speak to you later.â
Roanna slipped from her chair, her cheeks red with embarrassment. âIâm sorry,â she whispered and ran from the dining room but not fast enough to keep from hearing Jessieâs amused, malicious question:
âDo you think sheâll
ever
be civilized enough to eat with
people?â
âIâd
rather
be with the horses,â Roanna muttered as she slammed out the front door. She knew she should go back upstairs and change into boots again, but she desperately needed to get back to the stables, where she never felt inadequate.
Loyal was eating his own lunch in his office, while he read one of the thirty horse care publications that he received each month. He caught sight of her through the window as she slipped inside the stable and shook his head in resignation. Either she hadnât eaten anything, which wouldnât surprise him, or she was in trouble again, which wouldnât surprise him either. It was probably both. Poor Roanna was a square peg who stubbornly resisted all efforts to whittle down her corners so she would fit into the round hole, and never mind that most people happily whittled on their own corners. Burdened with almost constant disapproval, she merely hunkered down and resisted until the frustration grew too strong to be repressed, then struck out, usually in a way that only brought more disapproval. If sheâd had even one-half of Miss Jessieâs meanness, she could have really fought back and forced everyone to accept her on her own terms. But Roanna didnât have a mean bone in her body, which was probably why animals loved her so much. She was chock-full of mischief, though, and that only caused more trouble.
He watched as she drifted from stall to stall, trailing her fingers over the smooth wood. There was only one horse in the stable, Mrs. Davenportâs favorite mount, a gray gelding who had injured his right foreleg. Loyal was keeping him quiet today, with cold packs on the leg to ease the swelling. He heard Roannaâs crooning voice as she stroked the geldingâs face, and he smiled as the horseâs eyes almost closed with ecstasy. If her family gave her half the acceptance the horses did, he thought, she would stop fighting them at every turn and settle into the life into which she had been born.
Jessie drifted down to the stables after lunch and ordered one of the hands to saddle a horse for her. Roanna rolled her eyes at Jessieâs lady-of-the-manor airs; she always caught and saddled her own horse, and it wouldnât hurt Jessie to do the same. To be honest, she never had any trouble catching a horse, but Jessie didnât have that knack. It only showed how smart horses were, Roanna thought.
Jessie caught her expression out of the corner of her eye and turned a cool, malicious look on her cousin. âGrandmotherâs furious with you. It was important to her that Aunt Gloria be made to feel welcome, and instead you went into your hick act.â She paused ever so slightly and let her gaze drift over Roanna. âIf it
is
an act.â Having delivered that zinger, so subtly sharp that it slid between Roannaâs ribs with barely a twinge, she smiled faintly and walked away, leaving only the miasma of her expensive perfume behind.
âHateful witch,â Roanna muttered, waving her hand to disperse the too-heavy scent while she stared resentfully at her cousinâs slim, elegant back. It wasnât fair that Jessie should be so beautiful, know how to get along in public so perfectly, be Grandmotherâs favorite, and have Webb, too. It just wasnât
fair
.
Roanna wasnât the only one feeling resentful. Jessie seethed with it as she rode away from Davencourt.
Damn
Webb! She wished sheâd never married him, even though it was what sheâd set her sights on from girlhood, what everyone had taken for granted would happen. And Webb had taken it more for granted than anyone else, but
James - Jack Swyteck ss Grippando