“The trees were naked, stripped of their summer greenery and fullness. The bared branches left great gaps of crystal-blue sky overhead, the color so intense it hurt the eyes to stare upward too long. The sun on her back was warm, turning what might have been another dismal winter morning into a brief escape from the gloom and silence of her rooms at Rosewood Hall.The air was clean and crisp, faintly tinged with wood-smoke. In league with the sun and fresh air, the brisk canter that had brought C...atherine across the fields and into the forest had left her cheeks touched with a blush of pale rose. Her hair, never known for its willingness to respect the orderly confines of combs and pins, trailed over her shoulders in shiny wisps, clinging to the lavender velvet of her riding suit like fine silk threads. The suit was tailored snugly from shoulder to waist, falling from there in deep, rich folds of velvet to within an inch of the ground. An abundance of cream-colored lace was gathered in dainty scallops at her throat and wrists, and as she walked, a hint of similarly adorned petticoats splashed up over the toes of her Moroccan leather boots.Catherine hated the winter months.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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