Cherrybrook Rose by Tania Crosse Page B

child.’
    In a trice, she came up to his chair and bent to wrap her arms around his beloved neck. He patted her shoulder, his cheek pressed against hers, and his eyes closed as he endeavoured to shut out his distress. For how could he break it to her that, without Charles Chadwick’s money, Gospel would have to be sold . . .
    Rose padded up and down her bedroom, unconsciously chewing on the nail of her little finger. She should feel relieved, but she didn’t. She very definitely did not want to marry Mr Chadwick, but was it a wise decision? And was her father being his usual kind, understanding self, or was he really feeling deeply disappointed, despite his words?
    She rubbed her hand hard over her forehead. If she didn’t stop her restless tramping, she would wear a hole in the carpet, or so Florrie would have said. The shadow of a smile flickered on her pursed lips. Dear Florrie. At least she would always be there. And Joe, and Gospel and Amber, who at this moment was stretched out on the floor, nose on her paws but one ear cocked and her eyes dolefully following her mistress’s movements.
    Gospel. Well, of course, if anything could soothe her spirit it would be a crazed gallop across the moor. Perhaps over to Princetown to see Molly. Or to some lonely place, such as the twisted, stunted oaks of the eerie ancient Wistman’s Wood. Somewhere she had
not
taken Charles Chadwick!
    That was it. She pulled off her skirt and petticoats and wriggled into her tight riding breeches before donning the jacket and full skirt of her riding habit over the top. A small hat secured on the top of her springing curls with a long pin, a scarf wound around her neck for it was cold and penetratingly damp outside, gloves ready in her pocket, and her boots would be waiting by the back door after she had put her head around the kitchen door to tell Florrie where she would be going.
    The icy dankness stung her nostrils as she strode across the yard, Amber bouncing excitedly about her heels. Joe had turned Gospel into the field behind the buildings early in the morning, for the animal needed to kick up his heels and expend some of his boundless energy. Rose went in search of his bridle before leaping over the gate in her customary unladylike fashion, while Amber wormed her joyous way beneath the bottom-most bar.
    Gospel whinnied with pleasure when he heard Rose call, performing a standing jump from all four legs before thundering across the wet grass and snorting great wreaths of hot breath into the already saturated air as he came to a slithering halt before her. He nuzzled into her shoulder bringing a full smile to her face as she stroked his strong, sleek neck. When she had first bought him, he had been the devil’s own job to catch, fearing the worst from the martingale and strong bit. But now he knew that being caught usually meant a wild, exhilarating dash on the open moor with his gentle mistress on his back, and he was as eager for the adventure as she was.
    She slid the bridle over his head, slipping the bit carefully into his mouth, and fastening the chin strap, led him towards the yard to remove his blanket and saddle him before they streaked off in whatever direction she decided upon.
    Her fingers froze on the buckle of the girth strap . . .
    Her sharp ears had somehow caught that hiatus of unearthly silence that precedes the boom of an explosion by a split second, and then the thunderous crash that shattered her eardrums, reverberating through the valley before slowly rolling away on an ever fainter rumble. For several moments, not a muscle in Rose’s body moved, her breathing stilled and only her heart beating steadily while her brain absorbed what her heart did not want to believe. Her forehead pleated in an anguished frown and she slowly shook her head. But she
had
heard it, and as her pulse accelerated, pumping the frenzied life into her limbs, reality crept into her stunned mind, and with a hoarse cry,