attention.”
“Oh yes,” Annis said with a sigh. “Everyone is scandalized, but truly, the sidesaddle is a ridiculous invention. Dangerous.” Annis pointed to her saddle. “This was custom fitted for Bits and me, and it’s perfect. The balance is all wrong with a sidesaddle, both for the rider and the horse. It’s fine for showing off fancy riding habits, but it’s terrible for real riding.”
It was a long speech, and something of a lecture. Annis’s cheeks warmed at the realization, but her new friend was nodding with an expression of interest. “I’ve often wondered about that. It’s a safety concern, surely. I wonder who thought of it in the first place?”
“Someone who hated women,” Annis said with asperity.
The stranger laughed. “You’re probably right.”
Annis lifted her head and saw that the sun had risen above the woods. “Oh, it’s getting late. Robbie will be worried about us.”
“Robbie?”
“My stableman. Bits has a sore tendon. Robbie might think it has gotten worse and come looking for us.”
“And what does one do for a sore tendon?”
“I made a poultice of witch hazel, with comfrey and a bit of bay laurel. I think it helped, but it takes time.”
“You’re quite right. Healing does take time, but that’s a good combination. You might add some dried gingerroot, ground very fine. It’s helpful for cooling inflammation.”
Annis raised her eyebrows. “Do you know something of herbs?”
“I do, rather,” the woman said. “As it happens, it’s my profession.”
“How wonderful! Gingerroot, then. Where can I find it?”
“Try the herbalist on Elizabeth Street. She seems to have everything.”
“I will! Thank you for the suggestion.”
“You’re most welcome. And now perhaps you had best start back, since you have some distance to go. We don’t want your Robbie to worry.”
“Yes. You’ll have to excuse me.”
Annis maneuvered Bits closer to the fountain, stepped up onto the edge, and swung her leg over the saddle. She fitted her boots into the stirrups and lifted a hand in farewell as she pressed the reins against Bits’s neck. She glanced over her shoulder just as the woman faded among the cherry trees, her dark silhouette melting into the curtain of white.
“I believe we’ve made a friend, Bits,” Annis said. She felt the spring in his step, the urge to go faster, but she held him in. “Gingerroot, Bitsy. That will help.”
She wished she had asked the woman’s name, even asked where she lived. It had been marvelous to speak with someone of her own sex who was interesting. And now she was being dragged off to England for long, boring weeks and would probably never see her again.
Annis’s bed was strewn with satins, silks, and brocades, with the occasional splash of organza. Layers of cream, yellow, and pink shimmered in the afternoon light, and jet and crystal beads flashed from the pile of tea frocks and day dresses. Frances had insisted Annis try on every single garment before it was packed, and Annis felt as cross as an alley cat.
Frances, seated on the dressing-table stool, didn’t appear to notice her mood. She regarded the mound of clothes with satisfaction. “It will do,” she said. She was cheerful this afternoon, with her cat-that-drank-the-cream smile, her lips curling at the corners, her eyelids half-lowered. “They aren’t Worth creations, of course. George refused the expense of a trip to Paris, but my dressmaker did well, don’t you think? Most of these are convincing copies.”
“What does it matter? No one in England will care what one American nobody wears.”
Frances looked up at her, her eyes narrow and cool, more catlike than ever. “You will not be a nobody, Annis Allington. I will see to that. We have a lovely letter of introduction, and I want you to look well at the teas and parties.”
“I hate teas and parties.”
Unperturbed, Frances rose and stroked one of the silk gowns. “But I do not.”
“I’d rather see the museums, since we’re going to be there. And Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace.”
“We’ll see all of that, in time,” Frances said airily. “Didn’t I say?”
“You didn’t, Frances. Have you even bought a Baedeker or a Murray’s?”
“We won’t need guidebooks. The people we meet will show us about.”
Annis waved a hand at the profusion on her bed. “I suppose all of this is going aboard the Majestic, and a matching pile for you? There won’t be any room for us.”
“Of course there will,” Frances said. “We’ll keep what we need for the voyage in our stateroom, and the rest will be stowed away until we reach Liverpool.”
“But what about