The cool air of the fresh spring morning rippled through the silken strands of her moonstruck hair, allowing it to flow behind her like an endless river. The chestnut toned steed that she sat astride was a deep contrast to the young duchess, who laughed infectiously as she spurred the mammal to go faster. She tore away from the riding party with the elegance and sharpness of a whip, her petite stature shifting so she could ever so slightly glance behind her at the cluster of horses and courtiers. “ Do try to keep up! Or do I ride too fast for you? ” she called out, goading the rider closest to her. It was the first piece of excitement that she’d felt since she’d arrived in dreary England, the French woman inside of her desperate for her homeland.