In the bright May sunshine, swifts glide over the roof and along the walls of the stables.

The curry comb moves rhythmically over the coat of the Cleveland Bay mare. Each motion is practised and familiar. Noisette, that is the name of the beautiful dark brown mare with the black mane, stands quite still, yet watches expectantly the two apples the man has placed upon his tailcoat, which rests upon a small stool.

It is one of their rituals. After the grooming, man and horse share two apples: one for Noisette, and the other for Edmund.

When the mare snorts softly and turns her large head to look at the young lord, he does not meet the dark eyes of his favourite horse. Instead, he begins to murmur stubbornly:

“No. I truly do not wish to. I will not go inside. If I fail to appear, it will amount to a scandal… and then they will leave again and grant me peace.”

The brown-haired man suddenly sighs and lets the curry comb fall.

“At least she will leave me in peace, if not Father and Mother.”

Trouble settles upon his face as his gaze drops faster than his shoulders. They will be angered; he knows this well. Whenever he did anything that ran contrary to their expectations, they were always displeased. His posture never straight enough, his speech and pronunciation never loud enough, the absence of joy upon his face during social engagements. All of this had always earned him reproach, from tutors, governesses, and his parents alike.

The horse, as though she could read his thoughts, nudges him gently with her head against his arm. Her teeth seek his sleeve, tugging at it softly, a habit of hers whenever Edmund is downcast. Edmund sighs and pats her cheek gently.

“I know,” he murmurs quietly, turning to reach for the two apples.

Half an hour later, the young man stands before the closed doors of the sitting room in the family estate, the dirt and scent of the stables still clinging to him. After drawing a deep breath to steady himself, he pushes the doors open and steps inside.

His father’s cold gaze and his mother’s disapproval fall upon him at once. It does not matter; he is already accustomed to it. With his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze drifts across the room, and there he sees her for the first time.

This must be the young lady his parents had invited today in expectation of a courtship. A suitable match, they had said. Yet Edmund’s face shows neither joy nor curiosity.

His mother hastens to his side, urging him forward with maternal insistence, pressing him closer to the company. An unpleasant situation arises, and the young man wonders whether it might not have been better to arrive punctually after all.

After several further disapproving looks, and a pointed remark from the young lady’s father, Edmund finds himself at the far end of the room with her, seated opposite one another.

He is in no mood for conversation, least of all with a stranger. He leans back upon the narrow sofa, arms crossed, appearing more like a sulking child than the heir to an Earl.

“How unfortunate for you,” he says, „to have made the journey today in vain.”