The Ideal Bride Read Free Page A

forecourt. She was handsome in a mannish way, undeniably striking with her upright carriage and dark hair.
     
      She stared at Caro. “Great heavens, Caro!—were you thrown? You’ve grass stains on your gown. Are you all right?” Her tone was faint, as if she couldn’t quite credit her eyes. “The way you took off, I never would have believed you’d succeed in reining Henry in.”
     
      “I didn’t.” Caro waved at Michael. “Luckily Michael was riding out—he bravely leapt into the gig and performed the necessary feat.”
     
      Michael met her eyes, saw the lurking, gracefully grateful smile. Managed not to smile in return.
     
      “Thank goodness for that.” Muriel turned to him, nodding in greeting. “Michael—I didn’t know you’d returned.”
     
      “I arrived this morning. Have you any idea why Henry bolted? I’ve checked reins and harness—there doesn’t seem to be any obvious cause.”
     
      Muriel frowned at Henry. “No. Caro and I were driving home together, then Caro turned into your lane and waved. She was just a little way along when Henry started, then”—Muriel gestured—“off he went.” She looked at Caro.
     
      Who nodded. “Yes, it happened just like that.” She stroked Henry’s nose. “Which is strange—he’s normally a placid beast. I drive him whenever I’m home.”
     
      “Well, next time we meet at Fordingham, I’ll take you up with me, you may be sure.” Muriel widened her eyes. “I nearly had palpitations—I expected to come upon you bloody and broken.”
     
      Caro made no direct answer; frowning, she studied Henry. “Something must have startled him.”
     
      “Possibly a stag.” Muriel gathered her reins. “The bushes are so thick along that stretch, it’s impossible to see what may be lurking.”
     
      “True.” Caro nodded. “But Henry would have known.”
     
      “Indeed. But now you’re safe, I must get on.” Muriel glanced at Michael. “We were discussing arrangements for the church fete, and I must make a start. I assume you’ll be attending?”
     
      He smiled easily. “Of course.” He made a mental note to learn when the fete was. “My regards to Hedderwick, and George if you see him.”
     
      Muriel inclined her head. “I’ll pass your wishes on.” She exchanged a gracious nod with Caro, then eyed Caro’s gig, presently blocking the exit from the forecourt.
     
      Michael glanced at Caro. “Let’s take Henry to the stables. I’ll have Hardacre examine him, see if he can suggest anything to account for his start.”
     
      “An excellent notion.” Caro waited while he reached over and released the gig’s brake, then she waved to Muriel and led Henry forward.
     
      Michael checked that the gig was undamaged and the wheels rolling freely. Once it cleared the forecourt, he saluted Muriel. With a regal nod, she trotted her horse past and around toward the gates. He turned to follow Caro.
     
      Atlas was still standing patiently; Michael clicked his fingers and the bay ambled up. Catching the reins, he wound them about one hand, then lengthened his stride. Coming up on Henry’s other side, he looked across at Caro—at the section of her face he could see over the horse’s head. Her hair glimmered and shimmered in the sunshine, totally unfashionable yet it appeared so soft, it simply begged to be touched. “Are you fixed at Bramshaw House for the summer?”
     
      She glanced at him. “For the moment.” She patted Henry. “I move around between Geoffrey here, Augusta in Derby, and Angela in Berkshire. I have the house in London, but I haven’t yet reopened it.”
     
      He nodded. Geoffrey was her brother, Augusta and Angela her sisters; Caro was the baby, the youngest by many years. He glanced at her again; she was murmuring soothingly to Henry.
     
      A peculiar disorientation still gripped him, as if he were slightly off-balance. And it had to do with her. When they’d briefly met two