athlete. Did it mean she’d actually looked past his shabby frock coat and seen something more than just her father’s secretary? He’d never thought of himself as athletic, even though until coming to London, he’d spent any spare moment outside when he wasn’t working in the noisy, dusty environment of the mill. But that was playing in the street with boys his age, with no sports equipment. A ball was a rotten cabbage, a cricket bat a broken chair leg. But even those had been few and far between as any piece of wood was quickly consumed in the stove, and extra food was rarely to be found.

Nick had no idea when and if he’d be going back to the Shepards’ country house, but he’d be prepared just in case, even if it cost him a fortnight’s wages.

He wanted to match Miss Shepard’s skill and show her he was a worthy opponent.

Each morning he joined the hundreds of anonymous young men clad in black frock coats and top hats hurrying down Fleet Street to their offices. He pulled open the brass-handled door, glancing a moment at the understated plaque to the right: Shepard & Steward, Ltd., Investments.

Some day it would read Shepard, Steward, Tennent, & Partners.

He hurried down the corridor to his office, nodding his head to the various clerks he passed. “’Morning, Harold. ’Morning, Stanley.” Rushed syllables as everyone hurried to his place in the maze of corridors and cubicles.

He entered the quieter sanctuary upstairs in the rear, the executive offices of the full partners. His own desk, situated in a small corner of an office he shared with the senior secretary, was neat, the way he’d left it the evening before.

Nick sat down and opened the file he’d been studying the previous day, glad for the momentary solitude. Mr. Shepard would expect a report by noon on the assets of the small factory, which manufactured iron fastenings.

“Shepard wants you.”

He looked up to find Mr. Simpson, the other secretary, walking to his own desk, the larger of the two in the room. The old man guarded his boss from all he considered intruders, including Nick.

Nick stood now and grabbed up his pad and pencil. “Yes, sir.”

The man stood by the doorway, as if to make sure Nick obeyed the summons. His bristly gray eyebrows drew together in their customary frown as Nick passed him with a curt nod.

Dark walnut wainscoting covered the walls of Mr. Shepard’s private office. Oil landscapes in heavy wooden frames lined the space above. Some day he would have an office like this one.

Shepard stood at a window overlooking the busy street below, his hands clasped loosely behind them. He turned only slightly at the soft sound of the door closing.

“Ah, Tennent, have a seat. I need you to take a letter.”

“Yes, sir.” Nick crossed the deep blue Turkish carpet and sat in the leather armchair facing the wide desk.

Mr. Shepard twirled his reading glasses in his hands. “This is to the Denbigh Coke Company, Denbighshire, Wales.

“Gentlemen—After a careful review of your firm, it is with regret that we inform you that we must decline the opportunity to offer you the venture capital you requested to expand your colliery. Although your firm’s net profits for the preceding year showed…”

Nick’s pencil hurried across the paper, his mind unable to suppress the satisfaction at Shepard’s decision. It mirrored the one Nick would have made in his place.

Mr. Shepard’s peremptory tone interrupted his thoughts. “Read it back to me.”

“Yes, sir.” He began at the top.

“Very good. I’ll sign it as soon as you have it ready. Make sure it goes in today’s post.”

Nick stood.

“I will be heading back out to Richmond this weekend. I have various projects that need catching up on. I trust you will be free to accompany me?”

Unable to help a spurt of excitement at the announcement, Nick’s fingers tightened on his pencil. It was quickly doused as he realized his employer would keep him too busy to allow him any free time for recreation. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good.”

Nick reached the door.

“Bring enough to stay a week.”

Nick turned slowly. A week in Richmond? His heart started to thump. “Yes, sir.”

An entire week in the same house as Miss Shepard. This time he couldn’t contain his excitement. He even began to whistle as he made his way back down the dark corridor.

Alice returned from church at noon on Sunday.

She stopped short in the doorway, her hands flying to her cheeks as at the sight of the tall young man emerging from her father’s library. “Mr. Tennent!”

To her further surprise, he smiled, looking as glad to see her as she felt to see him.

“When did you arrive?”

“Early this morning,” he said. “Your father was going to come Friday evening but was delayed with other engagements.”

She moistened her lip, trying to appear collected. “I—I’ve just come from church.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence ensued. Then her eyes widened in sudden horror. “Have you been working?”

He colored. “I was just going to read up on some documents.”

“On the Sabbath?” She couldn’t help the shock in her voice.

He looked away as if ashamed. “Yes.”

She frowned. “Father doesn’t forbid you from attending services, does he?”

“No, of course not. I…I’ve already been to services.”

“You have? I didn’t see you.”

“That’s because I attended chapel.”

“Chapel?” Her eyes widened in further shock as she understood his meaning. “You’re Methodist?”

His dark eyes seemed to hold a touch of defiance. “My mother was Church of England, but she attended chapel with my father.”

“Oh!” She wondered at the thought of a lady leaving her church for the lowly Methodist chapel for the sake of her husband. She thought of something. “Our cook, Mrs. Clayworth, attends chapel.”

“Does she?”

She bit her lip, afraid she’d offended him. Did he think she equated him with their cook? Actually, she’d always been curious about those attending this other sort of church. All she’d ever heard of Methodists was disdainful. The only one she knew, the cook, was firmly decided in her faith. “Maybe I can go with you some time?”

He drew back a fraction as if surprised. “Perhaps.” There was no encouragement in the reserved tone.

She shifted on her feet, wondering if he was still interested in playing tennis. Then she remembered she had a prior commitment. “A party of us is going riding this afternoon. Would you like to join us?”

He fingered a corner of the sheaf of papers he held in his hands. “I—I was just looking over some correspondence your father has given me.” He cleared his throat. “He’s away this afternoon.”

She smiled in relief. “Perfect. Join us at the stables after lunch. We’re riding to Richmond Park. It’s awfully nice there. There’s a wonderful view of the Thames from the top.” When he didn’t say anything, she suddenly understood his hesitation. “Oh, if it’s about proper clothing, you can borrow a habit of my brother’s. He’s a little stockier than you, but he has outfits in his wardrobe from when he was younger. I’ll ask the butler to take something out for you.” When he continued to hesitate, she tilted her head. “What is it?”

Again came the defiant lift of his chin. “I’ve never ridden before.”

“Never?”

A faint smile tinged his lips. “Perhaps I’ve been atop a donkey once or twice when I was a boy.”

“Well, it’s not so very different. You can have Maud. She’s a gentle mount.”

He glanced away. “I’d only slow your party down.”

“Nonsense. It’s not as if we’re racing. It’s to be a leisurely ride to Richmond Park and back. You’ll have a grand time, you’ll see, Mr. Tennent. I’ll meet you at the stables at three. You mustn’t work all day.”

Before he could refuse her, she hurried down the corridor, calling behind her, “I’ll see you at three!”

She’d go down to the stables and make sure a groom had Maud saddled and waiting.

Father would certainly not approve of a Methodist in their riding party. That was worse than Low Church! For once, Alice was thankful her father was away.

A grand time, indeed. Nick frowned at the pale horse beneath him. With a groom’s help he’d managed to mount the beast—nag, he amended, glancing down as he remembered young Victor’s derisive snort when he’d seen the horse being led out—without disgracing himself.

Miss Shepard walked up to Nick’s mare and patted her neck. “Hello, there, Maud. Aren’t you glad you’re not being left behind today?” She smiled up at Nick. “She was my first horse after I’d graduated from a pony. Father bought her for me. She’s a trustworthy soul.”

At the wistful note Nick forgot his discomfort of being atop a horse. He attempted a smile but before he could say anything, he stiffened as the groom bent down to adjust his stirrups. Nick held his tall boots tightly against the horse’s flanks. At least the animal seemed as gentle as Miss Shepard promised. It hadn’t moved since being brought out of the stables.

“Good for the glue factory,” Victor muttered with a snide look in Nick’s direction, before moving off to his own mount. Nick was tempted to box the young fellow’s ears, but the eager look on Miss Shepard’s face stopped him.

But how was he was to maintain his balance once the creature started moving? There was no pommel on the saddle, just a smooth leather seat. Nick’s knuckles were white on the reins.

Thankfully, the horse was relatively small in stature. Not like the great beast that Victor rode. The young gentleman certainly looked elegant seated atop the deep brown horse, holding the reins and riding crop loosely, looking as if he and mount had been born for each other.

Miss Shepard stood back from his horse and looked Nick up and down. “You need to sit farther back in the saddle and loosen your hold a bit. Remember, it’s not about gripping the saddle, but about balancing on your horse. She’ll carry you.”

Before he knew what she was about, she moved down to his boots and took hold of one of his ankles, causing him to jerk back in surprise. “Easy there,” she murmured. “Keep your feet bent slightly out, not gripping the horse’s flank. That’s right.” She adjusted the position of his foot to illustrate her point. “Yes, like so.”

She gave him a few more pointers, all the while touching his legs and boots to demonstrate. Unfortunately, with each movement, he grew more tense, his breathing more erratic.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes earnest, and took his hand in hers. He realized how unaware she must be of what her touch was doing to him. It only proved how young she was. “Now, hold your hands about that far apart, not closer. Don’t let the reins touch the horse’s neck.” She ran her hands up his arm, adjusting its angle. The more she spoke, the more afraid he became of moving lest he lose the correct position; the mare would undoubtedly know and take advantage.

As if reading his thoughts, Miss Shepard smiled up at him. “You’ll get the feel of it after a while.”

Victor maneuvered his horse alongside them. “Are we going or not?”

“Just a minute.” Miss Shepard’s usually polite tone held a trace of asperity.

“If I’d known you were going to give a riding lesson, I would have opted out of this excursion.”

“Well, you may still do so.”

With a sneer, Victor wheeled his horse about, causing the mare under Nick to shift. Nick couldn’t help splaying his hands on the saddle beneath him, ruining all Miss Shepard’s careful positioning.

Instead of scolding him, she immediately went to the mare’s bridle. “There, Maud, Mr. Tennent meant nothing by that. You must be patient a moment longer.” She didn’t even turn when Victor spoke to the other young lady in a loud voice.

“Come along, Lucy. They can catch up when he finally figures out how to get his horse to move.” With a snide laugh, he urged his horse forward, Lucy following behind.

Nick gritted his teeth. How he’d love the chance to show Victor a thing or two. “Perhaps this is not the right time for me to go riding.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Tennant. Victor just likes to show off. You mustn’t mind him. Now, let’s see, where were we?”

“How to get her to move.”

Miss Shepard smiled. “Right, just a very gentle contact with the horse’s mouth.” She explained some more and showed him how to bring the mare to a halt. Not until he had done so a few times was she satisfied.

“Very good.”

Before he could take any satisfaction in this small success, Miss Shepard went to her own mount, a beautiful bay mare. A groom was immediately at her side but she gave him no chance to assist her. She placed a foot in the stirrup and swung herself up in one deft move. He watched her graceful figure in a blue riding habit. She seemed perfectly at ease on her horse.

At least he needn’t be ashamed of his own appearance. The riding habit he’d borrowed—a tweed jacket, tan-colored jodhpurs, and tall boots—fit as if made for him. Even the snobby Victor had given him a keen look.

Miss Shepard turned her horse about. “Ready?”

He nodded. She conveyed the message to her horse, and with a second’s hesitation, Nick gave his own horse the command. The other riders were nowhere to be seen as they clip-clopped out of the stable yard.

Thankfully, his horse followed the other as they walked down the long, tree-lined drive that led away from the house.

Miss Shepard turned briefly to him. “We’re going to go away from the river and head uphill. The way is easy, only a gentle rise.”

Soon, they spotted the other riders farther up ahead. Nick was too busy concentrating on staying on his horse to attempt any further conversation as they rode down the lane. Before he knew it, they’d left the village behind and were among tree-studded meadows.

The tension in him began to ease as he realized his mare would keep her steady, sedate pace, and he allowed himself to enjoy the countryside. For as far as he could remember, he’d lived in the city, between its stone and brick, dirty, choking heat in summer and thick, sulfurous fog in winter.

The ride proceeded smoothly from there. Miss Shepard stayed at his side, instructing him now and again as to the proper handling of the horse.

“She pretty much knows what to do on her own. You are just her guide, to nudge her gently now and again.”

Victor rode back to them at a trot, and tried to engage Miss Shepard in conversation, but when she only answered his mocking comments in monosyllables, he rode off again, muttering about having slowed down the whole group.

Soon they could see the Thames far below them, edged in lush green foliage, small wooded islands visible here and there along its snaking course.

They continued climbing along terraced walkways. “We’ll go into the park through Sheen Gate,” she said. “I’m sure that’s the route Victor took.” A short while later they entered Richmond Park and spotted Victor and Lucy ahead. Miss Shepard quickened her horse’s pace a little, and Nick gave his own reins a slight tug to raise the horse’s head, as indicated by Miss Shepard, and tightened his knees the least bit. The horse obeyed and followed after the other one at an increased gait.

His initial fear of falling wearing off, Nick relished the faster pace. They soon caught up to the other riders.

Miss Shepard guided her horse abreast of Victor’s. “Let’s stop at Bishop’s Pond and rest a moment.”

“Had enough already?” His words were directed to Miss Shepard but he swung his gaze back toward Nick.

“No, but neither are we in any rush.” Without waiting for Victor’s answer, she slowed again until she was just ahead of Nick. She twisted in her saddle to him. “It’s a pretty spot.”

They arrived at the willow-edged pond and dismounted. Nick had another moment of uncertainty, wondering if his horse would stand still while he got down. He held the reins in one hand and swung one leg over the back of the animal. With a breath of relief, he found himself with his two feet firmly planted on solid ground.

Miss Shepard walked her horse toward him. “Let’s lead them to the pond. I’m sure they’re thirsty.” She petted Maud’s withers. “Aren’t you, dearie, after that long ride in the sun?”

The others had already left their horses at the water’s edge and were walking about the shaded glen.

Miss Shepard showed him how to remove the horse’s bit before letting them drink.

She knelt beside the water’s edge and removed her gloves. Taking a handkerchief out of her jacket pocket, she plunged it in the water. Squeezing out the excess water, she used it to wipe her forehead and cheeks. “Ah, that feels refreshing.” She grinned up at him, her rosy cheeks damp.

Without thinking, he pulled out his dry handkerchief and handed it to her, finding that around her he merely reacted instead of deliberating before an action. He envied her impulsive behavior, though she was young, not yet out of the schoolroom. His eyes traveled over her, her contours already those of a woman.

“Oh, thank you.” She took the handkerchief from him and wiped her face dry before jumping back to her feet. Refolding his handkerchief, she gave it back to him. He took it without a word. Bending down to the water, he wet it and did what she had done, squeezing it out and using it to mop his own damp forehead. The water felt cold and helped to ease the heat he felt in his face, heat that was due to more than the sun.

She took the wet handkerchief from him. “Here, we’ll spread our hankies out on this rock and they’ll be dry by the time we leave. Come, I want to show you my favorite spot.”

“What about the others?” He gestured to Lucy and Victor. Lucy sat on a boulder, fanning herself with her hat. Victor was throwing stones into the pond, causing a plopping sound with each one.

Miss Shepard shrugged. “He’s trying to scare the frogs.”

He also seemed to be ignoring Miss Shepard, for which Nick was thankful.

“Come on!” Miss Shepard urged. “We shan’t be long.”

They walked along the pond’s edge and bent down under some willows trailing their long fronds into the water. It was about ten degrees cooler in the shade.

“Isn’t it like a cave here?” The shadow and sunlight speckled her face, and he felt as if they could have been under the water, in another world.

He stared at her. Words seemed to get trapped in his throat. What was happening to him that he couldn’t form a coherent sentence?

She squatted down by the water’s edge again, this time resting her folded hands and chin on her knees. “How do you like working for my father?”

He stood beside her, observing the shadowy light on the crown of her hair. She’d tossed her hat on the ground beside her. Her hair was twisted in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, making her look older than—

“How old are you?” he asked sharply.

She jutted her fine chin out a notch. “I shall be seventeen next month.”

“Sixteen then.” His heart plummeted at the discovery of how young she truly was.

“Almost seventeen.”

He couldn’t help smiling at her insistence.

“How old are you?”

Her direct question startled him. “Twenty-three.” His lips twitched. “Last March. Eons older than you.”

She closed one eye and tilted her head upwards. “Six years, that’s not so much. But you do seem old.”

He drew his brows together at her appraisal. “How so?”

“You’re so very serious.” She nodded toward the other end of the pond. “Take Victor. He’s not so much younger than you. He’s nineteen, but he seems like a boy compared to you.”

“I’ve had to grow up a lot faster than Victor.”

“Were you always so serious?”

He mulled over the question. “I’ve never thought about whether or not I was serious.”

“You can’t always have been serious.” There was a glint in her dark blue eyes.

“Perhaps I was born serious.”

She laughed. “You do have a sense of humor.”

“Alice!” Victor’s annoyed shout came through the trees.

With a loud sigh, she stood and shook out her pleated riding skirt. “I suppose we should walk the horses.”

“Yes.” He picked up her hat and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” Her quick smile was grateful and friendly.

She probably had no idea what it did to him, making all his years of rigid self-control slip away.

She was still a child, he reminded himself as he held the feathery willow strands aside for her to walk through.

Victor stalked toward them, his hands in his pockets, his features sulky. “Are you ready yet? There’s nothing here.”

Lucy came up behind him. “Where shall we go?”

“Let’s ride up to Oliver’s Mount so we can get a good vista of the river.” Without waiting for an assent, Miss Shepard headed for the horses, which stood quietly grazing on a sunny patch of grass.

Victor hung back and gave Nick a look. “I say, old fellow, you were a sport to take that sway-backed old nag.” His lips turned upward at one corner. “You looked quite a sight on her. Your legs were practically dragging on the ground.” His voice lowered. “You know, Alice likes to put first-timers on old Maud. Sort of her secret joke, you know. But I think you’ve passed the test.” He winked. “Why don’t you turn the tables on her and try my mount? Show her what stuff you’re made of. She’s quite a horsewoman, as you’ve seen. She’d admire you to no end if she saw you on a real horse.” With a last wink, he walked away from Nick and joined Lucy, leaning down to help her mount.

Nick considered the youth’s offer. He was tempted to accept. How much different could the other horse be? He’d seemed to behave well during their ride over.

Shaking his head, he scolded himself for being a silly fool. He was too old to fall for some masculine gauntlet thrown down before him to impress a young girl.

With a sigh, Nick gathered up Maud’s reins. Just as he was about to put his foot into the stirrup, Victor led his horse up. “Well, what’d you say, old boy, have a go?” His gray eyes held an unmistakable challenge.

Ignoring the voice of reason, Nick exchanged reins with him, telling himself if he maintained a sedate pace, everything would be all right. Victor had been right about one thing, he had made a ridiculous picture on that mare, as he now observed Victor sitting atop her.

“What are you doing?” Alice drew alongside of him on her horse.

Victor smiled disarmingly. “Oh, nothing to turn a hair about. I just offered the fellow a decent mount.”

Nick wondered if the boy even knew his name.

He managed to get himself astride by himself, although this horse was considerably higher. He drew a deep breath as the horse snorted and shook his head.

Miss Shepard’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. “Are you sure you’re ready to ride Duke?”

He managed to pat the horse’s neck to show his ease, but that only caused the horse to paw the ground as if sensing Nick’s own nervousness.

Before Miss Shepard had a chance to voice any more objections, Victor started to move away from the pond. Duke immediately began following the other horse, and Nick had no choice but to concentrate on maintaining his balance. Victor got Maud to go at a much faster clip.

“Victor, slow down.” Miss Shepard’s admonition was in vain. Duke kept a good clip, determined to follow the lead horse. Nick tried to slow the horse, but that only seemed to make the horse more determined.

They reached a wide open field. Victor slowed and waited for Nick’s mount to catch up to him. “How does a real horse feel beneath you?” His smile held something nasty in it.

“Fine.” Nick sat erect, trying to remember all Miss Shepard’s directives. The horse shifted restively beneath him.

“Well, let’s try for a little canter, shall we?” Without waiting for Nick’s response, he gave a smart swat with his riding crop to Duke’s rump.

The horse responded to the whip with lightning speed. If he hadn’t already been gripping hard, Nick would have flown off. Instead, everything became a blur as he flattened himself against the horse and squeezed his thighs against its sides.

He heard Miss Shepard’s alarmed shout. “Victor, what are you doing? Mr. Tennent, just keep your balance—” The rest of her words were lost in the wind.

How in all that was holy was he supposed to stop a galloping horse?

His lips stiff with fear, his throat paralyzed, Nick hung on. The ground flew by in a dizzying mass of green, every sound drowned out by the thundering hooves against the earth. If the horse tripped on a tussock, Nick would be done for.

Why had he accepted the stupid challenge? To prove himself to some naïve young girl?

He had no more time for rational thought. All he could do was pray that he’d keep his seat. He grabbed a hunk of mane with each hand, his knees the only thing keeping him atop the beast’s great heaving body.

A hedgerow faced them. Would the horse clear it? As he braced for the jump, the horse suddenly veered to the side.

“Drop your stirrups!” He heard Miss Shepard’s scream and just in the nick of time, he let his boots slip from the irons. A split second later, he felt his hands wrenched from the mane, his body thrust from the saddle and he was sailing through the air, headlong across the hedge.