Chapter Fourteen

Morvoren

The next morning, Morvoren woke early, probably thanks to the extra sleep she'd had the previous afternoon, which was just as well, as Ysella came bouncing into her room dressed in a rust-red riding habit and carrying another over her arm.

"Good morning, good morning, good morning," she gushed with the over enthusiasm of one who habitually rises early and expects everyone else to be happy to do the same. "I've brought you my old riding habit to try on, as I thought we should go for a ride around the park before breakfast." She tossed the habit, which was of a deep royal blue, down onto the bed and continued her bouncing passage to the windows, where she threw open the curtains.

Morvoren rolled over in bed, rubbed her eyes at the bright sunlight streaming in, and yawned. It did look like a glorious morning and a ride would be fun, even if it had to be on a sidesaddle again. At least she'd now had practice so shouldn't show herself up too badly.

"I've called your maid," Ysella went on. "So now I'll run downstairs and organize some hot chocolate and toast for us. We can't ride on empty stomachs, can we?"

The chocolate and toast, served in the breakfast room, went down well, although not quite the sort of hot chocolate Morvoren was used to, being less sweet and not made with milk but merely hot water with cream added. Ysella poured it herself from a tall chocolate pot into narrow cups, and they sipped the scalding liquid as they nibbled their toast. It filled a hole.

Then it was out to the front of the house where two grooms stood holding a pair of horses easily as fine as Kit's Prinny, and one more workaday beast. At least this time Morvoren knew the etiquette was to have a leg up onto the sidesaddle, this provided by the groom holding her horse, a pretty, dapple-grey mare.

She settled onto the saddle and gathered up her reins, much more comfortable in a riding habit than she had been in Lady Ormonde's old dress, and the groom stepped back with a small bow. The one who'd been holding Ysella's horse sprang into the saddle of the third horse and bobbed his head in respect. It seemed young ladies couldn't go riding even in their own parkland without some sort of male escort.

Ysella clicked her tongue and her own horse, a rangy chestnut, broke into a long-strided walk, hooves crunching on the gravel.

Morvoren tapped her grey's sides with the one foot able to do so, and touched the other side with the end of her whip. If only she'd had her phone, she could have Googled sidesaddle technique, but that must be on the bottom of the sea. Her mare fell in beside the chestnut and the groom took his place a discreet distance behind.

Ysella hadn't stopped talking since breakfast and being on a horse didn't slow her flow any. "Your horse is Sweetlip, a name that suits her perfectly as she's the sweetest mare we own. Mama's horse, of course. She trained Sweetlip herself. And mine is Lochinvar. Kit gave him to me for my birthday, this spring." She patted Lochinvar's gleaming coppery neck with pride. "Until then I only had my old pony, who I adored, of course, but he was just a pony, so not a lady's mount. Kit said a lady needs a suitable steed." She laughed, the sound echoing through the early morning, lovely to hear. What a happy girl she was. And how devoted to Kit. "My nephew Thomas has my old pony now. He's my sister Derwa's little boy. They live in Hampshire."

"Lucky Thomas," Morvoren responded, as a reply to this torrent of information seemed appropriate, but her eyes were absorbing the spectacle of Ormonde's extensive parklands. She'd been so nervous yesterday she'd not really taken it all in. And it was beautiful. A gentle slope led down toward the lake. On the far side, thick woodland covered a steeper hillside, and where the lake curved to the north it narrowed, and a five-arched, stone bridge bestrode it.

Morvoren was glad to have been given Sweetlip, who had a very well-balanced stride and carried her head and neck well. If Lady Ormonde had schooled her, then she must be an accomplished horsewoman indeed.

As they reached the level ground beside the lake, Ysella urged Lochinvar into a gentle canter and Morvoren let Sweetlip follow along the wide green sward that followed this side of the lake. At the bridge, Ysella slowed to a walk again and their horses' hooves clattered over the stonework. On the far side another wide green path skirted the lake and a second led uphill into the woods.

"Do you hunt?" Ysella asked. "Kit has had some obstacles built along the tracks in the woods, and they're such fun to tackle. I persuaded him to have them erected because when I follow hounds it's no fun to be the one having to take to the roads with a groom. I like to keep up with the huntsman and his hounds."

Did she mean fox hunting? In Morvoren's other life she'd been very much against any sort of field sports but no doubt two hundred years ago it was considered a normal country pursuit. Better not air her views. She shook her head. "Never, but I have done some jumping, just never sidesaddle."

Ysella's brown eyes widened. "Do you mean to tell me you've ridden astride?" she exclaimed, her face alight with what could only be described as glee. "You lucky thing. I so want Kit to let me try it, but he always refuses. He says it's not at all ladylike. How did you persuade your papa to allow you to do so?"

They were riding uphill now, under the sweeping branches of mature oaks and ashes. Morvoren bit her lip. Now she'd put her foot in it. Her response had just popped out before she thought about it. As a farmer's daughter, she'd had a pony as a child, much like Ysella, but she'd taken hers to countless small horse shows and done a lot of jumping competitions. Astride, of course. So jumping was something she was used to.

"Where I come from…" she said, with caution, as she wasn't at all sure how much she should give away. "Where I come from, young ladies learn to ride astride as we think it's more natural."

This shut Ysella up for a moment. But not for long. After a long pause, she spoke again. "You do? Well, I've often said this to Kit, and when my father was alive, I said it to him, and he said I was nothing but a hoyden." She giggled. "But now I have you to cite as an example, perhaps I can prevail upon Kit to allow me to ride astride."

Hopefully she wasn't putting too much store on that. Kit didn't seem the sort of man who would give in too easily on something like this, even to the pleading of his sister.

They came to a long ride slanting gradually uphill along which lay three low jumps—a kind of brush fence, a post and rail and log pile. Almost like the cross-country fences Morvoren had been used to riding over with her pony, Pippin. Her heart did a little flip. Sidesaddle? How did you stay on over even low fences like these when you were virtually sitting on a chair on top of a horse? Well, she'd have to give it a try, although not wearing a hard hat worried her considerably.

"I'll go first," Ysella said. "Sweetlip will just follow me over, but hold her back a little so you're not right on Lochinvar's heels." She glanced back at her groom. "Eliott will ride down the side and not jump."

Well, at least if she fell off, there'd be no danger of being trampled.

Ysella urged Lochinvar into a steady canter toward the jumps. The well-schooled Sweetlip was keen to follow but obeyed Morvoren's firm hold on her reins. When Ysella had enough of a head start, Morvoren muttered a quick prayer and slackened her reins a little as her legs gripped the pommel. Eager to catch up with her friend, Sweetlip bounded forward into a springy canter.

Ahead, Ysella took the first jump, sitting well back in the saddle as she did so, and Morvoren remembered with a start that until the twentieth century everyone had ridden over jumps like that. It was called the backward seat as opposed to the forward jumping seat she was used to. Would it make a difference to Sweetlip if she folded forward as she'd been taught as a child? Only one way to find out.

The first jump felt awkwardly like a cat jump, but she folded forward surprisingly easily, despite the pommels being in the way, and bobbed up again ready for the second fence. Sweetlip clearly had found the different style confusing, even though Morvoren had given with her hands to allow her to stretch her neck forward. However, the little mare sensed her freedom of movement over the second fence, and it was altogether more comfortable and less of a cat jump. And by the third fence she'd realized her rider wasn't going to be interfering with her mouth and soared over it beautifully.

Ysella had glanced back over her shoulder after each of her jumps, and as soon as Sweetlip landed after the third fence she urged Lochinvar into a gallop, flying up the track. Confidence brimming after her success over the fences, Morvoren let Sweetlip have her head and galloped after her.

To her relief, when the track took a turn downhill again, Ysella slowed to a walk, and the horses fell in side by side, flanks heaving. Behind, the groom brought his horse to a walk a polite ten yards back.

"Goodness," Ysella said. "Who taught you to ride? I've never seen anyone jump like that before. Didn't it unseat you?"

Morvoren shook her head. "Not at all. It's a far more natural way of jumping. It helps the horse's balance."

Ysella's face lit up. "Do tell."

As they rode down the track toward the far end of the lake, Morvoren gave Ysella a lecture about the forward seat, centers of gravity for the horse and rider, and how much better it was for the horse to allow it to stretch its head and neck and how much bigger jumps could be tackled if you did so. By the time they reached the lake, Morvoren had a convert on her hands who wanted her to teach her how to jump in the forward position, "Astride, of course!"

They swung around the head of the lake, where a small sluice gate sat beside a mill, then headed back along the other bank toward the house, woodland to the right and the lake to the left.

Which was when their friendly conversation was interrupted.

From a path through the woodland came the sound of galloping hooves, and out of the trees a rider emerged, hauling hard on the mouth of his horse to steady its pace. Morvoren was beginning not to be surprised by the clothes everyone wore, but this gentleman's immaculate garb so drew her attention she didn't recognize him for a moment.

He wore elegant, tight-fitting buff trousers topped with a blue tailcoat that fitted his muscular form like a glove. Top boots had been polished to the sort of sheen you'd be able to see your face in, and when he halted his horse and took his hat off, his hair appeared to have been artistically styled into a very Grecian look with lots of curls that couldn't possibly have got that way naturally.

As he returned his hat to his head, Morvoren realized this was Captain Carlyon from the coach journey. The journey that already felt a lifetime ago.

"Why, Miss Lucas and cousin Ysella," he said, laying on the lazy charm with a shovel. "I could hardly have hoped to be so lucky as to meet you two this morning when I took my constitutional before breakfast."

Ysella dimpled at him in pleasure. "Why cousin Fitz…" she began, eyes twinkling invitingly. "It's so long since we've seen you here at Ormonde, I quite thought you'd forgot all about us. It's been so dull without you around. Are you staying with your grandfather again, or have you arrived to visit us?" She laughed. "I'm sure Kit will be pleased to see you."

Pretty unlikely.

"I'm staying with my grandfather," the captain said with a grin. "He's always most gratified to see me, as you might imagine, with me being his only male heir." He laughed in an offhand, rather smug tone that set Morvoren's hackles bristling. How could Kit and he, two cousins, be so different in every aspect? But Ysella seemed to like him, so best to be polite.

His heavy-lidded and rather insolent gaze moved on. "And Miss Lucas, what a pleasure it is to meet you again so soon." His eyes slid over her riding attire. "And so becomingly outfitted… this time."

Ysella turned questioning eyes as Morvoren forced a smile she didn't feel. "Captain Carlyon and I met on the mail coach, when I was otherwise attired."

Ysella chuckled. "Well, in that case you must be old friends and will need no introduction." Her eyes went to her cousin's face. "And I'm sure you will agree that this habit is much more becoming on dear Morvoren, with her eyes and complexion, than it was on me last year. How lucky it is that Morvoren is much my size, even down to her feet. Such bad luck to be shipwrecked the way she was without any of her trousseau."

Morvoren would have pinched Ysella's arm had she been close enough, but probably she wouldn't have had the sense to recognize it as a warning to stop talking. Knowing her luck, she'd have asked why she was pinching her. Morvoren groaned inwardly. Now the captain was privy to some of her story. Why couldn't Ysella have kept her mouth shut? Morvoren plastered on her sweetest smile, but it was too late.

The captain benefitted her with a curious stare. "Your story sounds most fascinating, Miss Lucas. I had no idea you'd undergone such adventures. Perhaps you might be happy to tell the tale yourself, now we are better acquainted?"

Damn this interminable polite conversation you had to stick to. "No, thank you," Morvoren said, hoping he'd take the hint. "It was so traumatic I'd rather not talk about it."

"So romantic," Ysella said, on a gushy breath. "Like a heroine in a book." She batted her eyelashes at her cousin in a way one could only describe as coquettish. It was all too easy to fall into the Regency way of thinking.

"Very much so," came the captain's reply. Perhaps Morvoren was reading too much into it, but she had a distinct sense of him wanting to find out more, and not for a good reason.

"For how long are you staying with your grandfather this time?" Ysella asked, as her chestnut laid its ears back at the captain's horse. Something Morvoren would have quite liked to do to its rider.

He smiled, a charming smile but a villainous one. Or maybe Morvoren was just biased. "For a week, at the most. I have a new posting to Cornwall that I must take up shortly. I've been visiting friends in Devon, and should be able to visit them again from time to time." He laughed. "They have a very pretty daughter and I'm anxious to further my acquaintance with her."

Ysella pouted. "Prettier than me, Cuz?"

This time his laugh was genuine. "How could any girl be prettier than you, little minx. But this young lady has a fortune to her name, and as, despite my place as only male grandson at the moment, I'm certain my uncle will produce a boy before too long, I need to marry into money. So her fortune does much to increase her beauty in my eyes."

Ysella gave a snort of laughter. "Always so open with your intentions, Cuz. And I love you for it. I should like to meet this young lady one day, if you have your wish and she becomes your wife."

He laughed in return. "And so you shall, so you shall. But not yet. She has no idea of my intentions, so after a brief sojourn with my grandfather, to make sure he hasn't forgotten my existence, I'll be off west again to take up my new post from where I should be able to continue our acquaintance and hopefully to press my suit."

Ysella reached out a hand and patted his arm. "I'm sure she'll have no trouble in falling for your charms."

How sorry Morvoren felt for this unknown girl whose possible wealth had rendered her attractive to such a cad as Captain Carlyon, for cad she felt certain he was. The fact that Kit so plainly disapproved of him was no doubt coloring her opinion.

"We're riding back for breakfast now," Ysella said, as the horses jogtrotted along the grassy track and a flight of ducks took off from the lake's mirrored surface. "Perhaps you'd care to return with us and take breakfast?" More batting of her long lashes. Of course, Morvoren was used to the ways of teenage girls in her own world, having not so long ago been one herself. However, she had a strong feeling that it wasn't the way Miss Ysella Carlyon, sister of a viscount, should be behaving with any man, not even her cousin. She had far too inviting an air about her.

Time to take a stand. "I'm sure Captain Carlyon has his own breakfast awaiting him at Denby," Morvoren said, with as much authority as she could muster. She was, after all, a good five years older than Ysella and had a lot more experience with men than she did.

They had come to where the track ran up the gentle rise toward the house, and here, thank goodness, as she didn't think Kit would be amused if they were to bring the captain back to breakfast, their unwanted escort declared he had to return to Denby.

"I shall be back to call upon you tomorrow afternoon," he promised, tipping his hat at them, but mainly at Ysella, who was, after all, his cousin. Then he looked straight at Morvoren, one sardonic eyebrow raised. "I shall certainly look forward to furthering my acquaintance with you, Miss Lucas."

Ysella favored him with the sweetest of smiles. Anyone who could withstand that would have to possess a hard heart indeed. "We shall look forward enormously to your visit, Cuz. I'm sure my brother will be delighted to see you again."

The captain turned his horse toward the woodland, pausing as he reached the edge to glance back over his shoulder.

"Humph," Morvoren said, turning back to Ysella. "That is a man with a high opinion of himself."

Ysella giggled. "I believe most young men are the same, or so my brother says." She shrugged. "But Kit is such a killjoy at times I know he must be exaggerating. He never wants me to have any fun but to end up like my sister Derwa, married to a stuffy old baronet and with two children already in her nursery. Or like my sister Meliora, married to a banker and already increasing. Pft. Their lives must be so dull." She twisted in the saddle to peer back toward where the Captain had disappeared. "I want something more interesting for myself, and I think, now that you're here, I shall begin with riding astride and you teaching me how to jump in the forward seat. That will be splendidly exciting."

Morvoren swallowed. Being friends with Ysella was going to be difficult.