Her father was up, as she had expected he would be. He kissed her boisterously, told her to behave herself, and put a heavy purse of money into her hand.
“When you need more, you have but to send for it,” he said.
“Thank you, Father.”
His generosity, she knew, was not for herself but for the position she would hold as Maid of Honour, which he took as a personal tribute to his own importance.
She said good-bye to the servants in the Hall and then the groom helped her to mount her favourite horse.
She looked very different from what she usually did when she rode at Camfield. There were no high boots and short breeches upon her today to scandalise the citizens of London. Her full-skirted riding habit was of green velvet and the plume which decorated her hat was canary yellow and reached
