‘If I get up now,’ she surmised, ‘I will be able to ride round the Racecourse. I might even take Samson over one or two of the jumps.’
Samson was the one fine stallion that remained of her father’s horses that had always been outstanding. He had been still very young and more or less untrained when her father died. But he was well-bred and she had broken him in herself.
Now she realised that Samson must be wondering what had happened.
She had not ridden him since Robbie had presented her with such an appalling task.
But she had done it.
She had made the house habitable for the Prince of Wales.
Hurriedly she climbed out of bed and putting on her riding skirt and a white muslin blouse, she tied back her hair with a blue ribbon.
Without worrying any further about her looks, she ran
