Free Let Me Be The One by Jo Goodman Page A

Battenburns. Their willingness to sanction this activity for her inevitably silenced the whispering about it. She was indifferent about their blessing, imagining that she would have been strong-headed enough to ride to the hounds without it. It was not the chase she enjoyed, or the ultimate surrender of the fox to the hounds. It was the freedom she found intoxicating, the opportunity to go hell-bent for leather across fields and fences, to fly over water jumps and drive hard into the woods at a speed that could kill her if she or her horse miscalculated.
    She limped rather painfully to where a groom held her mount, aware of the stares she received by virtue of her slow, halting progress. She knew by now how to read the expressions of those who stared in her direction. There would be those who pitied her and those who found something to admire. These reactions she considered to be but two sides of the same coin, for both focused on the obvious physical infirmity. Among those who knew her well there would be little reaction. Lady Battenburn would not countenance any remarks that brought more attention to her. The baron did not publicly recognize her limitations. Friends took their cue from this acceptance, and gradually what was different about her became unexceptional. By the end of the fortnight at Battenburn she would elicit no more comments for her ungainliness than she did for the shape of her nose.
    Elizabeth accepted a leg up from the groom and settled comfortably into her saddle. Her mount, a silver gelding that could cover distances with the speed and smoothness of a bullet, pranced lightly while she fawned over him and patted his neck.
    "He's a fine animal," Northam said approvingly, coming abreast of Elizabeth. He looked her mount over from forelock to fetlock and could see nothing but prime horseflesh. His expression was admiring and a shade envious. When he looked at Elizabeth he saw she was amused. "Have I done something?"
    She shook her head, her eyes bright with silent laughter.
    Northam frowned, a small crease appearing between his brows. "Are you quite—"
    Southerton came upon them then, interrupting his friend. "Aaah, Lady Elizabeth. How fine you are looking this afternoon. The fresh air and anticipation of the hunt agrees most favorably with you. Indeed, I believe one could pluck the roses from your cheeks, so pronounced are they."
    She blushed a little at what she believed was outrageous flattery, deepening the very roses upon which Southerton had settled his gaze. "You are too kind, my lord."
    Elizabeth's riding habit was black wool serge, fitting rather more loosely than the tailored jackets the men wore. The skirt was cut long to preserve modesty as she rode with one leg hitched around the pommel, but even so there was a tantalizing glimpse of slender ankles bound tightly in black leather riding boots. Elizabeth steadied the gelding then adjusted the sheer black scarf that held her top hat securely to her head. "I fear I am sadly out of place among all this scarlet."
    "Nonsense," Southerton said grandly. "What do you think the pinks are in aid of, if not to attract the attention of a lovely little pigeon such as yourself?"
    Although she was not at all certain she liked being compared to a pigeon, Elizabeth's laughter was bright, encouraging Lord Southerton to expand his thinking.
    "It is the way of every species, is it not?" he asked. "The males spread their bright feathers or puff their chests to garner the notice of the females. I think it is precisely this that the tailors had in mind when they fashioned the scarlet jackets. I assure you, the fox is not at all interested in our plumage."
    "You have given this matter some thought," Elizabeth said, her mouth still curved in a tempered smile. Her eyes darted briefly to Northam. There was no reproach in her look, only a deepening amusement.
    "Of course." Southerton followed Elizabeth's glance. "Never say North has failed to comment on how splendid you