Equerry Harry saddled up Lady Mathilde's favourite horse Swinburn. Harry was concerned about Swinburn. He was showing signs of slowing down lately and some erratic behaviour. Lady Mathilde first rode Swinburn when she was just seven years old at the local gymkhana. Her natural prowess as a horsewoman was evident even then. But a horse feels the passing of time in its bones.

'Morning Harry,' Lady Mathilde greeted Harry with her usual good cheer.
'How's my precious Swiny today, no aches or pains, ready for a good gallop,' Lady Mathilde asked.

'Yes ma'am, indeed ma'am,' Harry replied, 'except for her left hock which is a little tender this morning. Still some frost about, though we now in month of March. Take her easy on the gallops, My Lady and you and Swinburn can enjoy the cross country canter.'

Harry watched horse and rider disappear into the distance.

Swinburn took off at a frisky pace as Lady Mathilde urged him on.

Harry had watched Mathilde grow up in Briarly Hall having been equerry for more than two decades. Harry knew Briarly Hall was in need of young blood. Outbuildings and stables were beginning to crumble with age. The Squire's carriage now creaked somewhat dangerously, even on short journeys.

Harry pondered why Lady Mathilde showed no interest in taking a husband. Harry had watched young men come a-wooing and leave dejected, never to return.

Young women were different these days, Harry concluded. Silly ideas about freedom and womens' rights seemed to be taking hold.

But who would cook a man's dinner in the evening, Harry wondered. His loyal Betty never missed a day cooking his dinner in almost forty years.

The war had impoverished gentry like Alfred. The devastating loss of so many young men had deprived families of male heirs.

Harry knew his own livelihood was threatened if Briarly Hall had to be sold. Now in his late fifties and employment prospects would be grim for old men of his ilk.

Sound of a horse's whinny interrupted his reverie. In the distance he caught sight of Lady Mathilde on Swinburn. Alongside her rode a young man on a gray mare. Peals of laughter floated on the breeze. It lifted Harry's spirit.

Another eligible young man for Lady Mathilde, Harry murmured quietly to himself. He went back to brushing the horses' coats and removing sharp thorns from their hooves.

Marquis Gregoire was a long standing family friend. Lady Mathilde enjoyed his company. She loved to tease him about his French ancestry.

'Do ze French like to claim you as Francais?' Mathilde teased.
'Pas du tout,' Gregoire replied, I am not a Francais, not a frog.'

'You will marry a belle Francaise, no doubt,' Mathilde answered. 'Une Marquise who dwells in an elegant chateau. And you shall dine on escargots and frogs legs for ever.'

Mathilde threw back her head of flaxen curls with a carefree laugh.
Marquis Gregoire loved her joie-de-vivre. He shifted nervously on his gray mare.
'I am not presently acquainted with eligible French mesdemoiselles,' Gregoire responded.
'Perhaps a pale English rose with porcelain skin would be much more interesting.' Gregoire replied, ' a draught of good old English beer would be more to my taste.' Gregoire was emboldened now.

He loved to joust verbally with Mathilde. She was spirited and interesting, unlike many of the eligible young women with whom he was obliged to consort. Mathilde, he reflected had a mind of her own and wasn't afraid to use it.

By now it was approaching noon and the young pair had returned to the stables and were dismounting from their morning canter.

Mathilde resented Gregoire's 'porcelain skin' remark.

'Porcelain skin indeed and what about her intellect,' Mathilde responded in a fractious manner.
'Intellect, but yes of course,' Gregoire continued, ' a lady's intellect is of the utmost importance.'

'When does a lady use her intellect if she simply lives out her days serving afternoon tea and attending Sunday church?' Mathilde asked.

Gregoire was well aware of Mathilde's involvement in the suffragette movement. He admired her stance and her conviction.
The young pair made their way to the music room. Mathilde loved a rendition of a Beethoven sonata before lunch.

Gregoire leafed aimlessly through the music scores while she opened the lid of the pianoforte. Soon piano music reverberated through the ancient walls of Briarly Hall.
'You play magnificently, Lady Mathilde,' Gregoire remarked spontaneously.

Mathilde was secretly pleased to receive such a compliment.

'I do sir,' she responded, 'Whatever I undertake, I execute magnificently,' Mathilde continued.

Gregoire was abashed. Being more acquainted with young ladies who blushed on receiving a compliment rather than acknowledging it in such a forthright manner, Gregoire was unsure how to respond.

Suddenly he blurted out, 'Lady Mathilde, the annual Spring Ball takes place one week from today at my uncle's residence in London. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?'

Lady Mathilde blushed slightly.

'Gregoire, I shall be delighted to accompany you.' Mathilde replied.' What a wonderful opportunity it will be to become acquainted with the London suffragettes. I must advise Mama and have her prepare my little flag for the occasion.'

Gregoire was dumbfounded. He felt like he was being inadvertently caught up in a maelstrom. It would be churlish and unmanly now to cancel simply because of a remark about suffragettes.
The young pair exited the music room .

'Mama', Lady Mathilde called to her mother, Lady Betsy,' I shall be travelling to London one week from today, accompanied by Gregoire, to meet up with our suffragette sisters.'
Lady Betsy responded' How nice my dear to travel to London with Gregoire. Is he a fan of the suffragettes too my dear?'

Gregoire was filled with anguish as to how he was to manage the bizarre sequence of events.
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