Free Unbefitting a Lady by Bronwyn Scott Page A

would listen to her, or rather to her signals. Above
all else, a horse had to believe his master’s hands and his master’s legs.
    Warbourne returned to a collected and obedient trot. She was
starting to see where the problems might have occurred. He was a wilful colt and
wilful colts were easily spoiled, usually by accident. She’d seen it happen a
time or two with the younger stable hands working with their first horses, their
own minds not strong enough to comprehend what it took to truly master such
intelligent creatures.
    Phaedra let out the lunge line,
asking for a controlled canter. Not just any canter would do. Warbourne could
not run around her willy-nilly in a circle. This would be a canter on the right
lead and at her pace. Even well-trained horses could spoil without a strong,
consistent hand. Merlin was proof enough. Without Jamie’s strong hand, Merlin
had put his own strong personality into action. It had worked until Bram
Basingstoke had come along and reasserted mastery.
    Of the two of them, Merlin was seeing far more of the elusive
Mr Basingstoke than she was, however. Since that night in the stables, she’d
caught only glimpses of him. Most of his messages to her were conveyed through
Tom Anderson, whose hip kept him confined to the stable block. Tom thought the
arrangement was working out admirably. Mr Basingstoke could do the heavy
exercising and any business with the horses that required leaving Castonbury.
These days there was plenty of business to arrange. Breeding season was
beginning and there was always interest in the Castonbury broodmares.
    This morning, Tom had informed her Bram had taken one of the
mares over to Gordon Weston’s to be covered by the Weston stud, a gorgeous
seventeen-hand bay hunter. The match was technically very welcome, but there was
resentment too. She’d tried to arrange something earlier in February but Gordon
Weston had politely refused. She highly suspected he simply hadn’t wanted to do
that sort of business with a woman.
    Phaedra drew the line in on Warbourne and walked towards him.
She gave the horse a rub on the shoulder and slipped him a piece of apple. ‘Good
boy.’ She smiled to herself. Warbourne was coming along nicely, even if she was
taking it slowly. But she would show them all, from Sir Nathan Samuelson and his
overt dislike of the Montagues to Mr Gordon Weston and his mannerly reserve on
the subject of female abilities. Tomorrow, she would trade the lunging halter for a bridle and a bit.
    ‘Time for some grooming.’ Phaedra led him outside the riding
house where they’d been working and to the stables. This had been their routine: lunging work, paces and grooming. She wanted him
to be fully used to her hands and her voice before she put anything on his back.
Tomorrow she would add the saddle pad too.
    The stable yard was busy with horses being brought in for the
end of the day. The ‘supper feeding’ would get under way within the hour after
the horses had been settled and brushed for the night. A stable boy ran up,
offering warily to take Warbourne for her but she shook her head. She wasn’t
ready to trust anyone with her colt yet even for a simple grooming.
    She nearly had Warbourne settled in his loose box when a light
commotion in the courtyard drew her attention. A rider had arrived and the
stable boys jumped to take his horse. For a moment she thought the rider must be
Giles with all the fuss his appearance had commanded. But it was an assumption
immediately discarded. The horse wasn’t Giles’s, but one of the geldings kept in
the general string. There was no mistaking the rider for anyone other than
Bram.
    He swung off the horse with the fluid ease she recognised from
their ride and barked a few commands. ‘Rub him down good, boys, and give him a
hot mash tonight. He’s ridden a long way today.’ He tossed the reins to one of
the waiting grooms and quartered the yard, looking for someone. Her, perhaps?
Her insides fluttered