The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) by Philippa Lodge

little red mare?” Mademoiselle de Fouet gasped.
    “Well, she’s brownish, I suppose. I just had them move it next to my carriage horses yesterday. I didn’t know what else to do with it.”
    Mademoiselle de Fouet’s eyes widened, and her cheeks got pinker. Manu thought she was going to cry. “I wish I had a riding habit.”
    The baronesse scoffed and glared at Manu, as if he had some hand in this. “Well? Have someone bring the horse up for her to see it. There’s no time for a ride, though, Catherine. You only have a short time before you will have to dress for the evening. And do something with your hair, because pulling it back and hiding it under a cap will not do. Tell Anne to curl it if that little girl you brought with you cannot.”
    Manu passed the request on to a nearby footman. Mademoiselle de Fouet disappeared again.
    “You’ll escort her down, of course, Manu.”
    “I thought I was meant to hide until I could get my court clothing.”
    His mother shrugged. “Pretend to be a groom. If anyone asks, give them someone else’s name. Though why someone else’s groom would be following my companion, I do not know. Try to look less angry.”
    He shook his head. Mademoiselle de Fouet—what had his mother called her? Catherine?—bustled from her room with a large hat hiding her hair and a parasol in one hand. “Come along.”
    Instead of offering his arm as he had been about to do, he bowed slightly and followed her as she rushed from the rooms.
    “Where are they bringing Flamme?” Her voice was tense, even waspish.
    He told her what the footman had said, and she led the way because he didn’t know where they were going.
    ****
    Catherine stood just outside the side entrance, her stomach in knots. Monsieur Emmanuel had walked two paces behind her all the way down, and when she glimpsed his face as they went around a corner, he still looked cross. She didn’t like to hear him fighting with his mother, not least because the baronesse was not fully recovered. And she’d hoped her glimpses of a kind young man during the journey meant he would be patient with the baronesse. But what a reunion—they had jumped immediately to arguing. She had kept her door closed for as long as she could and had only come out at the end when their voices had grown softer but no less venomous.
    And yet the baronesse had bought Flamme for her. Her own pony. A beautiful mare she had seen and wished she could have. She hadn’t had a horse since she was sixteen, since her parents had died and everything but her mother’s land had been sold to support the estate.
    A groom on a pony rounded the corner, jogging along next to Flamme, who pulled at the reins, not used to being led. Catherine’s breath caught, and tears sprang to her eyes. She stepped forward and felt someone tug on her arm. A carrot was pushed into her gloved hand, and she said, “Merci,” to Monsieur Emmanuel.
    As if in a dream, she approached the horse. Her horse. She held the carrot out. The mare nipped it from her hand, and Catherine shivered in excitement. The groom pulled on Flamme’s halter, but Catherine stepped forward and rubbed the horse’s face. Her horse.
    The groom and Monsieur Emmanuel talked while Flamme sniffed at Catherine’s hands, trying to find more carrots. Suddenly, another one was shoved into her hands, only to be plucked away immediately by the mare, who tossed her head in triumph. Catherine circled the mare, scratching her mane and stroking her sleek, chestnut side. The afternoon sun brought out the fiery red as Catherine returned to Flamme’s head and removed her glove to stroke the soft nose.
    All too soon, Monsieur Emmanuel was asking the groom to have someone exercise the mare and giving him a coin. It suddenly came to Catherine she should be issuing the instructions and paying the vails, but by then the groom was jogging back toward the stables.
    Monsieur Emmanuel handed her the parasol she must have given him in her