Sophia sniffed. “It was his own fault. I don’t know what he was thinking, swinging from the barn loft on a rope like that. He’s eighteen and far too old for such behavior. And he certainly has no right to upset Mother in such a way.”

“He was trying to impress Miss Strickton,” Harriet said. “Which I’m certain he did when the rope came untied and he went crashing into the barn wall.”

Sophia giggled. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Me, too.” Ophelia chuckled. “Perhaps we can get Charlotte to tell us the tale when next we see her.”

Though Harriet understood her sisters’ amusement at the thought of their pompous older brother’s woes, she found that she could only manage a faint smile. That little rope trick had not only cost them precious time repairing the barn, but had also put Stephen out of service for the next two months, right when she needed him the most.

Harriet turned the cart down a narrow dirt road that was lined on one side by pleasant fields, a copse of trees on the other. They rounded a corner and Harriet hastily pulled the cart to a halt. “Goodness!”

“What is wro—” Sophia’s eyes widened.

A beautiful black horse stood to one side of the narrow lane, head lowered, sides heaving, his hide flecked with foam.

“Good heavens,” Harriet said, setting the brake. She gathered her skirts and climbed down from the seat, making the last hop into the dirt road. “Whose horse could this be?”

Ophelia stood, rising on her tiptoes, her bonnet sliding back off her head to reveal a collection of thick brown curls. “What a beautiful animal!” She clambered to the side of the cart and hopped down, her booted feet clomping pleasantly on the hard dirt surface. Max followed her from the cart, his large head coming to her elbow as he trailed along.

The horse shied at the approaching dog. “Oh, piffle,” Harriet said. “Keep Max away.”

“Sit,” Ophelia said to Max. The dog reluctantly dropped to his haunches and didn’t move. Max was a boon and a blessing to the Wards. He was a natural sheepdog, having been raised with the last batch of lambs. He made the barn his home just as they did. Even slept in the same stall when it rained. For this reason, the sheep trusted him implicitly, and it was no wonder; no stray dogs had ever managed to get a lamb or sheep that was under Max’s care. For that alone, he was worth his weight in gold.

Sophia eyed the horse with an interested gaze. “He’s beautiful. Whoever owns that horse must be mad to find him.”

Ophelia snorted her disbelief. “Whoever owns this horse is probably laying in the mud somewhere. See how the stirrups are twisted? I’d say the owner took a rather violent fall.”

Harriet took a step forward, then slowly reached for the reins. The horse shied, backing warily out of reach, head lifted, eyes wild.