Chapter Five

Penelope discovered the next morning that the others at Pledwick Manor didn't rise early. Thus, she arrived at the stables with no one else around other than the grooms and the horses, which suited her. She'd tossed and turned throughout the night, her mind spinning with all she knew and all she needed to sort out. She did her best thinking when enjoying equine company.

"Are you wishing to ride this morning, miss?" The groomsman who asked the question didn't entirely keep his doubt hidden. She understood and wasn't offended. Her boots were suited to a visit to the stables, and she was dressed warmly for the winter air, but she hadn't donned a riding habit and wasn't wearing her riding gloves.

"My home in Ireland is a horse estate, and I could not contain my curiosity any longer," she said. "I've come to see Mr. Layton's stables and to determine if my suspicions are correct: that he has very elegant preferences when it comes to his horses."

Pride shone in the groomsman's eyes. "Everyone who knows horses is impressed with Mr. Layton's stable."

Just as she'd hoped. "I will keep out of the way of the staff," she said, "but I would very much like to wander about, meeting the horses."

He nodded. "Of course, miss. Some of them belong to the visiting gentlemen."

Here was an opportunity for an insight. "Which is Mr. Greenberry's?"

"Morwenna," he said. "But Mr. Greenberry's out for his usual morning ride, so the mare's not here just now."

An early riser who rode every day. They had that very much in common. Did he realize that? Would it make a difference if he did?

Penelope stepped up to the nearest stall, where a chestnut gelding with a slightly arched neck and a shorter back quietly nibbled on hay. The animal was very pretty but also had a build that promised a smooth ride. The horse walked to the stall gate. Penelope allowed it a moment to smell her and decide she was welcome. Then she rubbed the gelding's forehead, softly running her hand toward his muzzle. She shifted her hand to pat his neck. He continued chewing the hay in his mouth, both undistracted and unconcerned.

Though she'd only just met "Autumn Ember," as the plaque beside the stall gate identified him, there was such familiarity in the interaction that her mind could ponder on her difficulties with a degree of calm.

She knew that Niles—she'd met too many Messrs. Greenberry in Cornwall to keep them all straight without resorting to Christian names at least in her own thoughts— had intentionally avoided being present when she'd arrived from Ireland. She further knew that he was lying about the reason he'd stayed away.

What she didn't know was what had changed his mind after so much effort to finalize this match. And she hadn't the first idea what to do next.

She moved to the next stall and made the acquaintance of a black mare with the lines of an Arabian and a striking white star and white sock. The mare was more standoffish but also decidedly more curious. Penelope thoroughly enjoyed interacting with horses whose minds she could practically see spinning. "Midnight," according to this horse's plaque, could almost certainly see Penelope's mind spinning. Niles hadn't met her yet when he'd changed his mind, so it couldn't have been an objection to her personally. It couldn't have been her Irish origins, though that'd give some Englishmen pause, because he'd already known that about her. It couldn't be his family's objections; they'd not had any.

Perhaps he'd never been in favor of the match but hadn't told his family, or had told them and had been ignored. Or maybe he'd stayed away because he was a spoiled princeling having a tantrum. Or maybe the Greenberrys were enacting some scheme to convince Liam to concede more in the marriage agreements.

The only thing they could be holding out for was Fairfield.

The Greenberrys she'd interacted with in Cornwall hadn't so much as mentioned the property, though, which suggested the arrangement didn't bother them .

If anyone had changed his mind, it was Niles. Which meant his mind was the one she needed to change back.

A little filly running around a small pen outside the stable captured Penelope's attention, and she wandered out into the early morning light to watch. The young horse had a very elegantly high step, a highly sought-after trait in horses ridden by those wishing to appear very impressive. If Mr. Layton didn't intend to keep the filly, he could ask a hefty sum for her.

Penelope's eyes wandered beyond the paddock and stables and out over Pledwick Manor's side acres. This area of England, with its starkly stunning moors, was quite different from her family estate in the Wicklow Mountains, which was different still from what she'd seen of Cornwall. But nowhere she'd ever been had managed to supplant Fairfield in her heart.

She had made the journey to Surrey several times since she'd inherited it from her father's uncle when she was still a child. From her first moments on the land that was hers, it had felt like home. It was peace and hope and the promise of freedom, of a life she could choose. No matter that there were more vast and impressive estates, she couldn't imagine loving a place more.

From the very beginning, Mother had insisted it was folly to think of Fairfield as anything other than bait to snare a husband. It would be taken from her, Mother had warned. She wouldn't have the running of it, Mother had insisted.

It wasn't until she was grown that Penelope had learned that all Mother's warnings would prove correct if Penelope didn't take pains to avoid it. And she'd further discovered that not marrying at all wasn't a truly viable option either. Merchants, men of business, creditors, potential purchasers of horses, Society, neighbors... seemingly everyone looked painfully askance at a single lady living alone and attempting to establish herself as a successful woman of business, even when she was particularly qualified in the area of business she was pursuing.

"Have we fresh hay in Morwenna's stall?" someone in the stables called out.

"Just tossed it in now," someone else replied.

Morwenna was Niles's mount. Niles, who had hidden here rather than return to Cornwall and follow through on their arrangement.

"You agreed to this," she whispered, looking out over the land, knowing he was out there somewhere. "I can't simply let you change your mind. I'd be destroyed."

But how did one go about persuading a gentleman of wealth and birth, one who'd already shown himself willing to use dishonesty and underhandedness, to honor an agreement that was not yet binding?

And do I actually want to marry someone like that?

She shook her head as she walked along the paddock fence. A lady who needed a husband willing to allow her the freedom and consideration she was asking for could hardly be picky. "Beggars," as John Heywood had written, "should be no choosers." And, "Women who kick against the rocks," as her mother had said, "are destined to be hurt and disappointed."

She'd taken some comfort in how uninvolved Niles had been with the marriage negotiations. It increased the chances that he would simply leave her alone in the years to come, and then what sort of gentleman he was wouldn't matter overly much.

How was this the best she hoped for? A husband whose best trait was that even with effort, he couldn't have been made to care less about her than he did? She had long ago decided that apathy was preferable to cruelty in a husband. But indifference was also a far cry from caring, even farther from love.

Be no chooser , she reminded herself. She had reached twenty-five years old without anyone showing a tender interest in her. Finding someone who loved her had long ago been shown too remote a possibility. She needed to focus on what was real and within reach. I am going to sort you out, Niles Greenberry. I have to.

Liam arrived at the stables just as her steps brought her back to that building. "I should have realized you would be looking over the horses."

"I can't help myself." She glanced back at the sweet filly. "I'm seldom happier than when I'm with horses."

"One would think you like horses better than people."

She shrugged. "Sometimes."

He looked instantly nervous. "You shouldn't jest about that among people who don't know you well. You'll give offense, Penelope, and I suspect our welcome here is a bit shaky as it is."

"Our host has given no indication that he would toss out two people on whom his dear friend and weeks-long houseguest had played so unkind a trick." Penelope was depending on that, in fact.

She had called upon every bit of persuasive reasoning she could think of to convince her brother to make this unplanned journey to Yorkshire. He had been ready to abandon the match entirely. He'd insisted during breakfast the morning after that awkward supper at Niles's grandparents' home that returning to Ireland and finding a "less complicated match" was their best option. Only by pointing out that returning with a still- unmarried sister after having been a bit smug about securing a connection to such a well-respected English family would be horribly embarrassing did she convince Liam to take this drastic step in the hope of bringing the whole thing about after all. She couldn't give up after less than twenty-four hours.

"While I have not seen all the horses, those I have seen are quite impressive," she said. "You should have an enjoyable ride this morning."

"Do you not intend to ride?" Liam eyed her. "You aren't dressed for it."

She sighed. "I wished to meet all the horses first. If my horses had been stabled here rather than having been sent to Fairfield, I would be out on the moors already."

That was another complication she needed to think through. She'd made the journey from Ireland assuming she would be taking up permanent residence at Fairfield after the wedding. Her horses had been sent there. Her books had been. Her little trinkets and personal treasures.

She was supposed to finally be going home.

Instead, she'd been rejected. Rather thoroughly, in fact.

She shook off the thought. She needed to keep her wits, not grow maudlin.

"Are you wishing to ride, sir?" The same groomsman who had spoken with her earlier addressed Liam.

"Yes," he said. "A mare with some spirit but not too much, if you have one. I'm not looking for a challenge this morning, but I'd also rather not be bored."

The groomsman nodded and returned to the interior of the stable.

"Had you a chance to speak with Mr. Greenberry last evening?" she asked Liam.

"He didn't speak," Liam said. "And no one seemed to expect him to."

Ought she to have given the possibility of his being a little simple more consideration? He'd said almost nothing to her. Certainly not enough to answer so significant a question. Her initial impression had been that he was embarrassed, perhaps feeling a little guilty.

"Perhaps he is a bit shy," she said, hoping to keep Liam from growing discouraged enough to abandon it all. "As we get to know Mr. Greenberry better, he'll grow more friendly. I'm certain of it."

"I am trying to be," Liam said. "These gentlemen hail from very exalted circles. We are very much out of our depth here."

"Mr. Greenberry agreed to this match once." She directed the reassurance more at herself than him. "That leaves open the possibility that he will do so again no matter his high connections."

"I really do hope so, Penelope." Liam's gaze flitted over the paddock but didn't linger on any one horse. "But I also need to be realistic."

She smiled at him. "You be realistic. I'll be optimistic. Between the two of us, we'll find the answers we're looking for."