Page 31 of Not a Fine Gentleman

“Nel? Oh, no. That doesn’t fit. You were probably a beauty in your youth with a strong back and legs, and such fine coloring,” Meg cooed.

The horse wuffled. The woman and the horse looked each other in the eye for a moment.

“I think I’ll call you Ginger,” Meg said. “Cole would name you something mythological like Demeter or Artemis, but Ginger seems to suit you better.”

Ginger gave a series of slow blinks as Meg continued stroking her.

“She’s a plow horse, so I’m not sure how well she’ll carry you,” Connor said. “Can you ride bareback? The farmer didn’t have a saddle or bridle, only this leading rope.”

Meg shot him a wry smile that went straight to his gut. “As long as I’m not asked to race or jump, we’ll get along just fine. Won’t we, Ginger?”

Ginger blinked slowly again. If she were a dog, she would have been wagging her tail.

Connor gave Meg a leg up. She settled herself on the mare, finding her seat like an expert bareback rider. A small amount of leg showed between her wide skirts and her boots. He averted his eyes. He refused to get soft about this woman.

After picking up the lead rope on the halter, he led the horse and rider down a little lane that meandered roughly in the direction he wanted to go. The mare followed him, as docile as a lamb.

“You don’t need to lead me like I’m a helpless child,” Meg said wryly.

“There aren’t any reins.”

Talking in a voice that adults normally used when speaking to small children, she cooed, “We don’t need any silly old reins, do we Ginger?”

Something about the amount of attention she showered on the horse irked him. Clearly, she thought more of the beast than of him.

“I never figured you as horse mad,” Connor commented with a backward glance.

“Poor creature has had a miserable existence—she’s not very old, but she sure looks spent. All she needs is a little love, and she’ll thrive.” She turned on that coo again. “More food and less back-breaking work will help, too, won’t it, girl?” She patted the mare’s back. “I should take you to Tarrington Castle, Ginger. We have a pasture by a river. Apple trees grow along the south fence. Do you like apples, love?”

The horse wuffled again.

“Did you grow up in Tarrington Castle?” Connor asked.

“Yes, it’s my family seat. My mother didn’t like going to London because it was such a long journey. She also preferred the country to the city. I seldom left the area until my sister and I were old enough to have our first Season.”

“Twins, you said?”

She nodded. “We’re not identical, but we do bear a striking resemblance.”

“I’ll bet you two made quite a splash your first Season.”

A self-deprecating smile curved her shapely lips. “Of course. As twin daughters of a highly respected earl, we were toasted as the New Incomparables. Half the young bucks and all the fortune hunters in London wrote sonnets to our… let’s see, what words did they use? ‘Hair of mahogany silk, lips red as the rosebud, skin as alabaster white and flawless as porcelain, and eyes like the deepest ocean.’ Or some such rot.” She let out something between a huff of amusement and a growl of scorn. “We believed it at first until we realized how insincere everyone was.”

He eyed her, waiting.

“Rachel was wise to avoid matrimony.” As she caught his gaze and flashed a pained half-smile. “Are you married, Mr. Jackson?”

“No.”

She waited.

He offered no further explanation.

“You served with my brother Grant during the war?”

“I did. And of course, we’ve worked together at Bow Street for several years now.”

She sensed his unwillingness to discuss his years at war. They traveled for several minutes, both reluctant to share more of themselves with a near stranger. Or possibly with anyone.