fter dinner, we retired to the drawing room. Nobody had to sing, although Mrs. Clumpett did play the pianoforte for a while. While she played, Philip joined me as I stood admiring a landscape hanging on the wall.

It was a view of Edenbrooke from a distant perspective. The artist had captured the grandeur of the building and the vastness of the land surrounding it. Gazing at the scene, I was overcome with a desire to use my own paints. I had not painted in so long—not since my mother died. I would love to paint this place, I thought, where there was so much inherent beauty.

When I looked up at Philip, I discovered he was studying me as intently as I had been studying the painting.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, nodding toward the painting.

He turned to face me and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “That was precisely what I was thinking.”

Did he mean me? I felt myself blush and saw a look of pleasure cross his expression. I wondered if he had only said that to see me blush and, if so, why he would want to do that. I also wondered why I seemed to blush so easily in this particular man’s presence. I felt like a schoolgirl again, and it bothered me. I was frowning at the thought when I saw Lady Caroline glance our way, her look sharp with worry.

“Watch out,” I said in a quiet voice. “Your mother thinks you’re being rude again.”

“That’s because you’re blushing and looking grave. Smile, Marianne, or I’ll receive another scolding.”

I discovered it was nearly impossible not to smile, especially when he looked so highly amused, and leaned toward me when he spoke as if we shared a delightful secret. But I tried to resist.

“You will receive another scolding if your mother hears you calling me Marianne. You know you should not, sir.”

“Yes, but my mother’s not listening to our conversation right now.” He grinned. “So call me Philip.”

I glared at him, trying to hide how much I liked his wicked smile. “You only got away with that behavior last night because of your little mystery. I’m sure you normally have better manners than this.”

“You’re right. I normally do.” He took a breath. “But this is not normal, is it?” He looked intently into my eyes, as if searching for something important.

My heart stuttered at his warm look and his quiet voice and his nearness. Once again it struck me that I had never met a gentleman in quite the same league as Philip. I felt stupid with discomfort, and I did not know what to do. I wracked my brain for options.

My first instinct, which was to run away, wouldn’t do. I could pretend I hadn’t heard him and say something unrelated to his question. But that could leave me looking foolish. I wished Cecily was here to advise me. She had always been better at flirting. Wait—was that what Philip was doing? Flirting? But why would he want to flirt with me?

I realized I had taken so long with my own internal discussion that awkwardness now filled in the space where my answer should have been. Why could I not think of a response? Why didn’t Philip say something else? I looked toward the pianoforte, wishing for an escape to open before me.

As if he could read my thoughts, Philip leaned away from me and said in a casual tone, “I’m sorry for putting you in such an awkward situation earlier. I had no idea the thought of singing would discomfit you, especially considering your song last night.” His eyes held a look of teasing.

I breathed a sigh of relief. This was the sort of conversation I knew how to respond to. Lighthearted I could do. “Last night was different. It was a challenge I couldn’t refuse. Besides, you knew it was a joke.”

“I wish you could have seen your face when my mother suggested we sing together. I have never seen a look of such pure and absolute terror on anyone.” He chuckled. “Tell me something—which were you more afraid of? Being attacked by a highwayman or singing for us?”

“The latter,” I said, laughing at myself. “Without a doubt.”

“I thought as much. I feel certain there’s a very entertaining story behind this fear of singing for people.”

I felt my face warm.

“Ah, the telltale blush. Now I’m very curious. Won’t you tell me?”

“No, I would rather keep some embarrassing stories to myself.”

He laughed again, then gestured toward the pianoforte, and we joined the others, which was a relief to me.

When the evening ended and I lay awake in bed, my thoughts went of their own accord to that intent look in Philip’s eyes and his unanswerable question about whether or not this was normal.

It was a very long time before I was able to fall asleep.

Despite my inability to fall asleep quickly, I awoke before the sun the next morning. I wasted no time, but jumped out of bed, threw on a gown, and hurried outside. The morning was glorious, with the sky fading from night to dawn, and a light mist rising off the grass. I ignored the orchard, the bridge, and the rose garden that I had planned on exploring. Instead I walked to the north side of the house, to the buildings I had noticed after I had fallen into the river.

The new morning sunlight streamed through the windows, showing a neat and orderly stable absolutely empty of people. Perfect. I passed several stalls occupied by horses sleeping or quietly munching on oats.

I stopped in front of a stall where a tall black horse looked expectantly over the door, as if waiting for me to come and greet it. I thought it might have been the horse Philip had been riding when I fell into the river, but I wasn’t positive because I had tried so hard to avoid looking at him. As I approached the stall, the horse reached out its nose and nuzzled my hand. I smiled in delight.

“What a beauty you are. What’s your name?” Affixed to the stall door was a brass plate. “Rowton,” I read. “Is that it?” He threw his head up and whinnied as if in acknowledgement. I laughed. “A very well-trained horse, I see. Do you know any other tricks? I wonder what you would do for a little sugar. I wish I had some with me.”

“You might try singing to him,” Philip said from directly behind me. I jumped a little, then spun around. “I see it’s not just cows you have a rapport with.”

I wondered how long he had been standing there. “I did not think anyone else would be here,” I explained sheepishly.

“Neither did I.” He came to stand next to me and looked directly into my eyes. His smile felt like a gift meant just for me. “Good morning,” he said in a voice that matched the quiet of the stable and the warm friendliness in his eyes.

I did not know how to respond to that warmth and quiet. I was clearly just as hopeless as I had been last night. The only thing I could think to do was to retreat into formality.

“Good morning, sir,” I said, dropping a curtsy. “I hope you don’t mind my visiting your horses.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t mind at all. But I will throw you out immediately if you call me ‘sir’ one more time.”

I laughed a little and relaxed into the informality he seemed to insist on and prefer.

Philip reached into his pocket and handed me a sugar cube. Rowton lipped it from my hand. I rubbed the horse’s muzzle, and the soft skin with short whiskers tickled my palm. A small sigh escaped me. It had been too long since I had last been in a stable.

I felt Philip’s gaze on my face and looked up at him. He was studying me, just as he had the night before, when I had been looking at the painting. It made me aware of the fact that I had spent less than three minutes attending to my appearance this morning. Philip, on the other hand, had a freshly shaven jaw, and his wavy hair was slightly damp. I also noticed he was carrying a riding crop.

“Are you going for a ride?” I asked.

“I am. Would you like to join me?”

I took a deep breath and nodded before I could lose my courage. “I would. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I keep a couple of gentle mares for my mother and sister. I am sure they wouldn’t mind if you rode one.”

I smiled to myself. If I was going to do this, I would do it properly. “What would I do with a gentle mare? Invite her to tea?”

Philip’s head reared back a little with surprise. Then he chuckled. “What was I thinking? Of course you wouldn’t want a gentle mare. In that case, I think I may have the perfect horse for you.”

He led me down the aisle to another stall and introduced me to Meg. She was a light chestnut-colored filly with a delicate face and nice proportions.

“What is she? Fifteen hands?” I asked.

Philip nodded.

She was the same size as my horse. I quickly banished the thought from my mind. It had been a very long time since I had allowed myself to think about my horse. It seemed disrespectful, in a way, to miss her when I missed my mother so much more. Turning my thoughts away from what once was, I studied Meg closely. She looked absolutely perfect.

I nodded, hiding my delight behind a straight face. “I suppose she’ll do.”

Philip said he would have the horses readied while I changed. I ran back to my room and, with Betsy’s help, changed into my dark blue riding habit.

“Lucky for you it still fits,” she said. “Don’t understand why you refused to try it on before you left Bath.”

I smoothed the skirt as I looked in the mirror, taking a deep breath. Trying on the riding habit had seemed too monumental before. My hand moved automatically to my neck before I remembered that the locket was gone. I dropped my hand to my side, wishing for something to hold onto, but all I had was what I saw in the mirror. I squared my shoulders. It would have to be sufficient, then.

When I returned to the stable, Meg was saddled and waiting for me at the mounting block. A groom stood at her head next to Philip.

“That was quick,” Philip said approvingly, then nodded at Meg. “Up you go.”

Meg shifted impatiently as I settled into the saddle. Perhaps my nervousness was apparent to her. It was nothing more than a fluttering in my chest, but the fact that it existed at all seemed both strange and justifiable to me.

For most of my life I had preferred the back of a horse to any other seat. But I had not ridden since the accident. I held the reins in one gloved hand, leaned forward and spoke quietly to Meg while stroking her neck. Her ears turned back as she listened to me, and after a moment, the fluttering in my chest and Meg’s restless shifting had both subsided. I could tell that we were going to be fast friends.

The sun broke over the treetops as we set off toward the south end of the estate. Philip held his horse to a trot and rode next to me. The groom rode several paces behind us, at the discreet distance of a chaperone.

When we reached a wide stretch of open field, I asked Philip, “Is there any reason we’re going so slowly?”

His bright, easy smile flashed. “None at all.”

I let Meg have her head, and she sprang into a gallop. It was exhilarating to feel the crisp morning air rushing past me. I knew I had missed this, but I did not know how much until now. I felt like something of myself flew back into me with the wind and the horses and the bright morning sky. Eventually the open ground ended at the woods, and we reined in our horses.

“How do you like her?” Philip asked, nodding toward Meg.

“She’s perfect.” And she really was. “Just spirited enough to keep it interesting without being difficult to manage. And so beautiful.” I patted her neck and flashed him a smile. “A gentle mare would have never been able to keep up with you.”

He smiled too, but as if at a private thought. “You are absolutely right.”

I wondered what secret lurked beneath his smile.

The morning sun had cleared off the mist from the land, and I was eager to see everything I could.

“Will you show me the estate?” I asked. “It looks magnificent from what I’ve seen of it.”

“With pleasure.” He turned his horse and I followed him to a knoll with a lone tree atop it. We could see almost all of the estate from here.

“What a fine prospect,” I remarked. We were on the wilder side of the estate, looking down at the house. The tailored lawns and gardens were backed by the river and the wooden bridge spanned it gracefully. Something about this view rang with familiarity. After a moment of thought, I placed it. This was the same perspective as that depicted in the painting in the drawing room.

Admiration turned again to my desire to paint this scene myself, and I vowed to find some painting supplies and come back here on my own.

Philip began to point out the boundaries of Edenbrooke. From our vantage point, we could see for miles in all directions. It appeared to be a prosperous estate, without any sign of neglect. My estimation of Sir Charles grew. He must be a skilled landlord to manage everything so well. Of course, Cecily would only set her sights on the best of the best. I was more than a little curious to meet him. Lady Caroline had not mentioned his plans, but I assumed he would arrive in a week with Cecily and Louisa.

When we turned to head back, Philip said, “Shall we see how these two match up? I’ll race you back to the stables.”

Meg gave it her all, but Philip’s horse looked like a blackbird, his hooves barely skimming the ground as he flew over it.

“That wasn’t even close,” I complained when we reached the stables.

He grinned. “I know. I had an unfair advantage.” He patted his horse’s neck. “He was bred to be a racehorse—he has the blood of the Godolphin stallion in him.”

“He is magnificent.” I looked admiringly at the pair of them. There was something about a handsome man astride a powerful horse that made my heart skip.

“Do you ride every morning?” I asked after we had left the horses with the groom and were walking back to the house.

“Yes, nearly. And you?”

“No. My grandmother doesn’t keep horses in Bath. I had to settle for a brisk walk—with a chaperone, of course.” I grimaced at the thought of returning to that life.

“I’ll have to amend that practice while you’re here. Consider Meg yours any time you want her.”

“Do you mean it?” I tried not to sound as eager as I felt.

“I do. You’re well-suited to each other: spirited enough to make it interesting without being difficult to manage.” He winked as I narrowed my eyes at him. Comparing me to a horse! What nerve!

We reached the house and he stopped to open the door for me.

“And so beautiful,” Philip said as I passed him.

I cast him a disparaging glance, and he laughed, as if he had said that only to see my reaction. Philip Wyndham was an incorrigible flirt, and I did not like that about him. Not one bit.