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That dream was long gone. Notions of a match made locally were scotched thanks to her father’s dramatic decline into debauchery following her mother’s death, and she lost face with the neighboring gentry despite being of the highest status in the locality. Or so they were in their part of Kent, at any rate; her mother had spoken of a duchy over the border, but Father had no interest in taking hat in hand and pursuing an acquaintance. For what had the Quality ever done for their family? They had looked down upon his wife and laughed at him for daring to have wed beneath his station, choosing love and passion rather than lineage and bloodline.
Ironic, then, that all that Felicity cared about now were bloodlines. For years, she’d thought her legacy consisted of a pittance doled out from her late maternal grandmother’s estate and the harem of seven high-strung mares her mother had collected. Eight years on, their blood ran true and made them difficult mounts even for the most experienced of riders. With the skills she’d learned at her mother’s knee, Felicity had such experience and also the ambition to found a line from a cross with sturdier stock under her own auspices. When her maternal uncle Ezra had inexplicably decided she would make her bow at the ripe old age of twenty and had taunted her with what he considered would be the devastating conditions of the inheritance left for her in her father’s will, she had found a new lease on life. She would focus only on her aims. She would indulge in the joy she found in those stables and at those sales, and she’d bedamnedif they took that away from her.
“I learn more and more on every visit,” Felicity said. “And that scheme of yours worked a treat. I move without restriction throughout Tattersalls dressed in the widow’s weeds you created for me. No one is the wiser.”
“And how does your stud?” Jemima asked, sending them off into snorts of subdued laughter.
“Himself is still refusing to cover my mares.” More snorting, which in Felicity’s case ended in a frustrated sigh. “Delilah near to kicked him into uselessness.” She raised a hand. “Do not say it. I am aware that he is not entirely useful at the moment, but he is what I envisioned. His conformation, his lines, the heaviness of his bone…”
Jemima once again placed a hand on Felicity’s arm, offering the comfort of a friend able to read between the lines. “You will succeed. It is a noble Undertaking, and the realization of a Dream is rarely straightforward.” A devotee of the Gothic novel, Jemima’s speech often gave the impression of being riddled with initial capitals. “The pursuance itself is an Art.”
“The breeding of horses is indeed an art,” Felicity replied, “but there is science involved as well. Biology, in fact.” More snorting, this time behind their fans. “You are the true artist between us, Jem.”
“If only you would accept the wardrobe I have made for you, then you would honor that art.” She plucked at the drape of Felicity’s gown, an uninspired, pale peach that clashed with her complexion. “Thispeau de soiehas not been cut correctly, and it is puckering like a toothless old woman. And the waistline is far too high. If only you would wrap a sash around your waist, your figure would show to great advantage.”
“That is not the plan, Jemima.” Felicity was gentle with her friend—dressmaking and all that went with it was the lady’s consuming passion. Jemima was a genius, and her own understated but cunning frock was a testament to her talent: despite adhering to the style of the day, Jemima’s use of fabric and embellishment was striking, too striking for the sticklers, who found her garb to be bordering on salacious in a way they could not articulate.
“When your plan comes to fruition, you must look the part,” Jemima insisted. “In fact, you ought to look the part before it does. You must lead the way, Felicity, be the inspiration to others like you, like us. The way I would dress you…none of this straight drapery and insipid palette and fussy sleeves and lace and wisps.” She moved around Felicity like a bird of prey. “Bold blues and violets and greens, rich textures, a tight waist and deep décolletage, shawl collars and tiny diamanté buttons and ribbons threaded through, perhaps, perhaps…”
Felicity was both enthralled and slightly frightened. “I do not have the countenance to carry off such a departure from the norm.” Not as regarded her figure, in any case. “I have neither the influence nor the infamy attached to my name.”
“May I at least gift you with a new style of hat I have created? It would suit you down to the ground. It dips low over one eye, rather along the lines of the Paris Beau.”
“A man’s hat? You shock even me, Jem.” Nevertheless, the notion thrilled her to her core. “It sounds quite dashing.”
Jemima’s hands fluttered, almost dislodging her fan and reticule. “It is infinitely dashing. Yet feminine. You are my inspiration for it, Felicity, as you are both.”
“I will remember you said as much, the next time I feel less than either.” She took a small notebook and stick of graphite out of her reticule. “‘Jemima insists that I am dashing and feminine.’ There. That’s on my list to remember when I am covered in muck and hay and despairing of ever getting my stud to do his duty.”
“I have a notion to make a clever little holder for graphite and suchlike.” Jemima took the stick of lead wrapped in cloth and turned it around in her hands. “Something perhaps that has a chain to connect it to the notebook so it is always to hand.”
“It’s only a book of my lists, but I do like to keep them near.”
“This one is almost entirely crossed through. Is that promising?”
“It is not, I’m afraid.” Felicity took back the graphite and thumbed over another page. “I have been seeking a solicitor who might review my father’s will for me, but none will consent to meet with a mere woman. Even the widow’s garb only gets me so far. And I cannot secure a response from the firm that originated the document, which is peculiar and worrying.”
“Perhaps they have disbanded? Shall we hire a hackney and call upon them in person?”
Felicity reached out to squeeze her friend’s hand. “Thank you for offering, but a subtle querying of my cousins has revealed the address to be in the stews, of all places. I would not risk our safety in such environs, nor can I expect my cousins to accompany me without having to explain the reason for the journey. Why would my father consult in such a low place?” She picked up another glass of lemonade. “How infuriating this is, to be so uneducated in the ways of the world. I must discover how the terms will be made good, as I am so close to my twenty-fifth birthday. It is in less than a fortnight—eleven days, in fact.”
“Many, many happy returns.” Jemima snapped open her fan for emphasis.
“I shall accept your congratulations on the day itself, with a champagne toast to coming into my freedom and womanhood.” Felicity closed her eyes at the thrill of it. “And then I shall begin to wear those gowns of yours. I promise.”
“What is the first thing on your list you will do? When the terms of the will are met?”
“Which list?” Felicity laughed. “I have many, many lists.”
“The whimsical one.” Jemima flapped her hands as a demonstration of frivolousness.
Felicity shook her head. “I have no such list. My wishes to eschew marriage and motherhood are eccentric choices as they are.”
Jemima set her delicate jaw. “Why must we choose? Why must we have only one thing and never the other? Why should my art and your craft prevent us from havin’ a man and wee childer?” She caught herself descending into her rustic dialect. “It is unfair. All of society’s dictates show preference for the man’s lot over the woman’s.”
“I…regret I will not have a family,” Felicity said. “It was once my dream, as any girl might have. My intentions now preclude me from such, for no man would support the business ambitions of his bride. But surely your dream is not beyond the pale?”
“Because it is mere fripperies and trinkets? Woman’s work?” Jemima scoffed. “I do not merely huddle on the floor with pins in my mouth. I create! And as such, I am too much for a man who seeks a broodmare. No offense intended.”
