Throw His Heart Over

by Sebastian Nothwell

  “Nicely done, sir,” said Fletcher.

  Aubrey, still not quite believing he had any control over the beast, didn’t dare look over his shoulder to acknowledge the groom’s praise. Yet a victorious smile stole over his face nonetheless.

  Parsival continued walking along the paddock’s perimeter until they came to the part of the fence where Lindsey stood, his forearms on the uppermost bar, leaning forward in eagerness with a winning smile to match Aubrey’s own.

  A few widdershins turns around the paddock later, and a few more clockwise after that, Aubrey dismounted from Parsival, without much grace, but unassisted.

  “How do you like the reins, then?” Lindsey asked him as Fletcher took the gelding back into the stable.

  “Well enough,” said Aubrey. Satisfied for the moment that none of the grooms stood within earshot, he confessed in a lower tone, “Rather a lot of responsibility.”

  “Heavy is the head who wears the crown,” Lindsey offered up with an air of quotation. “It must follow, then, that heavy is the hand which holds the reins.”

  Aubrey bit back a laugh and followed him back up to the house.

  Whilst Aubrey went upstairs to exchange his suit for one which smelled less of horses, Lindsey continued on ahead of him to the library. Aubrey knew the route between it and the master bedroom better than any other. As such, when it came time for him to rejoin Lindsey, he felt more confident than otherwise in taking a right-hand turn in place of a left and bringing himself down by another path in an effort to better familiarise himself with the house. His wanderings brought him past the billiards room—unexpected, yet not unwelcome. Beyond the billiards room he found a parlour, its furniture covered in white sheets in defence against dust. He concluded this must be a room more often used by Rowena and abandoned in her absence.

  Past the parlour the corridor split in twain, and as Aubrey turned left, he crossed paths with a maid emerging from one of the rooms. As she shut the door behind herself, she bent her head, and so he spotted her before she realised his presence. In doing so, he recognised her as the maid he’d overheard the other day—the one who agreed to replace the one who feared his face.

  By the time she looked up, Aubrey had regained some control over his alarmed expression and continued down the corridor. He nodded as he passed her. She bowed her head and gave a quick curtsy. By the bounds of etiquette, that should have been the end of the matter.

  And yet, as Aubrey walked on, he found something in him gnawing for more. Perhaps the success of taking the reins had emboldened him, for he stopped, turned, and said, “I beg your pardon, miss.”

  The maid’s initial surprise at being thus addressed quickly gave way to wariness, and with hesitance, she replied, “Yes, sir?”

  Aubrey could hardly blame her for her suspicion. He knew better than most that gentlemen typically only noticed their so-called lessers for one reason. And he could hardly assure her he had no interest in her for that particular purpose without making their conversation even more awkward. Still, he had a pressing question to ask. “What is your name?”

  “Owen, sir. Winifred.”

  “Thank you, Miss Owen.”

  The startled flash in her dark eyes told him he’d erred. It took him a moment to realise how. Aubrey, used to considering the servant class upon an equal footing with himself, had addressed her as he might any woman working in the mills: by assumed title and surname. Whereas, of course, most gentleman addressed their staff by their Christian names, if at all.

  Before she could say anything in response, Aubrey gave her a brisk nod and scampered away from the site of his latest shame as fast as his waning dignity would allow.

  ~

  By the end of Tuesday’s riding lesson, Fletcher deemed Aubrey a fair enough rider to go beyond the paddock and out into the wider countryside with Lindsey.

  Lindsey felt no small measure of pride at his clever Aubrey’s quick progress. He suffused most of it into a hearty clap of Aubrey’s shoulder. While he knew he had nothing to fear from showing his particular affections in front of his staff, he still had a natural hesitance of flaunting his intimacy in their presence—to say nothing of Aubrey’s discomfort. Such considerations only made Lindsey all the more eager to ride out with Aubrey. To enjoy the fresh air of the countryside whilst rejoicing in the affection of his beloved, in the peculiar anonymity of the wilderness… Lindsey craved it more than words could say.

  Wednesday dawned as bright as every day previous. The sun shone no less bright in the early afternoon than it had in the morning. The only clouds appeared gleaming white and fluffy, friendly and gossamer, nothing like the heavy green-grey smog that hung over Manchester.

  For his own mount, Lindsey selected Atalanta, the only mare in the stable not belonging to his sister. Aubrey went on the gelding Parsival, as he had for all his riding lessons.

  The ride began much like the riding lessons. On this occasion Aubrey mounted his steed unassisted, with determined strength if not ease or grace. Lindsey felt a mixture of admiration and wistfulness as he watched. Though he would never dare wound Aubrey’s pride by mentioning it, he had rather enjoyed helping Aubrey up. Still, there was something to be said for the sight of a handsome man springing into the saddle—particularly when, once seated, said handsome man turned to flash a smile of secret triumph at Lindsey.

  As they rode side-by-side out of the stable yard, Lindsey kept his eyes on Aubrey as much or more than on the path ahead. Aubrey started the ride with his jaw clenched and brow furrowed, but as they continued on their journey, he gradually relaxed, until he reached a point of comfort where he evidently felt safe enough to take his eyes off his steed’s ears and catch Lindsey’s look. Surprise flitted over Aubrey’s features, then another smile, broader and longer-lasting than the one in the stable yard, now that it had no audience save Lindsey. Lindsey responded in kind, his heart warmed by the knowledge that such a smile was meant for him and him alone.

  At length, Aubrey grew comfortable enough in the saddle to converse. He told Lindsey all about the morning’s modelling and how the painting progressed. Lindsey confessed himself eager to see the finished product.

  Aubrey hesitated, then said, “You could see it now. I don’t think Halloway would mind.”

  Lindsey gave him a considering look. He knew well the expression on Aubrey’s face—the worrying of the lower lip between his teeth. “Would you mind?”

  The question came in the gentlest tone Lindsey possessed, yet no listener could deny its pointed nature.

  Aubrey glanced away for a moment, his brow furrowed.

  “It’s all right if you do,” said Lindsey.

  An appreciative smile flickered across Aubrey’s lips. “I don’t mind. It’s just… odd. I’ve never modelled before. Much to Halloway’s frustration.”

  “He’s not short with you, is he?” Halloway didn’t seem the type, but if he proved himself a cad, Lindsey wouldn’t hesitate to come to Aubrey’s defence.

  “Oh no, nothing of the sort,” Aubrey replied easily. “He’s a perfect gentleman about the business. Only I think he wishes I’d taken him up on his offer earlier.” His expression turned wistful, and he cocked his head in such a way as to bring his burn scars into the sun.

  Lindsey knew, of course, that Halloway had chosen the subject of Icarus specifically to take full advantage of Aubrey’s distinctive appearance, but he didn’t think it would help to remind Aubrey of that now. Nor would it help to reassure Aubrey that he remained devastatingly handsome. So instead, Lindsey replied, “He’s lucky to have you model for him at all, no matter when.”

  Aubrey’s eyes widened, and for an instant Lindsey feared he’d made the issue worse, until a bark of laughter burst from Aubrey’s throat.

  Parsival snorted, and Atalanta’s ears swivelled, but Lindsey’s calm suffused his horse and her partner in turn, despite the sudden sound. His own laughter reverberated through his chest, and he pressed his lips firmly together to contain it, until he felt ce
rtain he would let out no more than a quiet chuckle.

  Aubrey, meanwhile, had clapped a hand over his mouth to prevent further outbursts whilst he recovered himself. When he dropped his hand at last, he had an easy grin to match Lindsey’s own.

  “Have you ever had your portrait painted?” Aubrey asked.

  “I haven’t,” Lindsey replied. “The family tradition is to wait until the subject has come into his own, as it were—inherited a title, or married.”

  “You’ve already done the one,” Aubrey pointed out. “And you’re less than a year away from the other.”

  “True enough, though I had always assumed such events would occur in the reverse order.”

  Lindsey had only thought aloud as he spoke, though the reminder of his father’s passing gave him pause, and judging from the knitting of Aubrey’s brow, the same occurred to him. Aubrey moved his arm as if to lay a hand on Lindsey’s shoulder, then hesitated, doubtless rethinking the instinctive gesture in light of both men sitting astride horses at that moment. Still, Lindsey appreciated the effort and hoped his thankful smile said as much.

  “Are you suggesting,” Lindsey continued, “that you suppose I am overdue to sit for a portrait?”

  “Not in so many words,” said Aubrey. He stopped himself again, and when he resumed speaking, he did so with a bashful air. “I just think your face is worth preserving, is all.”

  Lindsey couldn’t help teasing him. “As a curiosity, no doubt.”

  “As a work of art!” Aubrey protested.

  Lindsey raised his brows.

  Realisation dawned over Aubrey’s face, and his cheeks turned a delightful rosy shade. “You’re a damned handsome gent, and you know it as well as I.”

  Lindsey shrugged, unable to stop himself from smiling at the compliment. “If you insist.”

  “I do,” said Aubrey.

  His firm tone surprised Lindsey, who turned his gaze from the road ahead to see Aubrey’s dark brows furrowed in determination.

  “I don’t say it often enough,” Aubrey continued—Lindsey would’ve protested this assertion, but Aubrey didn’t give him the chance. “But you’re handsome, and kind, and… a good man.”

  The “I love you” went unspoken, as they rode along out-of-doors where anyone might hear, but Lindsey felt it echoing in his heart as clearly as if Aubrey had shouted it.

  Aubrey cleared his throat. “And I think someone ought to try their hand at preserving at least some of that.”

  “Halloway, you mean,” said Lindsey, his fond smile turning wry at the corners.

  “He’s not half-bad at it,” Aubrey admitted.

  “True enough. How would you like to see me painted? Standing in the library? Or laid out like the Venus of Urbino?”

  “If you mean without your clothes on, I can’t say I’d mind it.” Aubrey said, his smile matching Lindsey’s. “Though I don’t think you could hang it in the family gallery.”

  “Standing in the library for the gallery, then,” Lindsey conceded. “And reclining nude for you.”

  Aubrey’s cheeks had once again turned a charming shade of porcelain pink, like the inside of a seashell. “If you’re offering.”

  “I am. Volunteering, even. With enthusiasm.”

  “Then as long as you are,” Aubrey added, not meeting Lindsey’s twinkling eyes, “perhaps you’d also sit for something smaller. And more… traditional.”

  “Interesting euphemism for ‘put your clothes back on,’” Lindsey mused aloud. A spark of understanding put a stop to his teasing. “You mean a miniature?”

  “Yes,” Aubrey blurted.

  Lindsey blinked at him.

  Aubrey spluttered on. “It’s rather foolish, I know—it’s not like you’re going away to sea and I need something to remember you by—but—I still—”

  In truth, since the explosion at the mill, they’d rarely spent more than a few days apart. Not that either of them minded. And yet.

  “You still want me?” Lindsey gently prompted, as Aubrey’s speech seemed choked by the intensity of his own desires.

  Relief washed over Aubrey’s face. “I do.”

  Lindsey felt his own cheeks warming to match Aubrey’s, even as a smile spread across them. “Then I’d be happy to sit for a miniature. On one condition.”

  Aubrey looked puzzled. “Name it.”

  “I’d like one of you, in turn.”

  This answer did nothing to un-puzzle Aubrey’s expression, though an astonished smile broke through his bemusement. “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  Aubrey bit his lower lip and looked away, bashful as ever, out across the fields to the woods beyond. Lindsey followed his gaze, admiring the gentle sway of the top-most branches, though not quite so much as he admired the sharp line of Aubrey’s jaw.

  The summer breeze—which ‘til now had gently plucked at the ends of their horses’ manes—picked up. The top-most branches of the woods swayed with greater speed and violence. Lindsey realized the leaves were not merely fluttering in the wind; they had turned over entirely, showing their lighter-coloured backs to the sky. Looking to the sky himself, Lindsey saw the fluffy white clouds had gathered together into a single grey mass, and that grey mass darkened with every passing moment, with coal-black clumps of thunderheads on its heels.

  “Should we turn—” Aubrey began.

  “Yes,” said Lindsey.

  The single syllable came sharp and cold with forced calm. Lindsey glanced back to Aubrey and found the last traces of a hastily-hidden look of surprise.

  “Lead on,” said Aubrey, with as much or more determination as Lindsey had expressed.

  Lindsey forced a smile and turned Atalanta back upon the path they’d come. It took a few moments more for Aubrey to coax Parsival into the same direction, and by the time they started back in earnest, raindrops pelted the path. Lindsey hoped it might remain a light summer shower, but even as he did so, the raindrops redoubled, turning the dusty path to dark mud. Worse yet, a distant rumbling echoed across the skies.

  If only, Lindsey mused, he had waited until Aubrey had learnt to trot before they had gone out riding. If only the weather had shown its true colours before they’d set out. If only he had noticed the change sooner and turned them back even minutes ago. As matters stood now, they’d be soaked through by the time they arrived at the stables.

  More rumbling resounded across the fields. Undeniable thunder. Atalanta’s ears flicked ‘round. Lindsey bid her remain steady. He looked to Aubrey beside him, wondering if he ought to take Parsival’s reins out of Aubrey’s hands, pride be damned.

  Lightning flashed.

  And everything exploded.

  Both horses shrieked. Atalanta leapt to the side. Lindsey kept his seat, just barely, and concentrated his efforts on turning her head so she couldn’t bolt. She spun twice before she finally shook off her spook. The moment she halted, Lindsey looked up to see how Aubrey fared on Parsival.

  Only to find both horse and rider had vanished.

  ~

  Chapter Five

  Lindsey stared at the road where Aubrey had ridden just moments before. He’d expected to find him struggling to regain control over his spooked steed, or laid out in the mud whilst Parsival galloped off for the hills.

  But to find Aubrey simply gone, as if faeries had plucked him out of reality, was more unnerving than the worst Lindsey had imagined.

  Lindsey dropped the reins, slipped his boots out of his stirrups, and swung himself out of the saddle and down. Atalanta didn’t like that, on top of her spook. The moment Lindsey splashed into the mud, she bolted.

  This wasn’t so worrisome. She knew the way to the stables as well as any other beast and could seek shelter on her own. Better to not have to worry about keeping a frightened steed under control. He could focus on finding Aubrey.

  Thunder rumbled overhead. Lindsey, wary of being the tallest thing in an open field during a storm, abandoned the road for the moment to seek shelter in the shadow of a
boulder. Crouched down in the grass and muck, he reminded himself that he couldn’t very well help Aubrey if he got himself struck by lightning. Running out into danger now would make him no better than the foolish horses. He had to keep his head. To think.

  A difficult task, when his mind screamed at him that his Aubrey was gone, gone, gone.

  Rain poured down. Lindsey watched the clouds rolling overhead, shielding his eyes from the rain with one hand. Lightning split the sky again and again, chased by deafening thunder. He tried not to think of the possibility that any of those strikes might have hit Aubrey.

  He knew not how long he waited. Rain soaked him through, spilling down the collar of his coat into his shirt, sticking his breeches to his legs, and draining into his boots. His knees ached with crouching.

  Then, at last, the thunder rolled away and took the lightning with it. He counted the seconds without a strike. The seconds turned into minutes. In those minutes, the rain slowed from a driving downpour to a mere steady stream. At last, he felt satisfied that the worst was over, though it yet rained, and stood up to begin his search.

  The turf, soaked through with sudden rain, proved no match for Parsival’s hooves. Every panicked stride had carved deep into the mud.

  Lindsey wasted no time in following the trail.

  The gouges in the ground led him from the road across the field—every step sucking at his boots—over a fence—a worrisome thought, that Parsival had taken a panicked leap with Aubrey upon his back, though Lindsey saw no sign that Aubrey had become unseated in that particular adventure—and across another field abutting it. Lindsey slogged through it all, his eyes fixed upon the ground before him, hunting out the next track, until the mud and grass underfoot turned to damp dead leaves, and he looked up to find himself on the edge of the woods.

  Lindsey tried to take heart. By fleeing into the trees, Parsival, and by extension Aubrey, would be sheltered from the rain and lightning alike. Yet the ground, sheltered by those very same trees, did not show Parsival’s passing so clearly as the muddied fields.