After the day she had endured, after the public scorn and her cousin's private malice, her first instinct was one of practical, dispassionate kindness. She was not gloating. She was not even angry. She was simply solving the problem. That won't be necessary, Miss Vance, he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
He dismounted. My men and I will see to Mr. Thorne. You have ridden a long and difficult day. You should see to yourself.
He expected her to argue, but she simply nodded. A flicker of profound exhaustion finally showing in her eyes. She had done her duty. She had offered aid. It had been refused.
She could now, in good conscience, leave. She remounted her great gray horse. She looked small and frail atop its massive back, a ghost in the twilight. Without another word to her cousin, she turned Perseus and began to ride west towards the fading silhouette of Oakhaven. Alister watched her go.
He detailed two of his men to help the pathetic, moaning Julian Thorne towards the farm. Then, acting on an impulse he did not fully understand, he swung himself back onto Ares's back. "I will see Miss Vance home," he announced to no one in particular. The rest of you, make your way back to the park. He urged Ares into a canter.
The stallion's hooves muffled by the damp earth. He followed the lone figure into the mist. A strange and unfamiliar feeling tightening his chest. It was the feeling of a man who had just witnessed something extraordinary and was acutely aware that he had begun the day by laughing at it. He caught up to her as dusk settled into true night.
The sky a deep starless indigo. They were on Oakhaven land now. The fields were fallow. The fences in disrepair. He rode beside her in silence for a long time.
The only sounds the creak of leather and the soft thud of eight hooves on the turf track. Perseus walked with his head low. Tired but undefeated. Ares beside him seemed to sense the mood. His usual fiery energy banked to a quiet walk.
Miss Vance, Alister finally said. His voice quiet in the vast stillness. She turned her head slightly. Your grace. "Your horse," he said.
Looking at the Percheron's broad back. "He has the heart of a lion. " Something moved at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile. The almost. "He has the heart of a farmer," she replied.