Free Rakes and Radishes by Susanna Ives

she and the throng of people passing through the iron gate at Hyde Corner were optimistic the sky would hold if just for one fashionable hour.
    She had never seen so many smart people in one place, except in the pages of magazines, and they weren’t real. Promenade and walking dresses in sheer muslin, flounced with dainty lace and lined with rich sarsenet. Imagine actually owning gowns exclusively for walking in the park, Henrietta thought, as she looked down at the white muslin gown she had worn both to the parson’s for dinner and church. How fine the expensive fabric had seemed when she bought it in Ely. She had run her fingers over the thin, almost translucent muslin, imagining the gown she would create, thinking how fashionable she would be. Yet here it seemed so commonplace. Forgettable. She was just an ordinary bluebell in a large, exotic flower garden.
    Even the men were beautiful. Shining Hessians, tight doeskins, cravats in all sorts of elaborate knots, and carefree curls that seemed to tumble into just the right spot on their forehead. They strolled in smooth motions, their eyes half shut as if bored by the scene.
    Kesseley seemed so out of place, a walking, unmatched mass of wrinkled fabric and wild hair. Like a tall seedling weed rising above the flowers, begging for the gardener’s sickle.
    Three rather goggled-eyed and homely young misses burst into giggles upon passing him. Henrietta reeled around, a primitive, protective instinct burning in her breast. One clever girl was discreetly pointing to a grass stain stretching across Kesseley’s thigh while her friends laughed behind their hands.
    Some inner feline sharpened its claws. She restrained herself from pulling every little silk bow and bead from the ladies’ fine pelisses.
    But another sight stole the girls’ attention, causing them to release a collective gasp. A handsome buck cantered along the fence separating the riders from walkers.
    Henrietta’s heart squeezed shut. Everything vanished from her thoughts—the goggle-eyed girls, Kesseley and his mother—everything but the graceful rider.
    Edward.
    His beautiful face shined out from all the other faces. Even from a few feet away, she could see the sparkling glint in his eyes. He tilted his face to the sun, letting the wind tousle the curls peeping below his curled hat.
    Did he not see her? Could he not feel her? She stepped forward to follow Edward’s progress and inadvertently brushed against Kesseley.
    “Pardon,” she murmured.
    He looked down and smiled, clearly innocent of Edward’s presence.
    Up ahead, Edward had caught up to a diminutive chestnut horse holding an elegant lady clad in cornflower blue. Henrietta could not see the rider’s face, only the ridiculous daisies poking out of her bonnet. He tipped his hat to the lady, that beautiful, almost crooked grin curling his lips.
    Henrietta closed her eyes and bit down on the soft skin of her lower lip, hoping the pain would keep the tears away. That smile belonged to her. He was hers.
    ***

    When she opened her eyes again, two big white horses’ mouths were shoved in her face, lips open, displaying square yellow teeth. Henrietta jumped back.
    The matching bays drew a curricle containing two of the most exotic women Henrietta had ever seen. She could only stare.
    They had the contradictory appearance of being at one time older and younger than they were. Their rosy cheeks and lips belied a hint of wrinkles about the corners of their eyes.
    A dark brunette held the reins in her slender fingers. Large glossy curls framed her fine-boned face. The lady’s almond eyes were a brilliant copper.
    The other possessed the blondest hair Henrietta had ever seen, like pure white silken threads. She made little kisses with her voluptuous lips. “Eleanora, ma chère amie est ici and with petit Tommie.” She spoke her broken French and English with a thick Germanic accent.
    The darker lady waved her long, gloved hand, clanging the jeweled