One morning, Eleanor found him struggling to calm an elderly pony that disliked having its hooves lifted. He looked ridiculous in his fine coat, kneeling in the straw while the pony regarded him with offended suspicion. "You have chosen the least agreeable teacher on the estate," Eleanor observed. Alexander glanced up. "I thought it best to begin with someone unlikely to flatter me." She laughed before she could prevent herself, a clear sound that made the pony prick its ears. For the first time, being at Eastmere did not feel entirely like walking through the ruins of her childhood.
Autumn deepened, and the day came when Mr. Sayer agreed Blackthorn might be led through the courtyard again. There were no ribbons, no visiting dignitaries, and no demand that the stallion perform for a crowd. Eleanor wore the same green riding habit she had worn on the terrible afternoon and carried his lead rope loosely in one gloved hand. Alexander walked several paces away, ready to help if she asked, but careful not to crowd the horse.
At the center of the courtyard Blackthorn paused. His nostrils widened, and his dark eyes turned toward the spot where he had reared and been called vicious. Eleanor stopped with him. She did not tug the rope, nor did she tell him he was being foolish. She waited, rubbing her thumb against the soft leather near his cheek, until he gave a long breath and stepped forward of his own will. Then another step followed, and another, until they had crossed the cobbles beneath the same old stable roof.
Alexander watched with an expression Eleanor could not quite read. "He remembers," he said. "Of course he does," she answered. "The question is what we teach him to expect next." They stood in companionable silence, listening to the faint creak of a carriage on the distant road. At last Alexander said, "I have prepared a position for you overseeing the training and care of the horses, if you wish to remain. The agreement gives you authority to stop any work that endangers an animal. The wages are written down; so are the responsibilities."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "And what happens when I disagree with you?" He met her gaze. "I shall hope you tell me before the consequences become another public humiliation." She considered the answer, then nodded toward Blackthorn. "We might manage that." Alexander's relief appeared as a small, genuine smile, but he made no attempt to turn the offer into a personal debt she owed him.
Later that afternoon Eleanor rode to the village churchyard, where her father lay beneath a modest stone shaded by an old yew. She carried a copy of the public correction and the letter from the dealer, folded carefully beneath the ribbon of his notebooks. Kneeling beside the grave, she told him about Blackthorn crossing the yard without fear and Thomas learning to care for the younger horses. She told him that Eastmere had written to those who had believed the accusation, and that the village now knew what she had known all along.