Isabelle sat in the enclosed carriage remembering the last visit to Alexander’s country home and her silly game of trying his patience. How she had intended to annoy him but had surprised them both by provoking a smile or two out of him.

She wished she had the courage today to chatter mindlessly again. Instead, the excitement she’d allowed herself to feel in anticipation of this visit made her dumb. She could think of nothing either clever or inane to say to him. Her wanting filled her with self-doubt and squashed her ability to be entertaining. She stared silently at the light-blue hangings partially covering the windows and felt each bump in the road.

As they pulled into the lane at Wellsgate, the quiet in the carriage had become oppressive. She wondered if she should remark on the thickness of the hedgerow or the greenery of the meadow or the heaviness of the clouds. None of that seemed at the least interesting. And why, she thought with a shadow of annoyance, should she have to carry all the responsibility of conversation? Could he not hear the echoing silence? Could he not help her? Could he not make mention of something? Anything?

Again she let her eyes flicker to every possible prompt for a topic, but all in her sight appeared unnecessary to remark upon. She knew she was proving a poor conversationalist, at least while she felt she’d need to be the sole speaker. Discussion seemed futile.

She determined to set aside her worry and say nothing at all, so nothing was what she said. Alexander, the same. She watched the house grow nearer. At least she could look forward to the evening ride he had invited her to join him in. There would be no expectation of talk while they were on horses.

Yeardley took the cases from the carriage and placed them in the bedroom. Isabelle noted the distinction—on their last visit, Alexander’s cases had been delivered to his dressing room. She wondered how much convincing Mrs. Burns had needed to induce Yeardley to place their bags in the same room.

Since she could not even trust herself to comment on the weather, she clearly could say nothing about such an arrangement, so she remained mute, and soon after, a platter of bread and cheese was on the sideboard for Alexander and Isabelle. They ate in relative silence for several minutes until Isabelle suggested that the light was nice in the west parlor. Surely he would understand she meant she would rather eat in the warmer, sunnier room. Alexander merely nodded.

“Perhaps we could remove to the parlor now,” she said.

Alexander looked up, startled, but immediately stood and nodded. “Of course,” he said, carrying the small platter in one hand and offering her his other arm.

As they moved to the brighter room, Isabelle felt pleased at this discovery. Possibly he needed only to be asked a second time. It was not the romantic ideal of her childhood dreams, but she could choose to see it as rather a poetic obstacle.

They seated themselves in neighboring chairs, and Isabelle found conversation to come slightly more easily as she felt the warmth of the sun through the large window.

After eating, she excused herself to change into riding clothes. The bedroom was large and filled with an enormous, masculine wood-and-metal framed bed hung with dark-green draperies. The thought occurred to her that they would be sharing this room. This bed. Together. She quickly looked away from the bed and focused on the fireplace. As soon as she’d finished dressing, she left the bedroom so Alexander could change at his leisure. She did not think of herself as shy, exactly, but she was far more comfortable with privacy and imagined he would be as well.

Walking through the country house, she wondered when she’d stop feeling like a visitor there. Not soon, she thought as she took several steps down the long, curved staircase. It was a lovely home, but it was not hers. She didn’t even think of it as theirs. It was Alexander’s country home. She was pleased to be invited as a guest there.

She made it to the bottom of the staircase and turned toward the kitchen. She was not hungry after the bread and cheese, but she thought she’d see if there was anything there to offer the horses. As she turned into the room, she found Mrs. Burns placing something in a glass bowl.

Pears. Lovely, perfect pears.

She remembered mentioning to Alexander on their last visit how she enjoyed pears.

A portion of the tension seemed to release from Isabelle’s back and shoulders.

She could not keep herself from walking over to Mrs. Burns and standing beside her. “Those are glorious. They smell divine.”

“Indeed, they do,” Mrs. Burns said, keeping her gaze on the bowl but poorly hiding a smile.

“Is there a good market in the village? Or did you bring those with us from the city?” Isabelle reached into the bowl and put the fruit close to her nose.

Mrs. Burns nodded. “Here in the village. A neighbor has a small orchard in operation. Mr. Osgood seems to have had a pressing desire today to partake.”

A pressing desire? Had Alexander demanded that Mrs. Burns go to the market upon arrival and buy fruit?

Perfect September pears. Always among the reasons to be contented.

“I wonder,” Isabelle said to Mrs. Burns, “if you’re at all aware that I love pears and that you’ve made me very happy.”

The housekeeper looked into Isabelle’s eyes and smiled. “I am recently made aware of this, and I am terribly glad I’ve had a small part in bringing you joy.” She leaned in a little closer. “But if you don’t mind my saying, my job was only the execution. The plan was made by himself.” She nodded over her shoulder to indicate the rest of the house.

Isabelle felt her stiffness soften another fraction. Her voice, when she spoke, came softly. “That’s very kind.”

Again Mrs. Burns nodded. “He is, you know. Very kind. Even if it’s hard for him to show it. He has a practiced deference to women of your station.”

Isabelle knew that if she could search for such kindness instead of underscoring the disappointments, the next few days might tell her much about the changes she could expect in the coming weeks and months.

As she turned the lovely pear over in her fingers, she remembered Alexander’s glance at her over dinner that night earlier in the week, the feeling that they’d shared a moment of intimacy. She was startled to hear Alexander’s voice from the stair.

“You were right.”

She looked up. He was dressed in fetching fawn riding gear. His casual and comfortable handsomeness nearly took her breath. “Right? About what?”

He came down the last of the steps and stood nearer her. His smile was gentle and looked sincere. “You once told me that simple things can please you.”

She looked from the pear to her husband. “Simple kindness will surely always do so.” She felt her cheeks flushing, and it was a relief that the blush stemmed from happiness instead of frustration.

She turned the fruit in her hands. “I thank you for this thoughtfulness. And for remembering.”

“Indeed, I remember,” he said, his voice low.

The desire to touch his arm startled her, and she took a small step backward but retained her smile so as not to appear disinterested.

“Perhaps we can share this simple pleasure after our ride.”

A momentary flash of sympathy suggested to her that perhaps his silence in the carriage was brought on by nervousness. Was it possible he had been worried his gesture would be unappreciated? Did he, as Mrs. Burns seemed to think, fear her censure?

He’d remembered a few of the silly things she’d said on that first visit to the country. How many other things did he recall? She’d spent the past several months convinced that he didn’t even notice her in his home. That she was an item he needed to collect to ensure his acceptability in Manchester society. But here, in the country, he seemed to recall even things she’d forgotten about herself.

It caused her to wonder about the less-pleasant parts of her conduct. Did he notice her sighs? Her glances of disappointment? What else that she was certain he’d ignored had he actually attended to?

She set the pear on a table. “I look forward to sharing it with you.”

“Come, then, if you will, and meet your Destiny.” He held out his hand, and she took it, bringing to mind the evening earlier in the week, the one that prompted him to invite her here. She was once again comfortable in his grasp.

“Meet my destiny? That sounds formidable.”

He chuckled. “Not at all. Destiny is your horse, if she suits you.” With that small laugh, his worry and coldness seemed to peel away, and he became once more the charming Mr. Osgood she glimpsed now and then.

As they walked to the stable, he explained that in the past, he’d boarded the horses in the town and hired a young man from the village to act as groom when he’d come to Wellsgate to stay. “If it will please you, I could arrange for someone to come care for the horses during our visit.”

If it will please you? Isabelle felt a shiver of giddiness run up her arms. He wanted to please her.

“As we’re staying only a short time, I’d like to tend to the horses myself.” She felt his posture change, sensing a stiffness. “If that’s not improper, of course.” The difference between her childhood and their new life together was clear when she had to ask questions like that.

She felt his arm relax around hers. “I don’t care if it’s proper or not. If you want to brush and curry and fork hay and pour oats, I’ll not stop you.”

She turned her head in time to see his smile.

They stepped inside the stable, the slats in the wooden boards letting in beams of afternoon sunlight in which dust and straw filaments danced. Isabelle inhaled. She loved the scents of a stable.

Alexander led her to a stall where an enormous stallion, eighteen hands high if he was an inch, stamped and snorted. His black eyes shone like polished stones in a stream, and he pulled his lips back to show his huge teeth.

Isabelle attempted to be brave. “This is Destiny?” She dared not reach her hand out toward the beast for fear he might bite it off. She felt her heart race. What could she say that was both true and kind? “He’s magnificent.” She was certain Alexander could hear the terror in her voice. She hadn’t any reserves to hide it.

Alexander shook his head. “This is Allegro. It is a friendlier name than he deserves.”

Relieved that this was not the horse he’d chosen for her, Isabelle said, “What would be a better name?”

“Something like Diavolo or Tempesta.”

“Do all your horses have such descriptive names?”

“Not all of them. Goblin is my favorite,” he said, pointing out a dappled gray. He gestured over his shoulder to a white horse in the stall behind them. “She’s Prancer. And Destiny is here.” He walked her to the stall of a beautiful chestnut.

“She’s small,” Isabelle said, grateful for the difference in size between this horse and the first one.

“But she’s fast and strong,” Alexander said, possibly misinterpreting her comment for complaint.

“‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’ My cousin used to say that about me.” Isabelle chuckled at the memory.

“I believe it,” Alexander said. “Shakespeare. Your cousin is a scholar?”

Isabelle shook her head. “I believe he would like to be known as a great reader, but in truth, he only studies what strikes his fancy.” She reached over the top of the stall door and opened her palm so Destiny could get used to her scent. Surprise filled her at the joy she felt as Alexander invited confidences about Edwin. “He is not anyone’s idea of a great scholar.” She remembered some of the tantrums Edwin’s tutor would throw when Ed refused to be entranced by the Greats. “He detests Latin. We shall never speak of mathematics. He completely fails to grasp any of the nuances of the astronomical sciences. But he does enjoy a good book: novel, essay, policy, religious text.

“Sometimes I think he should write one of his own,” Isabelle mused as the horse nuzzled her hand. “He could become a writer. He does well at the initial burst of creativity. But he’d likely rather despise the mundane nature of revision.”

“And you?” Alexander’s voice was quiet, casual. The formality was gone. “What will you become?”

Shocked, Isabelle could barely keep her hand on the horse. Become? She was a wife. That was her contribution. Upon marrying, she had relinquished all childish thoughts of becoming anything other than a lady of her husband’s society. Somehow, in this moment, she felt the possibility that he might believe her capable of more. Was it possible he saw something in her beyond how she appeared beside him? Before this moment, she had never supposed any such thing. Were circumstances changing? Was Alexander changing? She gathered herself and turned to him with a smile. “Perhaps one day I’ll defeat the injustice in the world. After I ride this beautiful horse.”

Alexander placed his hand on her back as he leaned across to unlatch Destiny’s stall door. She felt the ghost of that pressure warm her as he saddled the horse and brought her out.

The beautiful, terrifying stallion, Allegro, made no secret of his disapproval as they left him stabled.

“Poor him,” Isabelle said.

Alexander, astride his dappled gray, laughed. “Poor Allegro? He could throw a man from here to the city. He’s to be admired, not pitied.”

Isabelle wanted to argue that the pity wasn’t about Allegro’s abilities but rather his confinement; however, she was enjoying the playful and encouraging tone of the conversation. She nodded and held her tongue.

“Where shall we ride?” Isabelle asked.

Alexander spread both arms wide, balancing gracefully on Goblin. “Lead the way, my lady.”

My lady. Isabelle felt her breath catch. Goodness, how different her view of marriage might be if Alexander spoke to her this way in the city. How different it might still prove to be, beginning today.

Isabelle realized that Alexander had issued an invitation to which she must respond. “I don’t know the grounds,” she said.

Alexander brought his horse closer. He reached over and patted Destiny. “She does. Trust her.”

When given the reins, Destiny trotted toward a path in the wood to the east. Isabelle looked over her shoulder. “Here?”

“Certainly. Destiny knows her mind. Sometimes it takes her a bit to get where she’s going. If you’re patient with her, she’ll open up to you the most spectacular views.”

Isabelle ducked under a low-hanging branch and wondered if he would ever make such a statement about her.

They walked through woods and trotted across meadows. At one point, Alexander gave Goblin the reins and they galloped across an expanse of grasses and boulders. Isabelle watched the horse navigate the terrain, keeping himself in the green so he could run.

As the sun peered through the scudding clouds, it would illuminate a hill of grasses and send a bloom of green light that made Isabelle’s heart sing. How she missed her childhood home with its fields and groves and living, growing things. This wild park brought her great joy.

She let Destiny wander through the field, trotting, then cantering, stopping to nibble grasses or drink from the stream. She remained always in sight of Alexander, but she found it pleasing to have the opportunity to be experiencing the same enjoyment at the same time, even at a small distance. The forthcoming delight of talking over their similar but separate experiences gave her a thrill of anticipation.

She found her eyes drifting to Alexander and his obvious strength and grace on horseback. She could see, even from across the little valley, his hair lifting and falling with each leap of his horse. He looked like joy made personal out there in the patchy sunlight.

Once, he looked at her as she looked at him, sending a wave across the grassy field. As she lifted her arm to wave back, a shiver of happiness moved through her.

She wondered again if they could stay here. Mr. Kenworthy was more than capable of managing the factory in Alexander’s absence. Mr. Connor, so eager to come to the Osgoods’ home at the first sign of trouble with the equipment, was proficient in the running of the machinery. And there was no question, even in the few hours they’d spent today, that she and Alexander were better together here in the country. In the city they had none of the playfulness, none of the attentiveness she felt here with him.

Pondering the possibility of discussing a longer stay this summer, Isabelle’s attention was jerked back to Alexander when she heard Goblin’s scream—there was no other way to describe it: a sound of terror and pain and loss of control that tore through the horse and into Isabelle’s ears like a physical wound.

Destiny stiffened beneath her, and she pointed the horse toward Alexander as she watched him struggle to calm Goblin. Whatever had spooked the horse had apparently not gone, for he reared again on his back legs, struggling for balance. Coming down again, Goblin leapt into the air at a strange angle. Isabelle watched helplessly from the opposite side of the valley as Alexander’s body was thrown into the air. He sailed out of the saddle like a piece of cloth, arced away from the horse, and landed against a large boulder, where he lay still.