— "You haven't visited me in quite some time, Young Lord. I hope someone provoked you beforehand, so I wouldn't have to do it myself?"
— "I just want to practice, sir. Please… leave it be."
— "Ah, how uninteresting! What about anger, or passion? What about love for what you do?"
— "I think love is the opposite of anger, sir."
— "Ah, my boy, you are still too young!"
Alex lunged forward, but Sir Bronte easily dodged.
— "Why is that?" Alex demanded.
— "Because there is no true love without anger, just as there is no light without shadow."
Alex grew irritated by the teacher's riddles, so he continued the series of lunges.
— "If you manage to strike me even once, I shall tell you at the end of the lesson what my words mean," Sir Bronte replied, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
***
— "You did well today."
— "Thank you, sir," Alex said, sinking onto the bench, catching his breath and wiping sweat from his face. His mind was still on the teacher's words, but he kept his expression neutral, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a "victory."
— "Go change. I have another student in an hour, so there's no need to hurry."
When Alex stepped out of the changing room, Sir Bronte reached, as usual, to ruffle the boy's hair—but Alex, for the first time, dodged deftly.
— "Ha! I've been waiting for you to do that! You're still flushed; go have some water."
Alex moved silently toward the water pitcher.
— "How is your good friend?" Sir Bronte asked suddenly, smiling.
Alex felt irritation rise.
— "Why, as soon as you learn of our friendship, must you always ask about him? What business is it of yours?"
Christopher chuckled.
— "You know, I once taught him fencing, just as I do you."
— "Really?" Alex recalled the story in detail, clenching his hands while pouring water into a glass.
— "He was very capable. Perhaps even more so than you. That remains to be seen. He would have made an excellent fencer — or warrior. Why do you think that is?"
— "I have no idea, sir. The Duke of Blackthorn seems talented in everything he touches."
Sir Bronte laughed again.
— "You speak very kindly of him. Perhaps so. He possesses two qualities every true warrior should have. Indeed, every man, in my opinion."
Alex's irritation deepened. The teacher spoke of Nathan as though he knew him entirely. He also hated it when older people lectured on life, especially about others, from their lofty perch.
— "Why so silent? Not even curious?"
— "If you wish to tell me, you will, sir," Alex replied firmly.
— "You know me too well," Sir Bronte said, reaching again to ruffle Alex's hair, and again Alex dodged, earning a genuine smile from the teacher.
— "The Duke of Blackthorn knows both anger and love."
Alex felt a pang in his stomach.
Again? What does that mean? How dare he speak of Nathan as if he knows him?
— "Sir, what are you trying to press on me so persistently?" Alex asked aloud, his irritation evident.
— "We stopped training with him when he was exactly your age. Do you know why he left?"
Alex's outrage flared, the old story springing vividly to mind.
— "What was it?" he demanded, standing with his back to the tutor.
— "He needed to learn the very lesson I tried to teach you today."
Alex's temper snapped. He slammed his glass onto the table.
— "You are right to be exasperated with an old teacher who speaks in riddles. In your place, I would feel the same. Yet I hope you will come to the next lesson, despite it?"
Alex knew that if he said Never, ever, he would lose this peculiar contest. So he fixed Sir Bronte with a fierce glare and replied,
— "See you in a week," before striding from the hall.
— "Give my regards to Nathan," Christopher called after him, provoking Alex's irritation one last time that morning.
***
That evening, Alex rode Soul late into the night, seeking to recover from the fencing lesson. He could not fathom why the teacher had begun singling him out — whether it was after his return from Italy or after hearing of his friendship with Nathan. Bronte had always been peculiar, fond of dispensing wisdom from his lofty mentor's perch, yet he had never gone so far in his choice of words. Alex felt particularly stung by his vision of the matter with Nathan. Clearly, the Duke had once endured some wound, and Bronte had dismissed it all with a few lofty phrases!
Suddenly, Soul neighed and struck the ground with her hooves.
— "Forgive me, forgive me," Alex murmured. He had drawn the reins too tightly in his distraction, causing her pain.
Time to go home, I suppose.
A few days later, the Carlstons arrived at Blackthorn estate for breakfast. Nathan, as promised, had sent invitations to the entire family, and to Alex's surprise, his father received it not only with dignity but with genuine delight.
— "How I long to see their stables," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together with boyish enthusiasm.
Alex, who often visited, smiled as he watched his parents eagerly take in every detail — whether newly altered or faithfully preserved since their last visit.
— "Lord and Lady Carlston, Young Lord — what a pleasure to welcome you!" the Duke greeted them with a radiant smile, inviting all to the table.
They exchanged pleasantries, remarked upon the weather, and soon turned to matters of greater substance.
— "You know," Lady Carlston said with sudden fondness, "I feel fifteen years younger. It seems only yesterday I saw you with little Ophelia, racing through these halls. Alex was but seven then, if memory serves. Do you recall that visit, my dear?"
— "No, Mother," Alex replied with a faint smile.
— "Then perhaps you were even younger. How swiftly time escapes us."
— "I must say," Lord Carlston interjected warmly, "you have treated the estate with admirable reverence. I noticed your parents' portraits restored to their places, and even certain of their personal things untouched. I remember those spectacles on the nightstand — your father looked all the wiser in them… and those pocket watches—"
— "These?" Nathan asked lightly, producing a pair of watches from his inner pocket.
— "Indeed! I see you have preserved them most carefully. So many memories! It is rare to step into a house so full of spirit — there is such comfort here."
— "You must visit me more often, Lord and Lady Carlston. I thank you for such generous words," Nathan replied with an unforced smile.
— "I finally understand why Alex prefers staying here rather than at home," Lord Carlston declared, laughing at his own jest.
Alex's heart sank. He glanced at Nathan, but the Duke merely smiled politely, as if amused.
— "One thing I cannot comprehend, Duke — pray, forgive my frankness — what do you find in carving wooden figures? Alex brings home those little horses of yours, sets them on the table… They're charming, of course, but why such fondness for such a trivial pastime?"
— "I learned carpentry while in Prussia," Nathan replied evenly. "I have no aspirations for the objects themselves, but the work steadies the mind and quiets one's thoughts."
— "Ah, I see! Well then, son, I give you my blessing to continue! Do apply yourself to it before the races!"
Alex shifted uncomfortably at his father's humour, which he found witless. Nathan, he thought, was obliged to endure it — smiling along as though he enjoyed his parents' company.
— "Speaking of races," Lord Carlston pressed on, "I trust you've learned your lesson? That fellow — what's his name — turned Altiva into a laughingstock! Third place! With her abilities she might easily have taken first. A marvel of a horse. Shame you've yet to find a proper rider. I'd gladly oblige, Duke, but I prefer my own son in the saddle, for fools abound everywhere! You must seek your jockey from abroad."
— "You are correct, Lord Carlston. I have long thought myself ill-suited to Altiva in matters of racing knowledge and experience. A horse in her prime demands careful handling and a skilled master to reach her potential. I am considering selling her to a worthier owner and acquiring a simpler mount for leisurely rides. I would value your advice in finding such a buyer; I trust your judgment greatly."
Alex stared at Nathan in bewilderment. He had heard nothing of this before.
— "What? You astonish me, Duke! To yield so quickly?" Lord Carlston exclaimed, visibly taken aback.
— "Perhaps so," Nathan admitted calmly. "In truth, I have discovered I prefer watching the races to participating in them. Too many cares and vexations. If you help me place Altiva in the hands of a gentle and worthy owner, I shall be grateful indeed."
— "You cannot sell Altiva!" Alex burst out, but Nathan only gave him a warm, steady look in reply.
— "How much do you ask for the horse, Duke?" Lord Carlston inquired, polishing his spectacles with a cloth.
— "I wish the sale concluded swiftly, so that she may be prepared for the early November races. I am willing to part with her for £200."
Lord Carlston threw back his head in hearty laughter.
— "Do you take me for a fool?"
— "By no means, Lord Carlston," Nathan answered serenely. "I merely ask for your assistance."
— "Only a fool would let such a horse go for that sum. Come now — why so low a price?"
— "My lord, you wound me. After breakfast, let us visit the stables; you will see she is in perfect health."
— "You've caught me, Duke. Do not be cross. Yet I cannot believe you to be so poor a man of business. One of us is the fool — either you or me."
Nathan laughed lightly. Alex sat open-mouthed, watching the exchange in disbelief.
After breakfast, Lady Carlston asked leave to stroll through the greenhouse in memory of old times, while the three men made their way to the stables. Lord Carlston examined Altiva with practiced hands—measuring, testing, searching for flaw. Alex shot Nathan a look brimming with confusion, but the Duke only smiled in silence.
— "I find no fault in her," Lord Carlston concluded at last. He turned a keen eye on Nathan. "But I cannot help you unless you speak plainly. Why such a paltry sum?"
Nathan's expression brightened.
— "I swear, my lord, I have spoken no falsehood. All the reasons I gave you are true. Yet there is one more."
— "Then out with it."
— "I know a rider who would suit Altiva perfectly. It is for her sake." Nathan patted the mare's flank with affection.
— "Then why insult me with such a meagre price?" Lord Carlston asked, his tone calmer, as if he anticipated the answer.
— "Forgive me, no insult was meant," said Nathan. "I wish Altiva to grow accustomed to her new rider before November's races. Whether I sell her for £200 or £800 matters little to me. What matters is her care, especially after what she endured earlier. And I ask but one condition, if I am to keep the price unchanged."
— "Name it."
— "I would have you give me Waterlily."
— "Waterlily? Are you out of your senses? You mock me!" Lord Carlston burst into laughter.
— "I have grown attached to her, my lord. Her gentle nature restored me to the saddle; she means more to me than you suppose."
Lord Carlston laughed so heartily he could scarcely speak. Nathan smiled, unruffled, while Alex stood frozen, struck dumb.
At last, when Lord Carlston recovered his breath, he said,
— "God be with you, Duke. They call you a peculiar man, and indeed you are. But I respect that, and I thank you humbly." He laid a hand upon Nathan's shoulder. "Rest assured — in our family, your horse will be well kept."
— "I never doubted it, my lord," Nathan replied with quiet warmth.