Julian’s mare jingled her bit and picked up her pace as she sensed that her stable, water, and a feed of oats were close by. Beside him, Nellie sat astride her raw-boned nag. Julian had already suggested she ride all the way back with him, that Figgs would return the mount to the inn the following day, and she’d readily agreed. They clip-clopped down the gravel drive towards the darkened house. At this hour everyone would be asleep, and Julian was loath to drag Figgs from his bed. He dismounted and turned to help Nellie, but she’d already slithered down from her saddle. “Go to bed,” he said to Nellie, taking the reins from her. “I’ll see to the horses.” He led the horses into the stable, where he busied himself unsaddling and watering them. He was rubbing his mare down when Nellie reappeared just outside the stall. “Julian,” she began hesitantly. “I realised I hadn’t thanked you for coming to my rescue—yet again. That was churlish of me.” On the ride home she’d discarded her hat and veil, and the night wind had brought colour to her cheeks and teased her hair until it fell in loose curls around her shoulders.
