Lydia was most pleased when the postman delivered a letter to her aunt from Dr. Winston. She was almost certain her aunt would now be in a good mood—at least for the next few days. Unless the letter bore bad news and then…

Lydia picked up the letter and examined it. It was thick and probably comprised several or more pages. That had the prospect of bearing good news. She put the letter back on the entryway table and forgot about it for the rest of the afternoon.

Tomorrow was Wednesday and her riding lesson with Ellen. Lydia was looking through her armoire for something suitable to ride in. Having never ridden before she was not really certain what was appropriate. A lady rode sidesaddle and she knew a long skirt and boots were required, but beyond that she was uncertain.

“Oh, dear, what should I do?” she worried aloud.

All her dresses were simple, mostly light housedresses. She had a few heavier dresses for winter. But she only had one skirt that was far too light for riding. She sat on the edge of her bed, fretting when she heard Jenny calling from downstairs.

“Jenny, perhaps you shall be my life saver, once again,” Lydia said as she descended the stairs to greet her friend.

“Look, the first of the apples,” Jenny said, holding out a basket.

“I have not yet checked our trees, perhaps we already have some too,” Lydia said.

“No, I know our variety ripens before yours do.”

“Thank you. I shall make Aunt an apple pie. That should please her.”

She headed with the basket to the kitchen where she transferred the apples to a bowl on the table.

“Thank you,” Lydia said, handing the basket back to Jenny.

“You said you needed me to save your life again. How, exactly am I to save you this time?”

“Oh, Jenny, I have nothing suitable to wear to go riding. I don’t want to make a fool of myself my first lesson with Ellen. I don’t suppose you have anything suitable I might borrow?”

“Oh, Lydia, I have absolutely nothing. Let me think a moment.” She patted the basket against her stomach as she thought. “Wait. Come.” She reached her hand out to Lydia. “I have an idea.”

Jenny led Lydia back to her house.

“Mother,” Jenny shouted as they entered.

“In here?” her mother answered from the study.

They went in. Mrs. Lovell was writing a letter at the desk.

“Hello, Lydia. Good afternoon.”

“Hello, Mrs. Lovell,” Lydia said.

“Mother, Lydia has a problem.”

“Tell.”

Lydia explained the need for a riding dress or skirt.

“Any suggestions, Mother? I have nothing,” Jenny said.

“Hum. I don’t ride either. Let me think.” She nodded. “Yes, I have an idea.”

She rose from the desk and led the way to her room. She shuffled through some boxes in a small side room, and finding what she was looking for came into her room and put the box on the bed.

She opened it and took out a lady’s coat and long skirt. She held the skirt up and shook it out. A cloud of dust burst around her.

“Oh, my. This will need cleaning.” She held it up in front of Lydia at the waist. “It is far too big,” she announced.

“I could take it in, perhaps,” Lydia suggested.

Mother nodded. “Maybe. How is the length?”

“That looks fine.”

“This is an old traveling suit of mine that is horribly out of date, but all you would need would be the skirt. Take it if you want. I will never use it again. It has grown far too small for me to wear anymore.” She said with no hint of irony.

“I think, Mother, you have grown too large for it, rather than it growing too small for you.”

“How indelicate of you to suggest such a fact. No pudding for you this evening, young lady.”

“Yes, Mother.” She shook her head at Lydia and mouthed. “She doesn’t mean it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lovell,” Lydia said taking the skirt from her.

“I would clean it before you alter it,” Mother suggested.

“Certainly. I shall do it right now. I am going riding tomorrow morning so I must scurry to get it washed, dried, and altered in time.”

* * *

Lydia was nervous as she stepped into the coach that would take her to Honeyfield. There was no Doctor Winston to ride with her today and sooth her with his conversation. She was alone. She suddenly realized she had no riding crop, but she felt certain Ellen would have one she could lend her.

As the coach traveled through the countryside Lydia smiled as she remembered last evening when Aunt Lavinia returned.

Lydia had made a point of standing close by as her Aunt entered, anxious to see the response on her face as she discovered the letter from Doctor Winston.

“You have a letter,” Lydia said.

“Oh, yes?” Her Aunt tried to appear nonchalant as she picked up the envelope. She squeezed it and saw how thick it was. Then she couldn’t help herself and she grinned. “I think we shall forego prayers this evening,” she said as she retired to the study to read the letter.

“I have made a pie with apples Jenny gave us. Would you like a slice with your tea?” Lydia called out as she headed to the kitchen.

“That sounds lovely,” her Aunt called back.

Lydia’s reverie was halted as the carriage arrived at Honeyfield.

Ellen was waiting for her on the steps to the entrance of the house. As the carriage stopped Ellen came over and leaned in the window.

“I am so excited you could come. Are you ready for your first lesson?”

Lydia descended and took Ellen’s hand. “I am excited too, but I have to also admit to a certain amount of trepidation.”

“Of course. And that is quite natural.” Ellen stepped back, still holding Lydia’s hand and looked her up and down. “My, how splendid you look. And what a fetching riding costume.”

Lydia laughed. “So glad you like it. I am afraid it is completely makeshift, as I had nothing at all to wear for riding.”

“You should have let me know, I could have lent you one of mine. I have several since I am such an avid rider.”

“I never thought to ask.”

“It hardly matters, as you are just fine as you are.”

Ellen led Lydia around the side of the house to the stables.

“I’ve picked out our gentlest horse for you to start learning on. She is a sweetheart and I am sure you will fall in love with her.”

A groom was standing in-between two horses holding on to their bridles. Lydia was suddenly very nervous.

“Come, let me introduce you to Petal,” Ellen said leading Lydia up to her horse.

The horse shook her head up and down as if greeting Lydia. Lydia reached up gently and touched the horse’s neck.

“Go ahead,” Ellen said, “You can stroke her muzzle. She likes that.”

Lydia reached over and felt the almost velvet softness of the area around the nose.

“It is so soft,” she exclaimed.

“I know. Is it not lovely?”

Lydia smiled. This might be fun after all. Her fear was subsiding.

“Are you ready?” Ellen asked.

“Absolutely ready,” Lydia said with a new bravado.

The groom led her horse to a mounting block and held the horse as Ellen instructed Lydia how to mount. It took a little getting used to, but Lydia finally found her position on the saddle, and the groom instructed her how to hold the reins and handed her a riding crop.

Ellen quickly mounted and turned to Lydia. “Just give Petal a light tap with the crop and follow me.”

They spent only an hour at the first lesson, but Lydia picked up the basics very quickly and was even learning how to trot, although she could hardly say she had mastered it.

“Wonderful,” Ellen said as they dismounted. “You are going to be a fine horsewoman.”

Lydia smiled, as she felt she had done well, although she thought she might be sore in a few places for a day or two.

Lydia watched as the groom led the horses into the stable.

“He will give them a nice brushing down and plenty of oats for being such good horsies.” Ellen took Lydia by the elbow and directed her toward the house. “And now it is time for our oats.”

“Oatmeal for lunch?” Lydia teased.

“Actually trout from our stream. Quite lovely.”

“Do you want to freshen up?” Ellen asked as they approached Ellen’s suite.

“Yes, please.”

“Oh, Miss Ellen, you are riding once again?” a woman asked, as she approached along the hallway.

“Miss Stafford, I have indeed. I have been giving riding instruction to my dear friend, Lydia Fernside. Have you two met?”

Pamela Stafford gave a long look at Lydia. “I have not had the pleasure.”

She held out a soft hand, which Lydia took.

“Miss Pamela Stafford—Miss Lydia Fernside.”

“Dear…” Pamela said.

“An honor, Miss Stafford,” Lydia replied, and then withdrew her hand from the tentative handshake.

“Will I be seeing you at luncheon?” Pamela asked.

“We are dining in my suite, this noon,” Ellen answered.

“Ladies…” Pamela said, nodding and then drifting down the hall like a wisp trailing across a pond at evening.

“Come,” Ellen said, leading Lydia into her suite. She shut the door then leaned against it. “Detestable woman.”

“I take it you do not care for her?”

“She is stalking my brother in an attempt to trap him into marrying her. She is rude. She is greedy. She is never civil to me. And she cheats at cards.”

“Is that an affirmative?” Lydia smiled.

Ellen let out a sigh and collected herself. “I am sorry. That was very rude. I barely know the woman. But she just rubs me the wrong way.” She pointed to the bathroom. “You may freshen up in there.”

* * *

“The trout was delicious,” Lydia commented at the end of their luncheon. “Does your brother fish the stream?”

Ellen shook her head. “No, he is too wrapped up in his flora to think of anything fauna.”

“And what do you enjoy beside your horses and riding?”

“I am quite adept on the pianoforte. I struggle with painting, and I love to read. But my greatest passion is my writing.”

“Writing? Truly? What do you write?”

“Romance novels. Well… I am trying to. I long to go to London where I can attend the salons, meet other authors, and live a wicked and dangerous life.” Lydia laughed. “Well, not the last part, but I am trying to persuade Mamma to let me go.”

“And no suitors?”

Ellen sighed. “There have been a few. But they are such bumpkins even Mother refuses to allow them near me.” Ellen leaned in toward Lydia and whispered. “And to be quite honest, I have no interest in marriage. All I care about is my writing.”

“Are there many women writers?”

“Some. Well, actually quite a few write under men’s names. Although a few successful ones are insisting on using their own names these days.”

“How adventurous you are,” Lydia admired.

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Ellen called out. Edwin came in. “Oh, brother, look who is visiting me.” She turned toward Lydia.

“Miss Lydia, what a pleasure to see you once again.”

“And you, sir.”

“I hope you do not mind me interrupting you. I just needed to escape.”

“Miss Pamela?” Ellen asked.

Edwin nodded. “However, I shall name no names.”

“No need to. It is abundantly clear of whom you are speaking. Whatever is she doing here again? Wasn’t she here just a week ago?”

“She is constantly traveling through the region, and ever since Mamma invited her to stop by whenever she was in the area, she seems to be constantly in the area.”

Edwin turned to Lydia. “How was your first riding lesson?”

“I hesitate to say. I do not imagine I was very good.”

“Nonsense. You were splendid—for the first time.”

“Will you try again?”

“If Ellen can bear to put up with me. I know she wants a riding companion, and I am afraid I am not able to accompany her beyond trotting in a circle at the moment.”

“But you shall. I can see you have a fine seat,” Edwin said. “I was watching you from afar.”

Lydia looked askance.

“It means you sit well on a horse. It’s a riding term,” Ellen explained, greatly amused by Lydia’s consternation.

“Oh, yes. Well, if you say so.” Lydia blushed.

Edwin continued, “While I am here, I would like to invite you for a tour of the grounds. I want to show you what I am attempting here at Honeyfield. I am working on a most ambitious project and I would like your perspective and opinion.”

“Oh, Edwin, I hardly think my opinion would count for much” Lydia answered.

“Do not say that Lydia,” Ellen admonished. “We women put ourselves down out of some sense of false modesty when we have every right to speak our opinion as equals.”

Edwin laughed. “You see; my sister is going to blaze her way into the hearts of the British reading public with her bold views.”

“Very well, then, Edwin. I would love to tour your estate and learn all about your plans for Honeyfield.”

There was another knock at the door. Everyone stopped.

A sweet syrupy voice spoke. “Edwin, oh Edwin, are you in there?” Edwin put his upright finger to his lips. “Edwin, it is Pamela. Are you in there?” No one answered. “No?”

They heard her walk away.

Edwin whispered, “Save me. Save us.” He reached out both of his hands inviting Lydia and Ellen to follow him.

They rose and followed. There was a door that opened onto a balcony and he led them along the balcony to a door at another room. He went through that door and they followed him. He opened the room door to the hall and peeked out.

“The coast is clear,” he said, and they left and ran down the hallway and escaped the house through the kitchen.

Once outside, they collected themselves and began to laugh.

“Oh, there you are,” Pamela’s voice rang out as she leaned over the balcony of a room above them. “I will be right down. Your Mamma wishes to see you.”

“I have been spotted. Oh, Lord help me,” Edwin said. “I am afraid our tour will need to be another time,” he said to Lydia.

“Perhaps after her next lesson,” Ellen suggested.

“And I will make sure we are uninterrupted,” Edwin said, nodded, and left.