5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

The first rays of the morning sun had barely begun to chase away the chill from the stables when Richard stepped inside. He breathed in the familiar scent of hay and leather, a comforting aroma that spoke of earthy beauty and the simple pleasures of country life. His boots echoed softly against the cobblestone floor, a rhythmic accompaniment to the gentle nickers and shuffling of hooves.

"Miss Theresa?" Richard said, his voice laced with mild surprise as he rounded the corner to find his daughters' governess amidst the ponies, well before the household typically stirred for breakfast.

"Mr. Bell!" Theresa exclaimed, turning towards him, her cheeks flushed with the crisp morning air. Her brown eyes sparkled with childlike wonder—a stark contrast to her usual reserved demeanour. "I was just admiring the ponies. They're such darlings."

"Indeed, they are," Richard agreed, watching as Eliza's pony nuzzled Theresa's open palm. The sight was heartwarming: Theresa, whom life had not always been kind to, sharing a moment of pure joy with creatures so innocent and free.

"Eliza's pony seems to have taken quite a liking to you," Richard observed with a smile, stepping closer.

"His name is Duck," Theresa said, her laughter bubbling forth like a melody that danced in the cool air. "I couldn't believe it when Eliza told me. A pony named Duck—it's positively delightful."

Richard chuckled alongside her, the sound mingling with the soft cooing of pigeons roosting in the rafters. "Yes, Eliza has a unique way of seeing the world," he mused, affection warming his chest at the thought of his youngest daughter. "She insists that there's no better name for a pony who waddles more than he trots."

"Then Duck is most aptly named." Theresa reached out to stroke the pony's shaggy mane, her touch light and tender. "I've never seen children bond with animals quite like your daughters do."

"Ah, well, animals have a way of understanding us better than we understand ourselves sometimes," Richard replied, leaning casually against a wooden post, his gaze lingering on Theresa. "They can be the most patient of teachers and the most loyal of friends."

"Something tells me your daughters have learned that philosophy from their father," Theresa said, a soft smile playing at her lips, yet her eyes held a hint of wistfulness.

"Perhaps," Richard conceded, allowing himself a moment of pride. "But I suspect you have a natural affinity for them as well."

"Maybe," Theresa murmured, her gaze flitting down for an instant before meeting his again. "I've always dreamt of being close to horses, feeling the strength and grace beneath me. But dreams are just that for some of us—fleeting and untouchable."

"Dreams are the seeds from which reality can bloom," Richard said, a determined glint in his clear blue eyes. "And it seems to me that you might enjoy the company of horses just as much outside these stables."

"Outside? You mean…" Theresa trailed off, her astonishment evident as she stared at him.

"Every creature deserves the chance to run free under the open sky," he said, his words carrying the weight of a promise. "And you, Theresa Wilkes, are no exception."

"Thank you, Mr. Bell," Theresa said, gratitude shimmering in her voice. "That would be...quite something."

"Then it's settled," Richard declared. "After breakfast tomorrow, we'll begin. I shall teach you myself, as I have my daughters."

"Oh, I…" Theresa began to protest, but trailed off when she saw his decisive expression. Finally, she dipped a small curtsy. "I shall look forward to it very much." She glanced about. "And now, if you will excuse me. I sent the girls in to wash their hands before breakfast; I must catch up with them and begin learning about their routines and assess where they are in their education."

Richard offered a small bow, watching her pause to pet Duck's soft nose one more time before she left the stable. With a wry twist of his lips, he followed her inside the house.

"Good morning, Mr. Bell," his housekeeper, Mrs. Babcock, greeted him as he took his boots off in the hall.

"Good morning, Babby." He smiled teasingly at her. Mrs. Babcock had been the housekeeper at Belle Haven before he was born. A thought struck him, and he stopped. "Babby. We have some trunks of clothes that belonged to my mother and sister stored up in the attic, do we not?"

"Indeed we do."

"Would there be any riding habits in there that could be altered to fit our new governess? I would like her to be able to ride out with the girls."

"I'm sure there would be something, sir." Mrs. Babcock paused, then said delicately, "Miss Wilkes is rather, ah, fuller of figure than Miss Alice was, God rest her soul, but I'm sure there would be something of your mother's that would do."

"See to it, please," Richard requested. "Before tomorrow morning, if possible. I plan to give her a riding lesson this time tomorrow."

The housekeeper bowed her head respectfully, and Richard strode on, heading for the dining room and breakfast, smiling as he heard the chatter of high, girlish voices. Some people would have confined their children to the nursery for meals, but Richard much preferred the company of his children to eating alone. He paused outside the door, silent on his stockinged feet, as he heard Clara ask her new governess a challenging question.

"Aren't you worried about the scandal, Miss Theresa?"

Theresa paused with her cup of tea halfway to her lips, before placing it carefully back on the saucer and looking at Clara. The eldest girl's eyes were bright with challenge.

Here it comes , Theresa thought. The first real test . The girls had tried her out the previous night, asking her to break a rule, and she had shown them that she wouldn't bend for them. Now they were going to test her commitment to them.

Theresa completely understood. Mrs. Hatton hadn't passed on the exact details of how many governesses had come and gone - perhaps she hadn't known - but the maid who'd woken Theresa that morning had muttered cynically under her breath that there wasn't much point getting to know her, as she'd likely be gone within the week.

"I'm not afraid of scandal, Clara," Theresa said placidly. In the bright morning sunshine, she surveyed the three little girls who sat in a row opposite her. It could not be more obvious that they were not really sisters. Clara - the natural daughter of Richard's sister - was the only one who at all resembled him, with her dark hair and blue eyes. The mother of Anna, his illegitimate half-sister, must have been Chinese, for Anna's silky straight black hair, golden skin and tilted golden-brown eyes positively screamed ancestry from that country. And the youngest, Eliza, the foundling left at the church altar, had rich brown skin and eyes and tightly curling black hair which indicated that one or both of her parents hailed from Africa or perhaps the Caribbean.

"Nobody stays," Anna said in a small voice. "No matter how good we try to be."

"Sometimes they take one look at me and leave because I'm brown and ugly," Eliza said, tears welling in her eyes, and Theresa's heart broke for them. Jumping to her feet, she strode around the table and bent to pull Eliza into a hug.

"You are not ugly, you are beautiful! One of my best friends is brown, did you know that? Her name is Molly and her parents came from India, but they died and she came to the orphanage. You're so lucky you have a father who loves you all and will make sure you never have to go to a place like that, and now you have me too." She said it fiercely, reaching out to draw Anna into her embrace too, and suddenly Clara scrambled out of her chair and hugged her around the waist.

"You won't leave us?" Anna said, her voice trembling.

"Never," Theresa vowed. "I'm staying until all of you are grown up and married with children of your own, and then I'll be their governess so you never have to lose me." Her throat was tight with tears she refused to shed. These little girls had already lost too much.

A slight noise at the door made her look up to see Richard standing there. For a brief moment she panicked, thinking she had overstepped, but he met her eyes and mouthed "Thank you."

Theresa cleared her throat. "Now, here's your father to take breakfast with us, so everyone, please take your seats. Clara, there's far too much jam on that toast, it's not good for you. Scrape some of it off, please."

"Yes, Miss Theresa," Clara said docilely, giving her an almost worshipful look, and Theresa knew she'd won the first battle to win the girls' loyalty and trust. There would be more to come, likely enough when she opened the mathematics or history books and asked them to knuckle down to learning, but she'd made a good start. And she could tell by the smile on her employer's face that he was pleased with her efforts.

The following morning, Theresa came out for her lesson after breakfast, the three girls following her out and taking seats on a bench in front of the stable. Theresa wore a dark green habit which had been hastily altered to fit her, and a pair of elderly boots the housekeeper had produced from somewhere. She felt awkward and the bulky skirt swished about her legs: she held it in one hand, unsure what to do with the extra fabric.

The morning air was cool and laced with the earthy scent of hay as Richard led Ballerina out into the courtyard. The bay mare's breath plumed in gentle bursts, mingling seamlessly with the mist that clung to the ground. Theresa, standing by the stone archway leading to the stables, watched with wide, incredulous eyes.

"Your own horse?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Indeed," Richard replied, patting Ballerina's neck affectionately. "She is steady and has carried me through many a tricky situation. I trust her completely, and so can you."

Theresa's gaze flickered over the graceful mare, standing patiently waiting, a lady's side-saddle placed upon her back. Theresa took a half-step back, her hands knotting the fabric of her skirt.

"Sir, I couldn't possibly—"

"Please?" His tone held the warm timbre of encouragement. "I insist. It would be my honour to give you this lesson."

"But to ride... such a noble animal. I fear I may not have the aptitude." She was suddenly more afraid of somehow hurting Ballerina with her clumsiness, than of falling off and hurting herself.

"Ah, but I've seen you with the ponies," he said, a smile playing upon his lips. "How you speak to them, how they nuzzle into your palm for more of your affection. You have a natural way, Theresa. It's a rare gift."

Her fingers brushed against Ballerina's sleek coat, the mare nuzzling her hand in return. The longing she felt was a yearning too profound to be veiled, and she was sure Richard could see it on her face. Yet still, she hesitated, the weight of unworthiness anchoring her resolve.

"Truly, sir," she protested weakly, "I do not wish to impose."

"An imposition? Never," Richard assured her, his gaze softening. "It's an absolute pleasure."

He extended his hand toward her, an invitation plain in his blue eyes. Theresa's breath hitched, caught between the life she had known and the one unfolding before her. With a tentative step, she placed her hand in his, the warmth of his grasp bolstering her courage.

"Very well," she conceded, the faintest quiver in her voice betraying her excitement. "If you are certain."

"Never more so," he said, guiding her to the mounting block and clicking his fingers. Ballerina followed them to the block without even his hand on the reins, a perfectly trained picture of patience as she aligned herself beside Theresa. "Now, let us begin."

As Richard instructed Theresa on the basics of mounting, her initial trepidation began to dissipate. Every word from him was a lifeline thrown across the expanse of her doubts. When at last she settled into the saddle, the world around her seemed to both expand and focus all at once. Even the bulky skirts of the habit suddenly seemed to fall correctly once she was in the saddle.

"See?" Richard said, stepping back to appraise her with pride. "You're a natural, Theresa."

"Perhaps," she replied, the corners of her mouth curving upward. A laugh, light and unburdened, escaped her as she took in her newfound viewpoint from atop Ballerina. Her heart hammered with exhilarating possibility, the joy of it lighting up her face like the first rays of sun cresting the horizon.

"Keep your back straight, and don't grip too tightly," Richard instructed, his voice steady and reassuring. "Trust Ballerina – she knows what she's about."

Theresa nodded, absorbing his every word as she adjusted her posture. She felt the mare's muscles tense and relax under her, a living dance she was now part of. Taking up the reins as Richard directed, she let out a tentative breath, her fingers tightening just enough to feel the connection between her will and the horse's obedient response.

"Walk on," she whispered—a spell cast between species—and Ballerina obeyed, her steps deliberate and sure.

A gasp of delight escaped Theresa as they moved together, the sensation unlike anything she'd felt before: the rhythmic sway, the soft jostle, the wind whispering secrets in her ear. Her initial fear evaporated, replaced by a surge of confidence that coursed through her veins like fire.

"Look at you, Miss Theresa!" Clara exclaimed, clapping her hands.

"Quite the equestrienne," Richard observed, a note of pride in his voice that made Theresa flush with pleasure.

Riding along the fence, she glanced down at the girls, their faces alight with joy, mirroring the elation that bubbled within her own chest. The world from atop Ballerina's back was a tapestry woven with new textures and hues, each thread a revelation of life's simple wonders—freedom, movement, connection.

"Lean forward slightly when you turn," Richard advised, walking parallel to them, his gaze never straying from Theresa's form.

She leaned, and Ballerina responded, their movements syncing in a delicate ballet. Theresa's heart soared as she navigated the gentle curve, laughter spilling from her lips—a sound rich with the discovery of her own capabilities.

"Good! Excellent!" Richard encouraged, and Theresa's smile deepened, the corners of her eyes crinkling with pure, unfettered happiness.

"Now you can ride with us every day!" Anna cried out with delight, jumping up and down with excitement.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Theresa said with a small laugh. "I'm sure your father needs Ballerina; I cannot be taking her from him."

Richard snorted dismissively. "Theresa, I have fifty horses here I could ride. Some of them will benefit from my closer attention, indeed! I will trust no other horse but Ballerina to look after you; from this moment, she is at your disposal."

Theresa's mouth fell open in astonishment at such largesse. "Oh, but… I…" she faltered.

"Say you will, Miss Theresa!" Eliza begged, her curls bouncing as she nodded emphatically. "Duck would enjoy the company," she added with the earnest solemnity that only a child attributing camaraderie to ponies could muster.

Theresa's laugh escaped in a lilting cascade as joy poured through her. "Well, if it is to please Duck," she teased, glancing at Richard and seeing laughter reflected in his face too. "I shall be happy to accept."

"Either I or one of my trusted grooms will ride with you always," Richard promised.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. While some might see it as a lack of faith in her, Theresa knew she would be glad to always have expert help available lest she get into difficulties, or worse, should one of the children have trouble with their pony.

"Now," Richard said with a grin, "let's try a trot."