Isabel was Emma. Lady Bountiful at her best. And maybe I was Catherine from Northanger Abbey as I’d insisted the day before—na?ve and completely out of my element.
Within an hour Isabel had me dressed and my hair pulled up in a matching fashion—a high bun with tendrils framing my face. It looked better on a head full of curls rather than one with straight brown hair, but I had to admit it was soft and pretty. And some deep place within me got a kick out of the transformation.
“Are we ready?” I heard my nerves coming to the surface.
“Not yet.” She pulled a black ribbon from another dress and tucked it into my hair. “You look beautiful.”
Her compliment surprised me. It wasn’t the words so much as the delivery. Gone were all the sharp edges. In their place, I found glee—there wasn’t another word. It was bubbly anticipation—it was glee.
“Thank you.”
Isabel clapped her hands together. “I am so glad you are here. What shall we do now?”
Isabel rarely asked me what to do or where to go. Isabel led.
“Didn’t you want to go riding?” I thought back to spring break fifteen years ago. We watched her favorite movies, played her favorite games, ate her favorite foods. And she came back.
“You said you don’t ride.”
“But you love it. You’ve been riding for about twenty years and, honestly, you’re happiest on a horse. Riding is better than Austen for you.”
“Austen?”
I felt my lips part and pressed them shut. They made a soft guppy noise. “Never mind. We can talk about her later.” I opened the door and waved Isabel through.
We walked together down the path, but she skipped ahead at the last bend when the horses came into view. “Tennyson, you’re still here.” She called back to me. “Come meet Tennyson now. I’ll ride him, and Grant said he would saddle another horse named Lady Grey for you. He said she is very gentle. He is going to ride Lord Byron. I hope he’s here and we haven’t missed him.”
Isabel walked inside. “Grant? We’ve come back. May we ride?” No one was there.
She walked back to me and stepped close. “I had so wanted to do this. There are few things I feel I can do, really do, to be on my own.”
“We could go for a walk. We could . . .” I tried to think of the things Austen ladies did. They walked, painted, drew, drank tea, visited the poor, flirted with officers . . .
I noted movement and turned.
“Hello again.” A deep voice reached us before the man emerged from shadow. It was the same man who’d held my arm, rigid and stiff. Yet it wasn’t at all. Grant’s stance was relaxed, his smile broad. The sharp lines of his face seemed soft and inviting. He looked at Isabel. “How are you?”
Isabel blushed.
Grant faced me. “When Miss Dwyer was here earlier, I assured her she didn’t need a chaperone, if you’d rather not ride.”
Still the color of roses and cream, Isabel drew me close. “That’s not possible, Mary.”
“I’ll ride, but I haven’t before. I’ve never even been on a horse.”
He held up a finger for us to wait, then disappeared into the stables.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” Isabel whispered.
“Very,” I agreed.
Grant reemerged, walking a large gray horse. “This is Lady Grey. Clara has just finished a ride with her.” He looked to Isabel. “Are you planning to ride sidesaddle?”
“Of course.”
I almost laughed at the shock-tinged horror that skittered across her expression and its implications for me.
“Not me?” I ventured. “I think I’ve read it’s dangerous.”
“You’ll be fine.” Grant handed us both riding helmets.
He helped Isabel fasten hers under her chin. I struggled with mine and clicked the fastener just as he turned to assist me. Amused was the best way to describe his eyes. He then held his hand out to me and led me to a small flight of stairs. Lady Grey stood next to them.
“It can be challenging, but I modified the saddle, and Clara was perfectly at ease this morning.”
“Clara has been taking riding lessons,” I reminded him.
“Clara is eight years old,” Grant reminded me.
“Good point.”
He positioned me in the saddle.
“I’m just supposed to balance here?”
“I’ve lengthened this pommel and added one here for greater support.” He swung my right leg over and around the second pommel. “As I said, Lady Grey is gentle and knows what she’s doing. I trust her. But . . .” He paused until my eyes met his. “If you must fall, fall this way.” He patted my dangling shins and smiled without any humor.
“Got it. Fall toward my feet. Not my head.”
He lifted Isabel to her saddle without any instructions, but then again, Isabel had been riding horses for years.
As we ambled out of the pen, I called to Grant. “You made these changes yourself?”
“Ladies love riding sidesaddle on these vacations, but few have ever done it before. I spent some downtime on my last deployment working out improvements. It helps my grandfather.” He twisted in the saddle. “Then when Gertrude mentioned a young girl was coming, I felt we needed more safety measures.”
“I’ll be sure to thank Clara.”
Grant’s chuckle was deep and genuine. Isabel darted her eyes between us.
After a few moments of awkward silence, I spoke again. “Did you say your grandfather lives here?”
“Yes, and he’s lived here his whole life. I used to come here for summer vacation as a kid. My grandfather—you’ll meet him somewhere on the grounds—has been head gardener here for over fifty years.” He twisted the other way to address Isabel. “You said you were interested in the gardens. If you want to learn about them, you need to talk to him. I’ll introduce you later.”
She said nothing in reply but gave an almost shy-looking nod.
Grant turned back to me. “I’m staying with him while on leave.”
“Oh . . .”
Flirt with military officers . . . Napoleon was on the edge of every Austen story. Britain was at war and soldiers populated her scenes. And, unlike the Marys, Austen liked her soldiers.
“You’re part of all this too. Fighting the French, are you?”
Grant burst out laughing. “Lieutenant Grant Chessman at your service. Real name. Real officer. On real leave from the real British army.” Lady Grey, as if needing to be near Lord Byron, brought me beside him. “But it was a natural assumption. Gertrude has the house staff dress for these parties, but they do keep their real names, real life stories too. It can get confusing. But I’m not on staff, and Granddad steers clear of it all.” He glanced to Isabel again. “Are you all right, Miss Dwyer?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”
We walked on. I asked a few questions about house parties in hopes that Isabel would chime in. I wanted to draw her out. It didn’t work.