They reached the gate, and she leaned over the rail. The wood was rough beneath her arms but she paid little attention, delighted to find that the fenced enclosure was home to a dappled mare and her foal, both appearing like apparitions in the watery light. With fingers of mist swirling through the tall grass and an ever-lightening sky behind them, the horses looked like they might be posing for a postcard, the sort of photograph of the Polish countryside that was sold in the streets of Warsaw. The beauty of the scene made her sigh. She wanted to fix this moment in her memory forever.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she breathed happily.

“He is a handsome little fellow,” Piotr replied. “I like his shoulders and legs already.”

Sophie made a face at her husband. “The landscape, dear,” she said dryly.

He kissed her. “That too.”

In the pasture, the copper-colored colt pranced and bucked before nearly toppling sideways.

Sophie laughed. “I think he’s trying to impress you. Angling for a cavalry job, maybe.”

“Perhaps.” He ducked through the rails and held out his hand. “Come,” he said, grinning. “Let’s go make friends.”

Sophie followed him and took his hand. She’d never ridden as a child—her parents hadn’t kept horses at the family’s Norfolk estate—but Piotr had taken her often. It was not long before his deep love for the noble creatures became hers as well.

The mare whickered a greeting and turned toward them, approaching as the colt continued to prance beyond. The mare stopped beside Piotr and blew gently against his arm. He reached up and scratched between its ears, murmuring something that Sophie couldn’t hear. The horse lowered its head.

“You’ve cast a spell on her.” Sophie joined him, watching the way his hands moved over the horse. She’d always loved Piotr’s hands, strong, rough, callused, and yet infinitely gentle. Even the most nervous of mounts seemed to settle under his touch.

“I have done no such thing,” he said softly. “Merely introduced myself. The colt will come when he’s ready.”

Sophie watched the colt circle Piotr and the mare, tossing its head. Finally, it inched closer, its nose almost touching Piotr’s shirt. Piotr didn’t move, merely continued to stroke the mare’s neck, speaking quiet words. The colt moved closer still, and Piotr shifted his hand from the mare to the colt. It shied away. Piotr returned his attention to the mare.

“He’s skittish,” Sophie said.

“No,” Piotr murmured. “Trust needs to be earned. He is only reminding me of that fact.”

The colt came back toward Piotr. This time it didn’t shy when Piotr lifted his hand. He rested his palm on the colt’s withers for only a few seconds before removing it. The colt lowered its head and took another step closer.