𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐃𝐄 ♚ 𝙩. 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙗𝙮

xxi - 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦

Upon lacing up the elegantly styled riding boots, Verity followed a very keen Charlie out into the chilly morning air. It was around 8 o'clock now, and the air was a lot less bitter than it had been when Verity first opened the window at around 6 to take in the fresh air. The birds were singing their sweet springs songs from the trees surrounding the vast acreage of Arrow House's grounds, sweet chirping soon lost to the sounds of excited boot soles running full pelt across the cobbles towards the stable block.

Very sensibly, Charlie had asked the stable hands to prepare his pony upon coming to collect the boots for Verity – something that the singer was incredibly impressed by but also slightly concerned about. She didn't know many men that took orders off a child – perhaps it was because these stable hands knew better than to cheek the son of Thomas Shelby. Still, she couldn't imagine Charlie would be impolite about asking them to tack up his little Welsh Section D pony.

The little gun grey pony was chewing somewhat temperamentally on a mouthful of golden hay, it's ears flat back as the grooms tightened the girth of the saddle around it's portly little stomach.

"I didn't say for them to tack up a pony for you." Charlie said sweetly to Verity, who smiled down at the little boy. "I didn't know what horse you wanted." He added.

"That's okay – I have a favourite." She smiled sweetly, remembering the little chestnut horse from last time, the sweet young mare with the white stripe down her face. It was strange how she'd seen that horse once and had connecting with it instantly.

Much like how she was instantly drawn to the broken mind of a criminal – falling into the web, her stubborn determination wanting to help him even though he pushed her away continually.

Approaching the far end of the stalls, Verity moved past the stable hands and the grumpy little pony expecting to see the bonny horse, head hanging over the stable door. But she saw nothing but an empty stable. Her panic, deep down, felt unsolicited. But she found herself caring a lot.

"Where did the chestnut mare go?" she asked one of the grooms, who was sorting Charlie's stirrup leathers. He looked at the singer's face with nonchalance that completely made her feel rather foolish and annoyed all at the same time.

"Oh, yeah, the youngster," the ginger-haired lad started, "I believe it went to May Carleton."

There was a sudden small dark chuckle from the other stable hand, who subsequently hid his face as he fixed the buckle of the strap at the side of the bridle.

"Who's May Carleton?" Verity asked, ignoring the childish sniggers. Her tone was calm enough, and the last thing she wanted was these two men thinking she was foolish for caring so much about a horse.

"Horse trainer." The man answered, turning over his shoulder to see young Charlie had rushed around the corner to the tack area to fetch his pony a ruby red apple and was far out of earshot. "And Tommy Shelby's little shag."

He moved past Verity then, carrying the rug that had been protecting the small pony from the elements and disappeared off to the distant end of the stable.

She felt... a strange whirring of emotions concocting in her stomach, like old washing going around in a washing tub – the water dirtying the more and more she thought about it. There were feelings she was trying to oppress, emotions she was trying to hide as she turned to face one of the horses as a distraction – which happened to be Tommy's prized Friesian stallion.

Why did this news cause her throat to tighten? To feel emotionally displaced and shunted from her relaxed and normal mindset? He was a grown man who could make his own free decisions, that were of no concern to her. He was her boss, she was no one to him apart from his singer, his earner yet... yet the statement hurt like a stake through the heart.