117. A Gesture and a Lesson

“I confess,” said Hawksley hoarsely, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief, “I am rather out of sorts.” He turned toward Tarquin with an air of gallant surrender. “Lord Tarquin, if you would… honour Lady Susan.”

The group stilled for a moment—surprised, perhaps—but Susan’s brows lifted ever so slightly, impressed.

Hawksley retired to a stone bench near the hedgerow, cradling his glass, where he alternated between small sips, dry hacks, and the occasional tear born of being bested by the betrayal of a sweet pastry.

Tarquin, stepping forward, offered his hands to Lady Susan with commendable restraint.

“Shall we, my lady?” he asked.

Lady Susan nodded, placing her boot with confidence.

With measured care—not a hint of over-eagerness—Tarquin lifted her into the saddle.

She settled gracefully, not airborne but assured. And from beneath her lashes, Countess Emily watched—quietly pleased that restraint, at last, had been acquired.

Even if it took a flying Countess to teach it.