Chapter 1

The wind whistled through Hannah's honey-blonde hair, driving icily into her face as she rode. She clung to the reins, heart pounding and soul soaring with exhilaration. Screaming with joy as she galloped across the field on Sapphire's back, she barely noticed that her spine ached or that her face was cold in the icy spring air. She laughed as they leapt over the fence and thumped down into the field beyond.

"Go, Sapphire!" she called out, her voice high and bright. "Go, go!"

Sapphire must have heard her joy because she set back her ears and then thundered forward, increasing speed from a canter to a gallop. Hannah shut her blue eyes for a moment, terrified and elated as they pounded up the path.

"Easy, girl. Easy, there."

The feeling of fear wore off instantly and she leaned back a little, adjusting her weight in the saddle as she'd learned when she was just four and riding her first pony. As she had hoped, Sapphire felt the shift in her weight and slowed a bit, moving first to a canter and then into a trot. Hannah looked around, starting to notice her surroundings again. Before her, dense green woodland whispered, and on either side, they were surrounded by green grass, edged with a sturdy fence. They were high up in Farmer Atwood's field, two or three miles from her home at Grassdale Estate. She noted the dense woodland up ahead and felt a shiver.

"We should go back."

It wasn't just the inhospitable look of the woods; it was the thought of being late and displeasing Mother. Mother was already upset because she had stormed off to go riding, and it didn't do any good to anger her any further.

Sapphire turned, ears swiveling, and Hannah smiled. Her horse was listening to her. They had been companions since Sapphire was just a year old, the best gift and the closest friend a sixteen-year-old girl like Hannah could have imagined. Now, three years later, Sapphire was a beautiful young mare and Hannah, at nineteen, was withering under growing expectations thrust on her by her mother.

You must make a good catch at this Season, Mother always said. We're relying on you to raise this family's status.

Her mind went back to breakfast that morning, when she'd argued with Mother.

"You don't even make an effort to be an educated young lady! Why! You don't even read the Gazette . How will you make conversation with anyone?"

Hannah had made a face. Her mother meant the Ladies' Gazette , and having read it once was all Hannah needed to tell her she wasn't interested. If educated young ladies liked reading about fashion advice and housekeeping, they could keep it. She would rather read about riding.

"Mother," she complained. "We go to balls to dance. Not to talk about fashion."

"Yes! And you don't dance enough. Your dance card should be full by the start of the evening. You're not making an effort, like I said."

"Mother..." Hannah bit her lip in frustration.

"And don't make faces! It's most unseemly. What do you think? That educated young ladies grimace?"

"Please," Hannah whispered. "I can't bear much more of this." Every time they sat anywhere Mother would start. She'd been doing this constantly since the announcement a week ago that they would spend the Season at the townhouse in London.

"Your mother is concerned for you," Edward said thinly. His long, smooth face barely looked up from the newspaper.

"Is that why she wants me to be a fine lady?" Hannah challenged her brother. "Because of concern? Nothing to do with raising the status of the family?"

"I'm reading the paper. I don't want to get involved in this." He glared at her. "And don't talk back."

" What ?" Hannah exclaimed. Edward was only older than her by four years—he had no right to talk to her like that. She felt her cheeks redden with indignation, but Mama shouted first.

"Don't raise your voice! How can you be a lady if you shout?"

"I'm not a lady," Hannah murmured, the two of them wearing her down to the point of tears. "And I beg to be excused."

She pushed back her chair and strode from the room, keeping her back straight and dignified. She could hear her mother and Edward yelling after her, but she didn't turn around. She hurried to her bedroom and changed into her riding clothes, then ran to Sapphire's stall in the stable.

She sighed, tucking a strand of dark blonde hair back from her face where it escaped its confines. All she had ever wanted to do was ride.

She looked around. Their family was vastly wealthy: Papa had purchased landholdings to rival those of many noblemen, and their house, Grassdale, was the most beautiful place she could imagine, recently redecorated entirely by a leading architect. But still, her mother seemed discontented. A title was what Mother craved. Papa had made vast wealth in his lifetime, but he was ordinary Mr. Darlington; an industrialist, striking it rich with innovations and factories. Mother longed to be like the people they mingled with at Almack's Assembly in London—noble and rich, instead of just rich.

Hannah looked down sadly at her hands where she held the reins. Her fingernails were torn from tacking up and grooming her horse, a little dirt streaked on her skin from where she'd touched the fresh-oiled tack in the stable. She had freckles on her pert nose and sometimes in summer she was even a little sun-darkened. She was no lady, and she had no wish to be. Papa had known that. He had understood that all that mattered to her was riding.

"We should go back," she told Sapphire sadly. "But let's take the long road. We don't have to rush." The rebellious thought made her grin.

She heard her horse make a huff of assent and she felt her spirits lift. She had always believed Sapphire understood every word, and the longer they associated, the more convinced she was that Sapphire really did—or she had to, since now she was setting her feet towards the path.

Hannah looked around as they rode, her head filled with wild plans to escape.

"Maybe we should just ride to London, just you and me," she told Sapphire with a small smile.

She would turn up at an inn with Sapphire, disguised as a boy, and rent lodgings with her allowance. She would try to find work as a tutor and save enough money to buy them somewhere to stay.

Her heart twisted with the knowledge that she couldn't really do it. The roads were far too dangerous. Even if she disguised herself as a man, they might not reach London, and there the chances of her getting employment were slim.

Mayhap I can pretend I'm sick.

It was another wild plan, but this one seemed more rational. Margaret, the daughter of the local apothecary in Oakwood village, could help her. Margaret knew so much about illness and cures that she could come up with some convincing pretense for Hannah to escape the trip to London. She hadn't seen her in a long time, and she felt a twist of guilt in her chest. She ought to drop in and visit her.

"Come on, then," she murmured gently to Sapphire.

She leaned forward, increasing their speed. They would have to hurry. Mother would already be enraged because Hannah was missing morning tea and defying her was all very well, but it would mean that she would need a strong stomach to put up with the yells and shouts.

"Whoa! No!" Hannah screamed as something flapped in the woods.

Sapphire reared up and then bolted.

Sapphire was a wonderful horse, spirited and lively, but she was prone to spooking, especially if she saw something move suddenly. Hannah gritted her teeth, trying to hang on. Her hands sweating, she shut her eyes for a moment. They raced on.

"Sapphire! Stop. Please, stop."

Sapphire's muscles bunched with running. She didn't seem to be tiring—she seemed, rather, to be becoming more afraid. Hannah gritted her teeth. Her dark thoughts had likely troubled her horse, making her skittish. She screamed aloud as Sapphire reared.

"No!"

Hannah fell backwards and landed with a solid thump on the ground. Her vision faded for a moment as pain shot up her spine. She lay there, too tired, sore and frightened to move.

She heard footsteps and she managed to open her eyes just as Sapphire bent down to shove at her with her nose. Hannah gazed up at her, love flooding her heart as the horse shoved at her again, her brown eyes wide in confusion.

"Shh, Sapphire. It's all right," Hannah told her gently. She felt a stab of warmth and guilt in her heart—Sapphire was obviously concerned, thinking she'd killed Hannah. She managed to make herself sit up and Sapphire huffed a small neigh that seemed to indicate she was relieved. Hannah smiled at her, even as pain thudded through her head, making her dizzy. She wasn't angry with Sapphire—she had done what horses do.

Slowly, painfully, she managed to stand up, looking down at her dress sorrowfully. She was covered in dirt. The brown velvet of her riding-dress was caked with mud on the back and front, and she had mud smeared on her hands.

Imagine going to London like this.

She had to grin at a thought that was so bizarre, and then she started laughing. The sound startled Sapphire, who huffed in surprise and Hannah stroked her nose gently.

"Come on, you dear," she said gently. "Let's visit Margaret."

Mayhap her friend had clothes to borrow, or at least water to wash her dirty face and hands.

The village appeared slowly as they walked—the church spire first, then the cluster of little houses as they descended lower. There were only twenty or thirty houses in Oakwood, and a church, bakery, and apothecary's shop. The roofs of the cottages were thatched, the walls whitewashed. Apple trees grew in some of the gardens, the buds white and beautiful against the dark wood. Hannah walked up the cobbled street, breathing in the scent of rain, hay, wood-smoke and damp earth that was the smell of the village. The apothecary's shop was in the center of town, and they arrived at teatime exactly—nobody was in the village square, and they walked past silently, glad to avoid critical gazes.

Cottages with pretty gardens lined cobbled streets, the fragrance of blossom in the air. When they reached the shop she knocked firmly at the door, holding her breath, nervously. She heard footsteps, and the door opened, revealing Margaret's father, Mr. Blackwood, a short, solid man with broad shoulders and a big grin. He raised a brow at them in surprise, then chuckled.

"Miss Darlington!" He greeted her warmly. "Come in! We've not seen you in the shop for months. I'll see where Margaret is, if you like. I'm sure she'll have already heard your horse and be running to the door. She's always so pleased by your visits."

Hannah thanked him and waited for her friend to arrive, her eyes moving, intrigued, across the garden. Tall foxgloves grew at the back, their pink-tinged blooms beautiful and showy. Closer to the gate, rosemary bloomed, and lavender scented the air, its blossom drawing bees that buzzed lazily about the garden. Little plants of thyme grew in one flowerbed, the strong, clean scent piercing in the cold morning dew. Hannah let her gaze wander, identifying the many plants that she recognized. Margaret had been a good tutor.

Hannah looked up as she heard Margaret call out to her.

"Hannah! You're here! How grand!"

Hannah held her close, smelling the scent of exotic herbs that seemed to cling to her from work, no matter what else she did.

"How wonderful to see you," she said softly, stepping back to gaze at her. Margaret grinned impishly, her heart-shaped face flooded with warmth. Hannah grinned back.

"I was busy preparing the Gum Arabic for one of Father's pastes," Margaret explained, dusting hands that were covered in white dust.

"Can I see what you're making?" she asked with interest, following Margaret into the shop. Margaret laughed.

"Of course! You can help, too, if you have time." She glanced at Hannah and her bright smile shifted into a frown of concern. "You seem troubled."

"I must hurry," Hannah answered, though she felt sure that her tension was plain to see. "I did want to ask you a favour," she added as they went through to the workroom. She breathed in the familiar scent of spice and incense and wished that she could stay there all day and help Margaret in her work.

"Anything! Of course, you only have to ask," Margaret answered at once. "What happened to your hands?" Her voice was aghast as she looked down at Hannah's bleeding palm in the brighter light of the little workroom.

"I fell off my horse," Hannah confided. Margaret knew she was an excellent rider and so she did not feel embarrassed to say it. "I cut my hands. And I also got dirty," she added, glancing down at her velvet gown, torn and dirtied as it was.

"Let me see to your hands," Margaret stated at once, reaching for a small linen towel, which she dipped into a bowl of water on a high wooden table. "And you can brush the dirt off that dress...I'm sure it'll clean up nicely. I've got a shawl you can borrow to hide the tear until you ride home," she added swiftly, noticing the tear in the neck which made the gown a little more low-cut than it ought to be. Hannah smiled.

"Thank you, Margaret," she breathed thankfully as her friend washed her hand with the damp towel. The relief from the stinging ache of the scratches was considerable.

"No trouble," Margaret answered at once. "Now, I have an ointment to put on those. You must take a pot of it with you. And then I'll go up and find that shawl. You don't need to worry about anyone in the village seeing—they're all either having tea or out working in the fields."

"Thank you," Hannah repeated appreciatively.

Margaret rubbed a greenish paste that smelled of pine into her hands, then handed her the little container of it to put in her purse and went upstairs, returning with the shawl of brown linen.

"Thank you so much Margaret. Do I look all right?" Hannah asked swiftly as she brushed her dress with the clothes-brush Margaret brought for her, then wrapped the shawl around her.

"Of course," Margaret said gently. "I told you that velvet would clean up," she added with a smile. "Though you won't be wearing that in London—I suppose it's all balls and parties in the city." Her eyes were bright and shining.

Hannah bit her lip. "Yes. Though they'll be no fun at all without you."

Margaret smiled. "You'll have all manner of fun. And there are far more handsome men in London than here."

"Margaret!" Hannah giggled. Margaret always lifted her spirits.

"It's true," her friend said with a laugh. "I'm sure you'll meet dozens of them. And dance every night. And maybe even ride sometimes."

Hannah smiled fondly at her. Her friend was just trying to cheer her up, she knew. Margaret knew how she felt about London and balls. And eligible men. "I hope I can ride. But I'll look shameful for London," she added, lifting her hand to her cheek where the scratch was.

"It's just a bit of dirt," Margaret said, touching the shoulder of her gown where a bit of mud still clung. "No-one can reproach you for that."

Hannah felt a pain in her chest. Margaret was so sweet—it would never even occur to her to think that someone could be angry with their daughter for a scratch on their cheek. She took her hand in her own. "I appreciate it, truly I do. I hope I can call on you as soon as we return from London."

"I look forward to seeing you," Margaret replied fondly.

Hannah mounted up, feeling awkward with the shawl knotted around her shoulders. She lifted a hand from the reins to wave to Margaret, and then turned her horse in the drive, riding to the gate she'd opened earlier. She jumped down to close it, even as Margaret ran up to do so, waving to her fondly.

As she rode back towards the manor, her mood shifted from delight to fear. She knew Mother would be furious when she saw the dirt and the scratch, even though she'd done her best to hide it. As soon as she rode near the stables, she started planning the best route for sneaking back up to her room, but she saw her brother's wife, Philipa, standing in the drive.

"Hannah! You're late!" Philipa reproached her instantly, her thin, pretty face tense and angry. "You almost missed tea. Where, may I ask, have you been?"

"I was riding," Hannah said swiftly, slipping out of the saddle and standing close to Sapphire, her place of safety.

"You were out riding by yourself? Unaccompanied? That's most unseemly," Philipa replied, though her voice wasn't even raised, now, just frankly disinterested. "And you'll get sunburned, too." She sniffed in distaste.

"I went up to the farmland. Not the village," Hannah explained. That was partly true. "So, nobody would see me." She didn't add that there was no sun to burn her, but an incredulous look at Philipa must have conveyed her meaning.

"Oh." Philipa sniffed again. "Well, it's still unseemly. Most unnatural pastime for a girl. You lack proficiency in both sewing and playing the pianoforte, yet you choose to spend your days frolicking about like a hoyden." She turned around and walked back towards the house. "Your mother wondered where you were."

"I'll come in a moment," Hannah told her quickly, ignoring the insult, and darted into the stable. "I just have to groom Sapphire quickly."

"Can't you let the groom do that?" Philipa demanded. "You spend too much time in the stables. People will think you're a hoyden."

Hannah glared at Philipa, but she was already returning towards the house, her blonde hair in its elegant chignon pale against the green of the estate around them.

Hannah led Sapphire into her stall and removed her saddle and bridle, then pressed her face against her horse's neck and cried. She hadn't shown it in front of Philipa, but her words had cut deep into her heart.

"Why can't they just accept me for who I am?" she asked Sapphire quietly. A soft neigh was her answer, and a nuzzle at Hannah's neck that made her cry. Sapphire accepted her utterly. And that was enough. It had to be.

She winced and reached for the brush and combed Sapphire's mane, wishing for the thousandth time that she could stay in the countryside and not travel with the family to London the next day.