Goodness, how I have run on, and all you wanted to know was whether I was alive and well or not! I hope it will not embarrass you when I tell you that your concern made me shed a little tear. If it pleases you to continue our correspondence, I would be delighted to do so. If my loquacity (isn’t that a wonderful word!) has frightened you off, I will understand. If it has not, I would love to hear some tales of your time on the Continent. Being away from England has made me realise that there is a big world out there. Now I really must stop wittering on!

Yours most sincerely and with very best wishes,

Lady Margaret

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

March 1867

AS MARGARET, ASTRIDE HER FAVOURITE chestnut mare, headed out through the main gates of the estate, Pennygael was champing at the bit. “You can have your head in a moment,” she said, keeping a tight rein. “Patience, girl.”

The day was overcast with what in Scotland would be called a smur of rain, and Breda would call a tear of mist coming in from the bog, but Margaret’s spirits were in direct contrast to the lowering sky. Heading through the deer park in the direction of the famous Powerscourt waterfall, she relaxed her grip on the reins and Pennygael’s stride lengthened. The ground was soft, the mare’s hooves drummed a muffled, rhythmic beat as Margaret leaned in, the wind catching at her hair and the skirts of her riding habit. The sweet scent of damp bracken and mulched leaves filled her nose, mingling with the smell of leather and horse sweat. A hawthorn hedge loomed, but Pennygael soared over it, her grey fetlocks just brushing the top, galloping on without missing a beat, slowing reluctantly only as the viscount’s newly planted woods loomed into view.

At the waterfall Margaret dismounted, leaving the horse to drink, while she took her favourite seat on a rock by the pool. The water was grey blue today, the weed on the boulders glinting brown and gold, mimicking the colours of the surrounding heavily wooded hills. The cascade pounded down a sheer rock escarpment, the central flume a powerful torrent of white water with many smaller rivulets tumbling over the jagged rocks on either side. A huge cloud of mist hung in the air and a thunderous roar drowned out all other sounds. This was by far her favourite place on the estate. The exhilarating power of the falls, the contrasting tranquillity of the pool, and the ever-changing beauty of the forested slopes never failed to entrance her, or to lift her spirits.