Late May of the year 1800, Hyde Park, just shy of half past two in the afternoon. @jacqueline-mallory
She tries to be stately when she walks; really, she does. If Elizabeth could see me now, she’d pinch the inside of my elbow until my posture improved, she thought wryly. Still, her pace didn’t slow. Instead, Kate’s steps were as close to leaping as her skirt would allow as she hurried off of the well trod and densely populated park path. If she looked behind her, she’d see that her chaperone was struggling to keep up while hampered down with the bulk of her art supplies, but, as was typical, she did not look behind her. Instead, Kate’s eyes focused ahead, scanning the gentle slope of the grass and well kept flowerbeds before her, searching for familiar dark curls among the soft colors of spring in London. It took her a handful of minutes as she rushed along, her skirts lifted just enough to keep them out of the damp grass, but when she finally spotted her friend, all the air seemed to rush out of her lungs in a grateful sigh of relief.
Her steps were light and rapid and somewhat graceful ( if one could ignore the absolute neglect of decorum, of course ) as she crossed the last bit of distance and stopped in front of Jacqueline, bobbing into a quick curtsey as she did. The effect was marred by the fact that the grass was covered with the same gentle dampness that seemed to permeate so much of London, which meant that Kate didn’t stop so much as she slid, grinning all the while. “My lady,” she intoned, trying in vain to school her features into something somber, and failing miserably. Her mouth split back into a smile in less than the span of a heartbeat, and she all but collapsed onto the other woman’s neatly arranged blanket. Kate reached forward as she sat, pressing the palms of her hands into the soft fabric, feeling the gentle give of the earth beneath it, and inhaled the warm and familiar smell of her friend; the freshness of rosewater, the spicy scent of cardamom, rounded out with the depth of vanilla. Where so many ladies of the Ton –– Kate herself included –– tended to favor soft florals, Jac always seemed to smell like she’d just emerged from an exotic and specialized bakery, and the heady perfume put Kate instantly at ease.
“It is good to see you, my friend,” she said, still smiling as she straightened up her spine and tucked her legs beneath her. “Are you well?”