Chapter Eighteen

Morvoren

Ysella and Morvoren had ridden over the jumps a good ten times, with Ysella's seat improving until she could have passed for a budding modern showjumper. Both Lochinvar and Sweetlip seemed much happier now their riders were giving with their hands and allowing them to stretch their necks as they took each fence.

"This is so much better than riding sidesaddle," Ysella said as they paused for breath after the last gallop up the track. "I shall have to ask Kit to put more jumps up. I feel so much more in rhythm with Lochinvar, and he feels as though he's taking off like a bird as he stretches over the jumps. It's so helped by being astride. Why on earth do men keep this method of riding to themselves? How selfish they are not to want us women to ride like this."

"I'm sure one day it'll become the normal thing for ladies to ride astride," Morvoren said, thinking of the fun she'd had with her pony as a child and teenager. "But probably not in your lifetime." Probably not for another hundred years, but she wasn't going to say that.

Ysella nodded as though satisfied and turned Lochinvar downhill toward the mill at the end of the lake.

Relieved she'd dropped the subject, Morvoren let Sweetlip fall in behind her as they rode between the trees, just a hint of the reflected glory of the lake showing between the leafy branches.

They'd nearly reached the edge of the woodland where the ground levelled out at the lake's edge when a shout sounded from up ahead. "Hey, you two. Stop right there!"

Two riders were coming past the mill in a canter, and one of them was waving his arm. Oh no. Kit and Sam Beauchamp who were clearly not up to their eyes in paperwork in the estate office as Ysella had vowed they would be.

"Oh, bugger it." The unladylike words popped out of Ysella's mouth before she had time to think, and she clapped one hand over her mouth as though to hold them in. Too late. Wherever had she learned to swear like that?

They stood still. There wasn't really much else they could do, under the circumstances. Kit and Mr. Beauchamp rode up, both slightly red in the face and angry.

"My God, Ysella," Kit shouted, his eyes flashing in fury. "What are you two doing out here dressed like this? And astride your horses? How unladylike can you get? We took you for a pair of horse thieves."

His eyes went to Morvoren. "And Miss Lucas. To say I am shocked that you've encouraged my sister in such hoydenish behavior is an underestimation in the extreme. I thought better of you, I have to say, even though I did not of Ysella."

Lochinvar curvetted as Ysella's hold on his reins tightened. "I made Morvoren do it," she burst out. "You cannot blame her for this. It was all my idea and I forced her into it so she could show me how to ride astride and teach me to jump in the forward position." Her eyes flashed as angrily as her brother's. "And I can tell you, Kitto, that if you took the trouble to let her teach the forward position to you as well, you would have far more fun out hunting and your horse would go more willingly over obstacles."

Morvoren stayed silent. Best not to interrupt the two angry siblings.

Sam Beauchamp moved his solid chestnut closer to Sweetlip. "Miss Lucas, I presume. I haven't had the pleasure of your acquaintance yet. Samuel Beauchamp at your service." His gaze fixed on Morvoren's face, possibly trying hard to avoid looking at what she was wearing.

"You can both ride home with us immediately," Kit snapped. "Before any of our tenants or staff see you."

Ysella lowered her head but not because she was contrite. The naughty girl was trying hard not to laugh.

Kit sighed. "You've already been observed, haven't you?"

"Only the downstairs servants in the kitchen, and they didn't see us on our horses."

"You are incorrigible." Kit's eyes blazed. "I despair of you ever becoming enough of a lady for Mama to take you to London for the season."

"Maybe I don't want to go to London for the season," Ysella retorted, whipping Lochinvar around so he was facing the long green track along the side of the lake. "And maybe I don't want to do as you say. You're only my brother, not my father." She dug her heels into her horse's sides and he leapt forward from a standstill into a fast canter. She slapped her reins back and forth against his neck to drive him ever faster as she disappeared along the lakeside track as fast as she could go.

The other horses skittered on the spot in their eagerness to join in. "Bloody girl," Kit said, turning to Sam. "I'll have to go after her. Can you escort Miss Lucas back to the house at a more decorous pace and make sure she goes straight upstairs to change? I'll see you back there."

And with that, he spurred his own horse after his sister, leaving Morvoren alone with Sam.

They stood in a shocked silence for a moment or two before Sam looked across and smiled warily, concern in his grey eyes. "I must apologize, Miss Lucas, for having to escort you back under guard." The concern was replaced with a twinkle. He seemed a very stolid, dependable sort.

Morvoren smiled. "That's quite all right, Mr. Beauchamp. It will be a pleasure to ride in your company."

They rode back far more sedately than Kit and Ysella had done along the edge of the lake. A pair of beautiful swans glided in tranquil calm across the mirrored surface at one end, and at the other, lilies were just opening their porcelain flowers to the morning sun. Very idyllic. And no sign of either of the two Carlyons.

No sign of them in the stable yard either, where two young lads, eyes carefully averted, came running forward to take the horses as Morvoren slid from Sweetlip's saddle.

"It's quite all right," she said to Sam. "I can find my way back to my room by myself. And don't worry, my maid will be waiting to make sure I'm quite the girl again before you see me next."

He clicked his heels together smartly and bowed. "I shall return to the Estate Office in that case and get on with my work." He paused. "I trust you will give Miss Ysella my regards, and…" He paused again and licked his lips. "Compliment her from me on her excellent seat at a gallop."

Morvoren met his gaze and found his grey eyes dancing with amusement. "Thank you, Mr. Beauchamp. I will pass on your message."

*

Kit

Girls. Why werethey so infernally difficult to manage and why did they always want to do something you would have expressly forbidden if they'd asked you? Kit threw his horse's reins to a stable lad and stomped into the house in pursuit of his sister. There being no sign of her meant she must have arrived a good minute or two before him. That'd teach him for buying her such a good horse.

In the servants' hall, every single one of them kept their heads down, not wanting him to accuse them of complicity in Ysella's misbehavior, presumably.

She wasn't in the great hall, thank goodness, so he hurried through it and strode up the stairs two at a time. The long landing their bedrooms opened off lay empty. He approached her door and hesitated. She might well be in the process of removing the offending garments. He knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Nothing.

"Ysella, are you in there?"

Still nothing.

"Ysella, I'm coming in. I hope you're decent."

Still nothing. Be it on her own head. He turned the handle and pushed the door open, holding himself ready to beat a hasty retreat.

Ysella was lying face down on her bed, still in her boy's clothes, her feet, in a pair of his own scuffed old buckle shoes, hanging off the end. She didn't look at him.

He closed the door, walked with as much determination as he could over to the bed and sat down on the far-too pink upholstered chair beside it.

She still didn't look at him.

"Ysella," he tried, intending to begin with admonition, but his determination was rapidly failing and the humor of the situation was replacing it. A chuckle escaped him.

Her head whipped round. Her red and swollen eyes told him she'd been crying.

He shook his head in exasperation. What was there about his youngest sister that she could always swing him around to her way of thinking without so much as a lift of her finger, and his best attempts at discipline always went awry? It boded ill for any husband she managed to snare—she'd run rings around the poor sap.

"You do know that it is most unbecoming for a young lady to be seen by anyone whilst wearing breeches?" he tried, but couldn't keep a straight face. Her woebegone expression was far too comical.

She pushed herself upright and a matching chuckle escaped her. "But it was such fun, Kitto. And it's so much nicer to ride astride than on a silly sidesaddle in a habit with flappy skirts. So much more natural. I can quite see why you men so selfishly have kept it to yourselves all this time. Afraid we women would show you up if we got to ride the same way as you. We're bound to be better at it than you."

Kit sighed. Her argument had reason behind it. He wouldn't like to have to ride on a sidesaddle in a dress, so he could see why she didn't want to. But there was no getting around the fact that social etiquette insisted a girl should ride in a manner befitting a young lady, and riding astride did not fit that category. "I do understand," he said, all his anger floating away. "And I do commiserate with you and Morvoren and wish that it were different. But unfortunately, it's not, and you should ride the way all other young ladies ride or risk the approbation of society."

Her eyes narrowed, but her good humor didn't leave her. "But what if we were to ride like this only in the early mornings, when no one else is about? Could we? Please?"

He pressed his lips together, fighting the appeal in her wide brown eyes. Drat the girl. "Well," he said, regretting the words as they left his lips. "Well, perhaps just once a week. And at the crack of dawn. And not the two of you alone. You'll have to ride with me so I can make certain you're safe."

Or was this just an excuse to ride out with Morvoren, who'd looked so becoming in his blue breeches and that cream shirt?

Ysella launched herself off the bed and into his arms before he had time to dwell on that thought. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Kitto! You are the best of brothers. And perhaps Morvoren can teach you the forward seat over our jumps." She frowned. "And now that jumping is so much easier, can you not send the gardeners out to build some more for me? All over the estate? I so love jumping, as you know, and it's even better while astride."

Trying to disentangle himself from her limpet-like hold, Kit opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a tentative knocking on the door.

"Come in," Ysella cried, all trace of pique gone.

Morvoren came in, still strangely alluring in her breeches and shirt, and reminding Kit disturbingly of when he'd fished her from the sea in a state of semi-undress. He shifted uncomfortably at the memory, aware of heat rising up his neck to his cheeks. Why did her presence so often do this to him? Not even when he'd been a boy at Eton, testing out the fleshpots of Windsor, had he felt so absurdly aware of a woman. Most discomfiting.

Her cornflower blue eyes went from Ysella's happy face to his and she hesitated a moment, hand on the still open door, clearly unsure of herself.

"Do not vex yourself. It's all turned out perfectly," Ysella exclaimed, separating herself from Kit. "We are to ride out once a week in Kit's company—in breeches! And you are to teach him the forward seat and the gardeners will build us some more jumps. What could be better?"

"Young ladies who know their place and wear dresses," Kit said, lowering his eyes from Morvoren's frankly curious gaze. Was she wondering at how easily Ysella had got the better of him? He rose to his feet and brushed imaginary dust from his own trousers. "I think perhaps you girls had best get yourselves changed for breakfast before Mother gets wind of your escapades. You should also hope none of the servants let slip what they've seen."

"Pft," Ysella exclaimed, waving an airy hand at him. "I've worn your old clothes many times before and they've not told Mama. They won't tell her this time."

"They might if they find out you've been riding in them," Kit said. "Servants have a stronger sense of propriety than their betters. I'll speak to them, I think, and give them warning to be silent. But only if you two promise to behave yourselves. If you don't, Ysella, I shall renege upon my promise to let you go to the ball at Denby."

Morvoren's brows knit as she glanced at his sister, but she stayed silent. She seemed very good at holding her opinion in check.

"I promise," Ysella gushed. "We both do, don't we, Morvoren? So long as you don't forget your own promise, Kitto."

Morvoren nodded. "I promise as well."

Was that laughter playing at the corners of her pretty mouth? Was she, heaven forbid, laughing at him for having been so easily gulled by his chit of a sister?

He turned toward the door. "One other thing, brother," Ysella said. "You and I are going to have to teach Morvoren how to dance before Saturday night as she tells me she has never been to a ball and never learned to dance."

Kit stopped but didn't turn around. Teach her to dance? She was a girl who couldn't dance? Surely all girls learned to dance while in the school room. Everything about Morvoren Lucas only continued to become more and more mysterious. She knew how to ride astride but not how to dance. When he had composed himself, he turned around. "Very well. But with only the three of us, it won't be easy."

"I already have an idea for that," Ysella said. "Sam Beauchamp can join us as well and we shall make two couples. He's a good dancer. That will make things far easier. As for the rest, we'll have to imagine the other dancers."

"And the music," Kit said with a wry smile, and left the room before his hot color betrayed him.