“Come here, dear. You’re a big girl now. You don’t need me to feed you.” The lamb regarded her with startled eyes. “C’mon now. You can do it.” Franny sat next to the pan and crossed her legs. The little lamb approached cautiously. “Now now. I won’t bite you. Just give it a try,” she coaxed, and dipped her finger in the milk. The lamb stuck out the tip of her tongue and licked Franny’s finger. “There you go!”

And the lamb did go. She plopped herself right in Franny’s lap. Curling up, she peered at the pan of milk. Franny giggled. “You lazy little thing. Come on now. You can do this by yourself.” The lamb would soon learn but preferred to lick up the milk while sitting in Franny’s lap. It was restful for Franny to sit with this warm fluffy bundle in her lap and dream of friendship. She really had no friends at Hatfield. There was hardly time. And her parents were always cautioning her about “being careful.” They had been lucky, so lucky. People didn’t talk about witches, not since the king had chopped off his wife’s head, Queen Anne. But that was four wives ago. Of course after Anne, the second head to roll was Catherine Howard’s a few years ago, but she wasn’t considered a witch, just a wanton seductress.

Franny closed her eyes and relived the image in her mind of Rose sitting so gracefully on that horse. She looked completely at ease in the saddle. Franny herself had never ridden anything but a donkey, and not even with a saddle, just astride with her legs dangling down. She wondered what Rose was doing right this minute at Greenwich.

But Rose was not at Greenwich. She was at Hunter Valley Riding Academy.

“Rose, I think you’re ready for a low bar jump.”

“Really?” Rose said.

“Yes, I told you you were a natural. So, Jamie, can you help set it up?” Peter called over to the fence where Jamie was watching.

“Sure, Pete.”

Lisa had just come up. Rose dreaded having her there.

“Oh, jumping already. I told you she was fast, Jamie.”

Jamie gave her a dark look and swung himself over the fence to help Peter put up the jump.

Rose looked over and caught sight of Lisa again. Why does she have to be here? It seemed as if she was always hanging around. But still, Rose loved the riding academy. Her grandmother, pleased with her progress, had arranged for her to take lessons four days a week. Rose had been practicing walking Ivy over poles flat on the ground, then trotting and finally cantering over them. Now the poles would be raised, no more than a foot from the ground. She took the first jump at a walk. By the end of the lesson she was trotting over the jump.

“Beautiful balance!” Peter called out.