Baroness in Buckskin by Sheri Cobb South Page A

to toss her head as if in agreement with this assessment of Peter’s character, sending both Peter and Susannah, as well as the nearby stable hands, into gales of laughter.
    “I beg your pardon, Miss Daffodil,” Peter said meekly. To Susannah, he added, “I believe Jane used to ride her when she first came to live here, but now she prefers Andromeda, so Daffy here will be glad of the exercise. If you have any difficulty with her, though, I’m sure Lord Ramsay would be willing to purchase a more suitable mount for you.”
    “The female who can’t handle Daffy hadn’t ought to be riding at all,” grumbled the groom as he placed Jane’s sidesaddle on the mare’s back and tightened the girth.
    Peter silenced him with a frown. “Yes, well, we can’t know until Miss Ramsay tries her paces, can we?”
    While the groom held the horse, Peter made a stirrup of his hands and tossed his cousin into the saddle, then mounted Sheba while Susannah arranged her skirts and the groom adjusted the stirrup for Miss Ramsay’s shorter stature.
    When she was ready, the pair set out. Peter, uncertain of his cousin’s skill in the saddle, fell back and allowed her to precede him in order to observe her before deciding on a route for them to take.
    He was pleasantly surprised. The rather gauche and uncertain Susannah of the drawing room had vanished, and she sat erect and confident in the saddle, her spine straight and her shoulders back.
    “I thought we might explore the eastern boundaries of the estate this morning,” he said, hastily revising his idea of limiting their explorations to the smoothest and most well-travelled tracks. “There is a stream with a small waterfall which is held to be quite picturesque.”
    Susannah readily agreed to this plan, and they turned the horses’ heads to the east. Further surprises were in store for Peter, however, for when they reached the downs beyond the Home Wood, Susannah tossed a mischievous smile over her shoulder at him.
    “Shall we spring ‘em?”
    Without waiting for a response, she urged her mount into a gallop. Daffodil, rarely allowed such an opportunity, was nothing loth, and soon horse and rider were both flying over the broad green expanse of meadow. Peter, watching in some consternation, discovered that either his cousin was a born horsewoman, or she had been very well taught—or both. Indeed, the girl and her mount seemed to move as a single entity—and there was no question as to which was controlling it. Sheba needed no coaxing to follow, and as Peter pursued his cousin, he felt rather as if he had been played for a fool.
    But no, Susannah had never claimed to be an inexperienced rider, and he had never bothered to ask. If anyone was at fault for the misunderstanding, it was he, for making erroneous assumptions.
    She had stopped at the top of the rise to allow him to catch up, and when he reached her he noted that her cheeks had acquired a rosy glow, her eyes were sparkling, and her hair was coming down—again.
    “My dear cousin, who taught you to ride?” he demanded, tamping down a feeling of ill-usage which he acknowledged to be groundless.
    “My father,” she said with more than a hint of pride. And why not? Peter thought ruefully. No doubt she was pleased to have earned the unqualified approval of a member of her family for the first time since arriving in England.
    “Your father,” he murmured. “Of course.”
    And her father would no doubt have been taught by his father, who had been a British cavalry officer. However he might have neglected his daughter’s upbringing in other ways, Mr. Gerald Ramsay had not stinted on her equestrian education. Peter, mentally contrasting her elegant posture with her dowdy costume, resolved to speak to Richard about purchasing her an animal worthy of her skill; clearly, it was Daffodil who was not up to Susannah’s weight, rather than the other way ’round. He tried to picture Richard’s reaction upon seeing his bride on