“You still don’t like Miss De Clare?” Elias grew stiff, his fingers still clasped around a stirrup’s buckle. He knew Sebastian did not care for Josephine, but the churlishness ignited hope within him. Perhaps his cousin would end the engagement.
“I know dozens of more accomplished, better-suited ladies.” Sebastian slid his hands into leather gloves, then swiped an auburn curl from his forehead. “My parents wish me to settle down so I won’t cause further damage to the family name. They arranged a marriage to the first girl that came to mind. You and me . . . I suppose we’re not so different. We both live at the mercy of our parents, and we fear reputation because of what it may cost us.”
“The hounds are restless,” Mr. Darling yelled as dogs nipped his thighs. He fought through the pack and blew his whistle, signalling for everyone to mount their horses.
“Reputations take only what we give them,” Elias whispered. He wedged his foot in a stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. “For approval, we gamble ourselves away.”
“And yet we do it happily,” Sebastian said with a chuckle. “Come on, Elias. Don’t be dreary. You must admit my fiancée demonstrates vulgarity of manners.”
“You consider yourself a worthy judge?” Elias snorted.
“Of good manners? Hardly.” Sebastian grinned and mounted his steed. “But as someone versed in the art of indelicate behaviour, I consider myself an expert on all matters vulgar. Josephine De Clare does not merit a high score from my judging, and I swore to marry either a true lady—the type who sits indoors all day—or a sterling imp.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
Sebastian tipped his top hat. “Oh, how I dream of wedding an imp.” With a laugh, he kicked his heels and lurched into motion, leading the party in a charge across Cadwallader.
Hooves slung frozen sod. Dogs yipped and yapped as they raced toward the hills, their ears flapping like wings. It all seemed regal—skylarks flitting from their heaths, air drenched with the metallic scent of rain—as if the northern land bore English pride.
Elias hovered above his seat, the worn leather rocking between his legs. He clutched the horse’s reins and leaned forward to let the wind roll down his back. Since childhood, he’d exercised his riding to please Lord Welby. He’d galloped around Windermere Hall, jumped hedges and gates. Such practice gifted him with exceptional balance. Granted, he couldn’t rely too much on his proficiencies, not when the world blurred around him.
Regardless of skill and caution, one blunder could result in a bashed skull.
Mr. Darling veered onto a path while his dogs traversed the moorland brush. “A good day for sport,” he yelled. “I predict a generous yield—”
“I daresay my gun agrees with you.” Sebastian fired a shot at the clouds. He glanced over his shoulder and laughed at the valet, who bounced in his saddle. “Did you forget how to ride?”
“You shall make yourself sick if you don’t change stance,” Mr. Darling added.
“I already did, sir,” the valet said, his complexion tinted green. He leaned off the cantle and braced his knees against the horse’s sides. His adjustments must’ve satisfied the masters, for they raced on, slicing through mud, chasing invisible game.
Elias fell behind when the party ascended a hillside. He matched pace with Josephine and steered his horse up the grassy slope.
“What is it we’re hunting?” Josephine asked. She rode side-saddle, her mother’s tartan wrapped around her neck like a cowl, her dark hair a billowing pennant.
“Birds, I think,” Elias said.
“On horseback? With hounds?”
“Perhaps foxes, then.”
Josephine laughed. “The Darlings are the worst countrymen I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t be surprised if they opened fire on a herd of sheep.”
“Give them a keg of ale, and I assure you anything’s possible.” Elias smiled. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t recall a time when the Darlings brought home more than a single bag of grouse. His relatives must’ve used the sport as an excuse to gallivant across the county.
“Hmm, today just became interesting,” Josephine said with a shimmer in her eyes. She kicked her heels and galloped onto a ridge, her skirt bunching to reveal a petticoat and blue-threaded stockings. She was not vulgar. No, she possessed a raw elegance, like the heather scattered across the kitchen sideboard.
Elias rode at her side, moving toward silhouettes now obscured by fog. He lifted his face into the cold and listened for barks. He swayed with the horse’s movements, relaxing as wind combed through his curls. What if he endeavoured to prevent the wedding? Sebastian did not wish to marry Josephine, nor she him. Elias could end the ordeal with a few planned remarks. Already the words entered his mind like nightshade, poisoning him with dark possibilities.
That was a line Elias would not cross. He refused to sacrifice his honour in selfish pursuit, for love gained through deceit was no love at all.
“I cannot breathe,” Josephine yelled over the pound of hooves against soil.
“What’s the matter?” Elias glanced to his right, but Josephine no longer rode beside him. He twisted in the saddle and spotted her a few yards back, halted like a bannerman. Her skin was pale, her breaths jagged.
Elias pulled the reins, trotting to where Josephine sat frozen. He removed his overcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders, more to provide comfort than warmth. “You’ll be well,” he whispered. “Sometimes we tell our minds not to worry, but our bodies don’t listen.”
“I don’t know why I’m like this,” Josephine gasped, her voice crackling like dried wood in a bonfire. She gazed at the horizon with haunted eyes as if something, perhaps a realization, had drained her vigour. “I’d made peace with it all, so why can’t I breathe?”
“Peace with what?”
She waved her arms at the bleak terrain. “Is this my life now?
