Page 83 of A Single Obsession

There was no sign of an ostler, so one of the footmen jumped down from his perch and ran to hold the horses’ reins whilst another retrieved her trunk.

Finch dismounted and looked around. “I don’t think this is a suitable stopping place, Miss Eliza,” he said in a stern voice.

She examined the dingy tavern. “It will do. All I require is a clean room where I can put on my habit and get out of this”—she waved her hand toward the carriage—“oven!”

Her groom opened his mouth as if he were going to argue, but she glared at him, and he closed it again. He had known her long enough to realise when she had made up her mind.

A scrawny lad stepped forward out of the yard, eyeing Whisper with patent admiration, and offering to hold the horses.

With a frown, Finch handed the reins to the boy and entered the hostelry to enquire whether there was anywhere that his mistress could change her clothes.

After a few minutes, a pleasant-looking woman bustled out of the inn door and invited her up to her best room. Eliza sighed with relief, and, with a smile of genuine gratitude, she stepped into the coolness of the building and followed the landlady upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, Eliza was riding through the fields on Whisper’s back, the gentle breeze cooling her brow. As she observed the multitude of different-coloured wildflowers and inhaled the smell of grass, she felt the tension melting away. She always felt much closer to God when she was outside, enjoying the beautiful world He had created, and a blanket of peace settled over her heart.

The words her mother said to her—whenever she moaned about something not working out the way she wanted—popped into her mind. Be thankful, Eliza Merry. That is God’s will for you.

She bit her lip, and the ends of her mouth edged upward as she thought of what she was grateful for. It was not that hard. She was thankful Beau loved horses. To wed a man who liked animals as much as she did was far from the worst fate she could contemplate. A bookish husband would be much worse.

And she loved him. That must be a plus, even though it hurt that he did not return her feelings. He had let her down, but it hadn’t made her hate him. It had just made her angry—and sad.

She was also thankful for her family, and that she was on her way to London to see her sisters.

The pain in her heart did not go away, but she grew more content as she dwelt on what she had rather than on what she lacked.

When they had ridden for nearly an hour, they came to a wooded area where a stream cut across their path. Slowing their pace, they led their horses through the cool water.

Finch glanced up at the sun. “Reckon this is more or less in the right direction if you want to follow the river bed for a while. It’s cooler under the trees.”

She readily agreed, and they rode in the shade until Finch recommended altering their path.

“We can’t be far from Farnham now, Miss Eliza. I suggest we cut across the field to our left and meet up with the road.”

“You lead, I’ll follow,” she called back over her shoulder.

Finch pressed his horse past her and up the shallow bank and trotted in the direction he had indicated, but half-way across the field, he came to a halt and slid off his mount.

Eliza pulled up beside him. “Problem?”

He lifted his horse’s rear hoof to inspect it and sighed. “I thought something didn’t sound right. A shoe’s come loose. Must have happened walking on the rough stream bed.”

“We’ll have to find a smithy in the next village. I won’t risk him going lame because I insisted on riding cross country.”

They headed for a group of cottages in the distance at a walking pace, hoping there would be a blacksmith nearby who could help them.

It wasn’t much of a village—a few houses on a single street, with a tavern at the end—but beyond that, they discovered a smith who served the local farms. While Finch arranged for the horse’s shoe to be replaced, Eliza tethered Whisper and looked about her.

An old man sat on a bench outside the inn, drinking a pint of ale. He cast an admiring glance at her mare. “That’s a mighty pretty horse you have there, ma’am.”

“Why, thank you,” she said, unbothered at being addressed by a stranger, and always ready to hear Whisper’s praises sung.

“A few weeks back, I would have said it was the prettiest horse I’d ever clapped my eyes on.”

There was something about his words that pricked Eliza’s interest. “Indeed? You’ve seen a prettier?”

He nodded. “Loveliest colt you ever saw. A handsome, rich bay with a white stocking on his rear right leg.”

Eliza gasped and raised a hand to cover her mouth. How many bays with those markings could there be in Hampshire? The description matched Romeo exactly. There could be no doubt about it. He must have passed through this village after he’d been stolen. No wonder they had found no trace of him on the post road.