The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,33
morning ride Cara was able to fulfill her duties without chaffing under the confinement of her designated role.
"It's going to be a beautiful summer's day, Glum," Cara stated, rubbing the mare's nose. "Morning, Gentian."
"She's a mite frisky this morning," Glum cautioned. "Better let her run a bit before you put her to any of those jumps."
Although his gruff voice held disapproval the twinkle in his eyes belied the words. Cara had infinite respect for the venerable horseman and realized the compliment he paid her by letting her ride the horses unattended. Although she had ridden others she had come to love the dainty little Gentian whose mischievous streak turned every ride into a challenge.
"Now, Glum, you know I'll treat her like the lady she is," Cara said straight-faced. "Gentian and I have worked out a very nice arrangement. She gets to have her way on the ride out and I get to have my way coming back to the stables."
At Glum's snort of mirth Cara gave him a dazzling smile, warm and free of restraint. The old man cocked his head to the side studying the girl as she patted and caressed the mare. It always surprised him that no one had been able to discern the beauty of the girl despite the dowdy clothes and the all-encompassing headdress. It amused him when she arrived at the stable all bland looks and prim airs in case anyone was near. When they were alone the girl opened up, making him privy to the warm-hearted natural grace beneath the fusty disguise. He supposed that it was necessary to hide her looks in order to hire out as governess but it certainly was a shame.
Glum nested his fingers to give the girl a leg up, marveling at the featherweight in his hands. He watched while Cara arranged her knee on the sidesaddle and smoothed the skirts of her oversize riding habit. Despite it's poor fit the dove gray color became her, Glum noted. As the girl and the mare trotted sedately out of the yard, the groom shook his head, knowing that just beyond the band of trees that hid them from sight they would be flying along the track that led to the high fields. His leathery skin wrinkled in amusement as he remembered the first time Cara had ridden out.
He had followed the girl that first morning. Unsure of Caroline's expertise and concerned for Wilton's bloodstock, he had remained out of sight and had almost stumbled on her when she stopped at the trees lining the first clearing. Easing himself into the sheltering underbrush Glum had moved to the edge of the opening. His old eyes had almost started out of his head when the governess pulled off her headdress to display a wealth of burnished curls that fluttered like a pennant as she raced across the field.
Thoroughly intrigued, Glum had followed Cara to the high fields staying well within the cover of trees as he watched her. In growing respect he had observed the care with which she worked the horse. Each tested the other for weakness but the young woman always maintained a firm control. Finally both the governess and the horse rode as a single unit. Her jumping skills were apparent as she started slowly and then increased the height of the jumps until she felt the horse hesitate. Then leaping off the horse's back she rubbed the sweating animal with sweet-smelling clumps of grass, humming as she worked. From that day on, Glum never worried when the girl rode out in the morning.
Unaware of Glum's reminiscing, Cara and Gentian sniffed at the dewy smell filling their nostrils. As the track wound up through the woods the gray capered under Cara's relaxed rein. When they reached the high field the mare, accustomed to the routine, stood whickering as Cara untied her loathsome headdress and unbound her hair. In the quiet of the early morning she was free of the restrictions of her self-imposed disguise. For an hour she was back again in America riding her father's horses, loose hair flying in the summer wind.
"Hold on a minute, Gentian," Cara laughed as the dainty mare stamped impatiently. "We'll be off soon enough."
Cara ran her fingers through her hair, letting the riot of red-gold curls tumble unchecked down her back. Her head felt lighter, free of the weighty braid of hair she had to bind close against the nape of her neck. It was the part of playing the frumpy