The brown wicker basket rested off to the side in the main stables, next to the tack wall. Humming an upbeat tune, he watched as a shaft of sunlight illuminated the folded silk balloon, causing it to shimmer silver and blue. It seemed unbelievable that the beautiful pile of cloth in front of him had taken him halfway across Britain. “You are not hiding from me, are you, dear Boyce?” Lydia gingerly stepped into the stables. “I expected you to remain in bed.” “I’ve had enough rest. Pluck to the backbone this morning.” Lifting her dainty, pointed shoes an inch off the dirt floor, she slowly moved forward, the placement of each step carefully planned. “Oh, I am glad to hear you are well.” Boyce smiled at her delicate dance as she approached. Her repeated desire for his company endeared her instantly. “Come, look at this pretty balloon. I’m sure you will admire it too.” Lydia and his best friend, George Drexel, had discreetly shared a bed for a year after her first husband died.
