Page 74 of The Siren of Sussex

“With an added benefit.”

She laughed. “As if the money ain’t enough!”

“In addition to the money, you’ll have the satisfaction of having helped to secure my future. All of our futures if things go according to plan.”

“What’s that mean?” she asked. “All of our futures?”

“If enough people see my designs—see them and want to order gowns of their own . . . By the end of the season, I’ll be in a position to open my own shop.”

Her weary eyes lit with understanding. “You’ll be needing good seamstresses.”

He smiled. “That I will.”

The next day, as dawn broke over the city, Evelyn entered the park on Hephaestus, Lewis not far behind her. Fog billowed over the rolling landscape, swirling about the shrubbery and clinging to the branches of the trees. It was cold and damp, but the grayness was fading quickly, burned away by shafts of brilliant sunlight piercing through the clouds above.

Evelyn glanced up at the brightening sky with a feeling of relief. There was no trace of the scattered thundershowers that had prevented her from riding the previous afternoon.

She prayed the rain wouldn’t return. She couldn’t afford to lose any more days of riding. Not when her entire plan depended on her making a showing during the fashionable hour.

Hephaestus pranced beneath her, chomping on his bit. “Easy, boy,” she murmured, reaching to scratch his neck.

“He’s full of himself this morning,” Lewis remarked. “Take care he don’t try nothing, what with a mare nearby.”

“What mare?”

“That one,” Lewis said.

Evelyn followed his gaze.

Across the grass, Stella Hobhouse came into view, perched atop an imposing silvery-white mare. Despite her size, the mare’s features were refined, with an elegantly dished face and wide-set eyes. She arched her neck and tail in the manner of a highly strung Arabian.

Stella managed the spirited creature beautifully, her hands quiet and her seat impeccable, even as the mare danced and shied.

Evelyn couldn’t help but be impressed. Keeping a firm grip on Hephaestus’s reins, she rode toward her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Stella said. “Are we the first ones here?”

“It appears that way.” Evelyn held Hephaestus to a walk. “I hope Julia is equal to riding this morning.”

“She will be.” Stella brought her mare alongside Hephaestus. A gentle wind ruffled the veil on her riding hat. Made of black net, it all but covered her gray hair. “Anne went to fetch her herself.”

“In that case,” Evelyn said, “shall we go ahead to Rotten Row?”

“I think we’d better. Locket can’t think straight until she’s had a good gallop.”

“Locket? Is that what you call her?” It seemed a sweet name for a sweetly beautiful horse. “Anne said she was a Thoroughbred cross.”

Stella nodded. “She’s by Stockwell.”

Evelyn was familiar with the name. Stockwell was one of England’s leading Thoroughbred sires. “And her dam?”

“A crossbreed mare. Half-Arab and half-who-knows-what. Apparently, the mare’s owner thought it would result in a mount with greater endurance. Instead, all he got was a horse so skittish she was bound for the knackers when I found her.”

Evelyn was incredulous. “But if Stockwell is her sire—”

“Quite so. She might still have been used as a broodmare. Unfortunately, she nearly killed her last rider, the silly beast. The son of an earl, too. He believed himself to be something of a horseman.” Stella smiled wryly. “I’m afraid the experience rather bruised his tender masculine feelings.”

“It’s fortunate you came along.”