“The Earl of Farnworth is thinking of buying one,” she lied, ashamed she hadn’t held fast to her conviction that women were just as entitled to learn about the world as men.
“History of…characteristics…breeding?” the docent asked.
Audible gasps stole her remaining courage. “History,” she murmured.
He led her through the maze of narrow aisles. On earlier visits, she’d often had trouble finding her way back to the entrance, but now felt more confident. She chuckled at the memory of a suggestion Emma had once made that they leave a trail of breadcrumbs.
She extracted several volumes from the shelf the docent indicated, hefted them to an empty table, extracted the slim notebook she always carried in her reticule and settled in to read.
*
Emma startled awakewhen Susan returned to the carriage. “I must have dozed off,” she said with a yawn. “How long were you gone?”
“About an hour,” Susan replied with a smile as Conrad set the horses in motion. “Sorry it took me so long.”
“I assume they didn’t eject you?”
“No. And I found a lot of good information.”
Emma rolled her eyes. She wasn’t remotely interested in horses, but Susan would regurgitate everything she had learned. It was as if her former sister-in-law soaked up knowledge like a sponge then couldn’t keep it all in. Her suspicions would be confirmed if the conversation opened withDid you know.
Susan took out her notebook and flipped the pages. “Did you know that during the reigns of James I and Charles I, forty-three mares—the so-called Royal Mares—were imported into England from North Africa?”
Emma, of course, had no inkling of such things, but Susan carried on. “A record, called the General Stud Book, was begun.”
“Why was it called that?” Emma asked, wishing she hadn’t when Susan explained. “They call the male horse a stud. Anyway, the General Stud Book listed only those horses that could be traced back to the Royal Mares in direct line, or to one of three other horses imported to England: the Byerly Turk, imported in 1689, the Godolphin Barb, about 1730, and the Darley Arabian.”
Emma stared blankly. “I don’t…”
“The horse Pendlebury plans to buy must be a descendant of one of these.”
Emma had long ago given up trying to plumb the depths of Susan’s convoluted mind, so she sat back and resumed her nap.
*
Later, Susan andRebecca were chatting about the day’s events while eating their evening meal. “On a whim,” Susan said. “I stopped in at the main house when we dropped Emma off, just to see if Blair was about.”
Rebecca salted her soup. “Good idea. An estate manager must know a lot about horses.”
“You’d think so,” Susan agreed. “Unfortunately, he has no knowledge of thoroughbreds.”
“Still, it was a good idea to ask his opinion.”
“Yes, although I eventually had to confide why I was interested in such a topic.”
“I don’t think anything you say or do can shock Mr. Blair,” Rebecca suggested.
“You’re probably right,” Susan replied. “He’s known me since I was a child. Papa was adamant I refrain from what he calledmy bluestocking activities. Blair was sympathetic when I had to leave home.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It was, but Papa wanted me to be someone I’m not. I had no choice.”
“You were fortunate to find refuge in Somerset with Hannah More.”
“Yes, I learned a lot from her and, fortunately, Papa didn’t cut off my allowance. I was able to leave a bad situation, unlike you, stuck with a monster of a husband.”
Rebecca dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Marrying Mr. Waterman was the biggest mistake of my life. It cost me my children. If Raphael and Michael hadn’t run off to join the navy in order to escape his fists, they might be alive today.”