One

"Oh, for a horse with wings," that I might fly from one party to another as the Season is upon us. This column shall continue to fill your lovely heads with nothing but delicious gossip from our most popular and our most notorious members of the ton. Should we begin with the blithe Lord Chatwin, who has let it be known again this year that he is not looking to make a match? But what about the other half of the Terrible Twosome? Is Lord Dugdale looking?

Lord Truefitt
Society's Daily Column

"MERCIFUL HEAVENS, CATHERINE, it's not only dark as midnight here in the park, it's freezing cold, too. It's simply uncivilized to be out before daybreak."

Catherine Reynolds looked over at her widowed half sister who rode beside her on a temperamental mare. In the months Catherine had been in London, she'd ceased to be shocked by Victoria Goosetree's constant complaining. Though the older woman would never breathe an improper word in public, she was more than ready to speak her mind in private.

"You'll warm up soon, Vickie. I think just before dawn is the most beautiful time to be outside on a horse."

"The devil it is," Victoria grumbled as her mare snorted. "I can't see a thing and I don't think it's safe."

"You can't see anything because you're not looking, and with Mills riding behind us we are perfectly safe," Catherine said.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the crisp mist of air that wafted across their path. She caught the scent of wet foliage and sighed as it reminded her of home. Their groom remained quiet as he rode behind them, and when Victoria wasn't talking Catherine could relax and enjoy the peaceful early morning sounds of Hyde Park.

"How much longer are we going to ride?" Victoria asked.

Catherine smiled to herself, remaining patient. Her mare nickered and shook her head as puffs of warm breath snorted from her nostrils. "We've been on the horses less than fifteen minutes."

"Feels like hours to me. I allowed you to talk me into this for today, but I don't think I should like to do it again."

Catherine laughed but not loud enough that her petulant companion could hear. It was cold, but that didn't bother Catherine. Having grown up near the northern coast, she was used to a climate where the chilling dampness never seemed completely to go away.

"You're the one who insisted that I shouldn't ride during the day when it is much warmer," Catherine felt compelled to say.

Vickie snorted louder than the horse she was riding. "I was only trying to impress upon you that young ladies who are looking to make an excellent match shouldn't sit a horse in any park during the Season."

This was yet another reminder of her half sister's belief in doing one thing in public and another in private.

"You should only be seen riding in an open carriage with a viscount, an earl, or perhaps a handsome marquis by your side. I don't know why I allowed you to talk me into riding before daybreak. My feet are numb."

Hyde Park was beautiful dressed in the magical misty-gray of predawn. Shadowed sky light filtered through tree branches and shone down on them. Shards of pink, gray, and dark blue were about to be born on the horizon, and Catherine looked forward to enjoying the birth of sunrise.

She had been in London over three months, and it seemed as if she had done nothing but be fitted for ball gowns and more ball gowns. She considered the amount of clothing ridiculous Victoria insisted she have for the start of the Season. And gowns were only the half of it. A lady had to select just the right gloves, bonnets, fans, and handkerchiefs, too. No one needed that many things to wear.

"Perhaps if we rode a little faster you'd warm up," Catherine said, hoping to find a way Victoria could enjoy the outing. "How about it? Are you ready to let the horses trot?"

"I'm not sure I can. This horse doesn't seem to be well schooled."

Vickie's mount nickered and stomped as if agreeing with her comment.

Catherine reached down her gloved hand and patted the warm, firm neck of the spirited animal she rode. Her mount needed no prodding. Vickie was right that the hacks Mills had hired at a nearby livery weren't well trained for riders.

Vickie's mare was old and cranky, constantly fighting the bit, while Catherine's mount pranced restlessly beneath her like a young filly not saddle worn. But to Catherine, any horse was better than not riding at all.

Copyright © 2004 by Gloria Dale Skinner