Page 75 of The Siren of Sussex

“Exceedingly fortunate. Locket was being led to a stockyard outside my village when I first saw her. I bought her from the man on the spot. Quite irresponsible of him, really, selling her to a young lady. Or so my older brother claimed. He was fairly up in arms.” Stella paused, explaining, “He’s my guardian, and a very strict one. He only approves of my riding because he considers it a wholesome pursuit. One his congregation can’t object to.”

“Your brother is a clergyman?”

“He is. A very severe one.” A troubled frown passed over Stella’s face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a look of droll humor. “You can imagine what my first season was like under his watchful eye.”

“Was it very hard?”

“It was miserable. I was teased awfully over my gray hair. One gentleman even composed a rude verse about it. People were giggling at it for months.”

“How dreadful.”

“It was, frankly.” Stella adjusted her reins. “The only good thing to come out of last year was meeting Anne and Julia. It was they who convinced me to come back for a second season. If not for them—and for Locket—I fear I’d lose my nerve.”

“You ride her very well,” Evelyn said as they entered Rotten Row.

“I know her very well. She wants tiring out, that’s all. Her energy and mischief get the better of her otherwise.” At that, Stella kicked Locket into a canter. “Shall we?”

Hephaestus snorted and shook his heavy black mane. He knew how to behave himself around mares, but he was still a stallion. His muscles were coiled tight and there was an added spring in his step. It wouldn’t take much for him to bolt.

Evelyn made sure her seat was firm and her hands steady on the reins as she urged him forward, first into an extended canter and then into a thundering gallop.

Wind whipped at her face and whistled in her ears, the skirts of her dark green habit flying behind her. She felt as if she were riding in a horse race. The St. Leger or the Newmarket Stakes.

Hephaestus was bigger and more powerful, but Locket had a longer stride. Each time he surged ahead of her, she swiftly caught him up, her ears flattened and her velvet-gray nose outstretched as if seeking an imaginary finish line.

“She’s determined no stallion will ever master her,” Stella said, laughing, as she brought Locket back down to a canter. “Even a handsome devil like yours.”

Evelyn kept pace with her, their two horses matching each other stride for stride. “It must be her racehorse blood.”

“I daresay. She always wants to run—and to win. Pity she has a reputation for being so difficult. She might have had a brilliant career.”

“Don’t say you’ve already exhausted the pair of them?” a lady’s voice called out.

It was Anne, riding toward them on Saffron. Julia trotted along next to her, mounted on her large black hunter. Two liveried grooms rode a distance behind them.

“Don’t be absurd,” Stella said. “I could run her all day and she’d still have another gallop in her.”

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Julia said.

Anne made a face. “It was my fault. I was very nearly out the door when my mother waylaid me. She’s been up all hours fretting. Apparently, she overheard Lady Heatherton saying that the annual Arundell ball has lost its luster.”

A breeze ruffled the feathers on Julia’s high-crowned riding hat. “It isn’t true.”

“Certainly not this year,” Anne said. “Mama has spared no expense. She’s even bringing in that fellow who writes the astrological almanac. He’s going to tell fortunes. Mama’s been giddy with anticipation over it. If not for Lady Heatherton—”

“I wouldn’t bother listening to Lady Heatherton on any subject,” Stella said. “She’s a spiteful cat who uses her claws indiscriminately.”

“True,” Anne replied. “But she can be counted on to set the fashion. Her words carry weight, however spiteful.”

“Who is Lady Heatherton?” Evelyn asked.

“The wife of Viscount Heatherton,” Julia said. “She’s very rich and very beautiful.”

“And her husband is very old,” Stella added.

Julia nodded. “Very old.”

“Which is why she’s constantly on the prowl.” Anne adjusted the folds of her riding habit. “We’d all do well to steer clear of her this season. Age hasn’t improved her disposition. If anything, it’s made her more unpleasant.”