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coffers and would not pay for Felicity’s come-out, relented.
‘I am sorry, Major Baverstock; I had thought the best might be above your
touch. Please come with me and I will endeavour to find something that will
suit.’
    She led the way
across the yard and into another enclosure which was surrounded on three sides
by loose boxes. Horses looked out over open doors and he was forced to admit
that they seemed alert and interested in what was going on about them. On the
fourth side was a small parade ring where a young groom was patiently lunging a
strawberry roan on a very long rein, round and round, getting the young colt
used to obeying the pressure on its mouth. Richard noted that the commands to
go left or right were gentle and that the animal did not seem distressed,
before turning his attention back to Miss Paget who was leading a stallion from
the first of the boxes.
    ‘This is
Paget’s Pegasus,’ she said. ‘Sired by a half-brother of Bucephalus. His dam was
one of Eclipse’s granddaughters.’
    It was a
beautiful grey, nearly seventeen hands, not quite up to Victor or the horse she
had been riding, but it was well-proportioned, with good sloping shoulders, a
shortish back, powerful hindquarters and a good depth in the girth. He observed
it from a little distance before approaching it quietly and walking slowly
round it, feeling the tendons in its legs and looking into its eyes and mouth.
Its good breeding was obvious and it looked well-groomed, but only a horse
trained, fed and exercised properly would have the speed and stamina he
required. With Sir Henry gone, had the stables kept up to the mark?
    ‘Four-year-old?’
he queried, patting the horse’s neck.
    ‘Yes, not quite
in his prime, but on the way to becoming a good goer. My father bought him as a
two year-old and brought him on to ride himself. He turned down several offers
for him.’
    He was aware of
a wistful note in her voice and found himself suddenly feeling sorry for her -
and that would not do at all. He thought he could guess at her character well
enough to know that she would hate that. ‘As good a recommendation as any,’ he
said. ‘Sir Henry would ride only the best. But why sell him? Do you not want
him to...?’ He stopped suddenly, remembering that for all her male garb she was
a lady and he ought not to offend her sensibilities by speaking of breeding.
    ‘Put him to
stud?’ she queried, laughing.
    ‘Yes. Why not?’
    ‘I have. He
sires good solid workaday horses, but they are not outstanding, in spite of his
pedigree.’
    ‘Surely it is
good solid workaday horses which are the bread and butter of the stable? The
outstanding ones provide the cake.’
    ‘Do you want to
buy him or not?’ she asked, made uncomfortable by his questions. It would not
do for it to become known how low in funds she was. The only way to keep the
stables going was to sell some of her stock, but even that was not easy when so
few customers came to Rowan Park since her father died. She had sent one or two
horses to Tattersalls but she hated doing that because, apart from the fact
that he took a percentage - which he had every right to do - it made people
wonder why she was obliged to do it. And selling stock was not the long-term
answer or she would have nothing left. And, looking up at this big handsome
man, she knew he could read her thoughts as if they were written on her
forehead and she did not like the feeling at all.
    ‘I should like
to ride him out. May I?’
    ‘Of course. You
will find him a little frisky: he hasn’t been out today.’
    His saddle was
transferred from the hired hack while Georgie ordered a fresh mount to be
saddled for her and they set off for the gallops at a smart trot which soon
became a canter as the horses warmed up. She was right - Pegasus was spirited
and anxious to have his head, but Richard held him in check for a couple of
miles before he allowed him to gallop, and when he did let him go the stallion
moved freely and