When he moved into her line of sight, Father was dressed and carrying both a cigar and his rifle, two things he was rarely without. He motioned for her to lead the way out of the house.

“What happened?” he asked once they were outside.

“Something with his leg … he doesn’t want to walk.” Elisabeth was relieved to hear that she sounded steady. Certain.

“We’ll have a look.” Father picked up the pace, then smirked as he realized what day it was and turned to look at his middle daughter. “I thought you were getting engaged this morning. Aren’t your mother and the duke waiting for you?”

Elisabeth gave him a sideways glance.

“I’m curious to see what absurdity he’s wearing today.” Father raised an eyebrow at her, and she laughed, if a little sadly. Papa was a strange and fickle ally, but he at least understood how ridiculous her suitors were.

“You could stop it, you know,” Elisabeth replied. “You could send these dukes away.”

He waved a hand, dismissive. “You know these affairs are your mother’s business. Nothing to do with me.” It was the same answer as usual. Sure, Father would teach them to ride and laugh heartily at their antics. But when it mattered, he never stepped in. Elisabeth didn’t know why she kept hoping for something different.

Then, finally, they were there. Puck stood before them holding one leg up off the ground. He was breathing much heavier now, chest trembling, eyes wild. He looked much worse than Elisabeth remembered. She glanced at Father as his eyes narrowed, his lips turning down. Her heart trembled. This was her fault. She had taken Puck out to feel the freedom of wind on her face and now—

Now the foolish duke would be the end of them both.

Father stepped forward, examining Puck’s leg.

“It’s broken,” he said, more irritated than sad. Puck might be a friend to Elisabeth, but to her father, he was property. Another thing to be replaced.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, but Father shook his head. “His leg is broken, Elisabeth. You know what we do when a horse breaks a leg. He won’t be able to run; you won’t be able to ride him.”

Ride him. That was all Father saw Puck as: a thing to ride, a workhorse, nothing more.

When Elisabeth was little, he told her that you had to shoot a broken-legged horse because it couldn’t live a full life anymore. But that was just an excuse, a dispassionate business decision. Why did Father get to decide how Puck felt about the fullness, the potential of his life?

Father cocked his rifle and handed it to Elisabeth, its weight heavy and familiar in her hands. “Do it,” he said, nodding at the horse.