But the next week was the happiest of Violet’s life. Every morning after breakfast, she accompanied Daniel to the shed to work on the motorcar.

Daniel had no intention of having Violet simply watch him work—he expected her advice and opinions, and her help. Their hands together held bolts and sockets, rods and gaskets, or smeared grease on bearings. Violet got filthy and tired, but then Daniel would look up at her, give her his searing smile, hook an arm around her, and pull her close for a kiss.

The casual intimacy drove her wild. Daniel did nothing more than kiss her, though those kisses were full of promise and wickedness.

She and Daniel didn’t spend all their time in the shed, however. Daniel worked plenty with his father with the horses, as he was a partner in his father’s training business. Violet was also drawn into Ainsley’s and Beth’s activities, and those of the children.

When Violet said innocently at supper one night that she’d never been on a horse, a ripple of horror went around the table. The Mackenzie brood, as usual, ate supper with the adults, though the littlest ones had already been put to bed.

“You’ve never been on a horse?” Eileen, Isabella’s daughter, asked. She wrinkled up her face. “How can someone never have been on a horse?”

“Not everyone’s uncle runs a racing stable,” Ainsley said, admonishing. “Different people have different lives, Eileen.”

Eileen stared in frank astonishment. That a person could live without horses apparently had never occurred to her.

“That’s all right, Eileen,” Violet said quickly. “I’ve always lived in cities, you see. And I travel quite a lot. I’ve never had the opportunity to learn to ride. We always go in coaches or trains.”

“Easily remedied,” Daniel said. “Tomorrow after breakfast, we’ll get you up on a horse. Ian and Dad had to teach Beth to ride, once upon a time.”

“Yes, and they terrified the life out of me,” Beth said. “But I grew fond of dear Emmie. She’s still in the pastures at Kilmorgan, in her twenties I believe. A fine old horse.”

“Violet will need someone placid like Emmie,” Daniel said. “How about Medusa?”

Violet started. “I don’t think I want to climb aboard a horse called Medusa.”

“She was named that because she gets her mane in a perilous state,” Aimee explained. “No matter how much grooming. It’s like snakes around her head. She looks so funny.”

“But she’s a sweetheart,” Daniel said.

“Nah,” Jamie said. “I think Violet needs someone like Bessie. A little spirited, but her gaits are smooth and easy to sit. She has a lot of heart, that horse.”

An argument ensued, up and down the table, about what horse would be just right for Violet. They all participated, except, Violet noted, Ian.

Ian only ate and watched his family. He loved to watch his family, Violet had noticed. Any tension drained from Ian whenever he looked at his wife or children. His face would soften, his mouth quirked into a little smile, and his eyes warmed.

Ian had at first been wary of Violet staying with them in London, until he’d discovered that Violet could tell him everything about any person she saw passing by the window. They made it into a game, Violet and Ian watching passers-by then each relating what they’d seen and comparing notes. Ian was good at it, finding far more nuances about the person than Violet.

Ian was not as good reading a person’s emotional state, however. Violet trumped him there. But Ian could remember every article of clothing and how each was arranged, what the person was carrying, and conclude from all this where they’d come from and where they were going. Ian won every match without triumph or gloating—he just did it.

Now as he watched his family and listened to the children argue, he was as calm and relaxed as Violet had ever seen him. Here, in this place, Ian Mackenzie had found happiness.

In the morning, the entire family turned out to see Violet and her first riding lesson, including all the dogs. The Mackenzies were surrounded by dogs at all times, she’d learned, even in the town houses of London. One called Old Ben, she’d been told—the duke’s dog—had sadly passed a few years ago, but two more dogs, Venus and Mars, both springer spaniels, had joined the family since then.

All six now wandered among the children, the younger dogs taking interest in the proceedings, the older ones seeking out warm places to lie down. Angelo, the Romany man who was in charge of Cameron’s stables, led out a horse Violet supposed wasn’t any larger than any other horse. The mare’s legs were long and her back broad, and her mane was snaking out of its row of little braids.

The horse was saddled with a man’s saddle, not a prim sidesaddle. Violet had dressed in a riding habit and hat Ainsley had lent her. The habit’s skirt was narrow, not made for riding astride.

When Daniel came out of the stables wearing tight-fitting breeches and boots—no kilt in sight—Violet stared in surprise.

“Am I riding or are you?” she asked.

“Both of us, love. Medusa’s big enough to hold two.”

“I believed I was to have a lesson.” Violet didn’t really care about whatever arrangement they’d made, because the sight of Daniel’s thighs outlined by the close-fitting breeches had made all thought cease.

“Your first ride shouldn’t scare you off it,” Daniel said. “You and me will have a nice, pleasant saunter, and you’ll get used to feeling a horse under you. Tomorrow, we fit you up with a saddle and show you how to sit.”