Free The Dark Lady's Mask by Mary Sharratt

protégée, our laurel-crowned scholar.”
    â€œThe child’s head will grow enormous.” Lady Mary’s eyes drifted toward the horizon as though she were bored.
    She and Perry rode off together, leaving the others to mount up and follow.
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    â€œI DO WISH HE would marry someone kinder,” Susan said as Master Wingfield helped her into her saddle. “Perhaps once she has a child or two, she’ll grow a bit softer.”
    Both Susan’s and Master Wingfield’s horses were magnificent, for Richard Bertie only bred from the best Spanish bloodlines. The groom then led out Aemilia’s mount, smaller than the coursers, with an enormous grass belly and a sunburnt pink nose. Bathsheba nickered and nuzzled Aemilia’s hands to see if she carried any sweetmeats. Mistress Locke had intended to take Bathsheba back to London with her, but on the day of her departure, the little mare had gone lame and thus at Grimsthorpe she remained. Now she was sound again and needed the exercise lest she grow even more rotund. Aemilia could have begged to ride one of the Spanish purebreds, but she was stubbornly attached to the chestnut mare, who possessed in character what she lacked in breeding.
    â€œCareful when you ride out,” the groom said. “Marry, I think she’s in season.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Aemilia asked. Bathsheba was behaving no differently than usual.
    â€œI’m sure she’ll be fine,” Lady Susan said. “If the little mare can even manage to keep up with the coursers.”
    The three of them set out at a steady trot and soon caught up with Perry and Lady Mary. Then Perry rode alongside Master Wingfield, giving him his full attention, as though to make him feel welcome. Aemilia observed the way her schoolmaster dipped his head to Perry. What he said next took her breath away.
    â€œAs I am born to little fortune, my lord, I hope to advance myself by seeking a career in the military where a loyal man might distinguish himself.”
    The rest of their conversation was lost to Aemilia when Lady Susan began to speak to her. “Tonight when we gather after dinner, perhaps you can sing madrigals for Lady Mary.” Susan glanced from Aemilia who rode on her left, to Lady Mary who rode on her right. “You enjoy madrigals, don’t you, Lady Mary?”
    As Susan went on speaking to Mary, Aemilia watched Master Wingfield and Perry conferring earnestly in hushed voices. Why would a schoolmaster wish to abandon his books for the battlefield? If he lacked wealth, surely the Willoughbys paid him handsomely enough. Who would teach her if he left? Perhaps Lady Susan, for she was every bit as learned as Master Wingfield.
    Bathsheba, likewise, seemed to focus her entire attention on the men, or rather on Perry’s stallion. The mare whinnied and attempted to barge forward. It was all Aemilia could do to pull her back and make her walk sedately between Lady Susan’s and Lady Mary’s horses.
    â€œAll this tedious conversation!” Mary cried. “Anyone would think we were sitting at your mother’s table.”
    Lady Mary spurred her horse into a canter. Riding alongside Perry, she dared him to race her to the stream at the end of the meadow. Master Wingfield had already fallen back to join Lady Susan, but Aemilia found herself surging forward as Bathsheba leapt into a furious gallop.
    â€œAemilia, no!” Lady Susan shouted after her. “Make her stop!”
    The wind whipping Aemilia’s face brought tears to her eyes as she yanked on the reins with her entire strength, but Bathsheba had the bit in her teeth and there was no stopping her. Aemilia could only cling on helplessly as Bathsheba, whinnying and squealing, charged between Perry’s stallion and Lady Mary’s gelding, nearly unseating Mary who shrieked curses Aemilia never thought to hear from an earl’s daughter. Screaming her apologies, Aemilia could