Blackwood alerted me that a guest was coming to stay with Captain Whitfield, and would I please join them for dinner? I agreed. It must have been the person he’d mentioned in the stables. Perhaps it was someone local who knew my mother or my father. But why was Captain Whitfield eager that I should meet him? Michelene did my hair in a lovely upsweep anchored by jet pins. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. It was just right. I didn’t look like anyone’s governess, but I also did not look as though I should be rooming at the Swan. “Very nice,” I said. “Michelene, I’d like some cologne. Could we perhaps find me some scent that is a little less English rose and a little more reminiscent of India? Something warm and spicy?” “Oui,” she said. “I will order some when I order your riding habits.” “Riding habits? I don’t ride.” “Every English lady rides.”
