Waltz With a Stranger by Pamela Sherwood

Author:Pamela Sherwood [Sherwood, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, General, Historical, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9781402273223
Google: PjJ9tgAACAAJ
Amazon: 1402273223
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2012-12-03T22:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

Blood may be thicker than water, but it is also a great deal nastier.

—E.Œ. Somerville and Martin Ross,

Some Experiences of an Irish R.M.

The horse moved smoothly beneath her, its gait almost silken on the sand. Aurelia balanced on the front of the saddle and willed herself not to fidget, or worse, panic.

“We will not fall,” Trevenan had said, and she had chosen to believe him. They wouldn’t be jumping any fences, after all, and they weren’t going faster than a slow trot at the moment.

You got yourself into this, my girl—and in more ways than one.

She could feel Trevenan’s warmth at her back, and his arms surrounded her as he guided the horse along the path; his hands were light and sure upon the reins. And she could not have said which she found more unnerving—being back on a horse, or being so close to Trevenan physically, something she had taken pains to avoid since their waltz at Amy’s betrothal ball.

Amy. Betrothal. She repeated the words to herself with a grim determination, then seized upon the first handy topic of conversation. “So, you call your horse Camborne?” she asked brightly. “After the town of Camborne?”

“His full name is Camborne Hill, actually,” Trevenan replied. “From a song about the first steam engine, which made a run up and down Camborne Hill nearly a century ago. But that’s a bit of a mouthful for a horse.”

Aurelia laughed. “It’s more memorable than calling him Soot or Blackie. You’ve been to Camborne Hill, I trust?”

“Several times,” he assured her. “It’s just to the south of us. I’ve traveled widely through Cornwall—and much of the West Country as well.”

“That would also include Devon and Dorset, wouldn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, along with Somerset, Bristol, and parts of Gloucestershire and Wiltshire too.”

“We’ve only seen London, and some of the Home Counties,” Aurelia said wistfully.

“Well, you’ll find some beautiful and varied country there—hills, moorlands, and valleys, as well as the seashore,” Trevenan said, as he turned Camborne onto a rough path flanked by low but surprisingly rich grass and shrubs and bushes she couldn’t begin to identify. “And some remarkable buildings—Salisbury Cathedral, Bath Abbey, and Stonehenge, of course.”

Aurelia shifted in the saddle, trying to adjust to the more rugged surface beneath them and its effect on Camborne’s stride. “Pray, tell me more.” With so much to be done before Amy’s wedding, this might be as close as she’d ever get to seeing these places, she reflected.

He obliged, telling her of castle ruins and picturesque country cottages as they rode along. The grass grew taller and thicker as they headed away from the beach, the bushes yielding to trees, and soon enough, the main gateway of Pentreath came into view.

Trevenan rode through the gates, then took the path leading around the back toward the stables. A good-sized structure, Aurelia observed, which must house a large number of horses, and there was probably a paddock or two beyond. Spying them, a groom came forward at once to take Camborne’s reins. Trevenan dismounted with fluid ease, then turned to help Aurelia.

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