Read Online The Strange Case of Finley Jayne by Kady Cross - Free Book Online
Authors: Kady Cross
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After all, it took a monster to know one.
That afternoon Lord Vincent came calling to take Phoebe for a ride in Hyde Park. It was a fashionable pastime, though one Finley thought ridiculous. Imagine, a bunch of rich people all swarming the park at five o’clock just so they could be seen there? Why not go when it was less busy? At least then a body could enjoy themselves.
Finley was not enjoying herself. While Phoebe and his lordship rode in a comfortable open carriage pulled by gleaming brass automaton horses, she was forced to follow behind on an actual smelly horse.
She had only ever been on a horse twice in her entire life, and the first time she had cried until her mother took her down from the saddle. Horseback was a long way up when you’re five and city-raised.
At least she was able to ride astride. It wasn’t terribly fashionable, but it wasn’t considered as scandalous as it had been years ago. A famous horsewoman from Astley’s Amphitheatre had started a trend for it and it had only taken a few noblewomen to follow suit for the rest of society to catch on. It was supposedly much safer than riding sidesaddle, for which Finley was greatly thankful.
She wore a black split skirt—wide-legged trousers that had a panel that could be brought about in front to make it more resemble a skirt—and a purple riding jacket with matching hat. She felt like a great eggplant atop the chestnut mare, despite Phoebe’s assurances that she looked “smashing.” The ostrich plume in her hat kept bobbing in her face no matter how many times she blew it out of the way.
She followed behind the carriage at a discreet distance, obviously a chaperone for the couple. If that wasn’t bad enough, many of the young men she had danced with at the engagement party tipped their hats and said hello to her as they rode past in their modern vehicles, calling even more attention to her eggplantishness.
Still, she could hear whatever Phoebe and her fiancé said to one another. No “usual” person would be able to at this distance, but since she was unusual the same rules didn’t apply.
“I have something for you, my dear,” Lord Vincent said.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have, my lord,” came Phoebe’s pleased reply. She might not want to marry the old man, but who didn’t like presents?
There was a space of silence, probably the time it took Phoebe to unwrap or open the gift. “Oh, they’re beautiful!”
“Champagne pearls,” Lord Vincent explained. “They’ll look lovely with your skin. They were Cassandra’s favorite.”
The dead wife. Finley winced. Not the sort of thing you wanted to say to your future bride. Oh, I bought you this gift that my dead wife loved.
“I can see why,” Phoebe replied politely, but Finley could hear the stiffness in her voice, the disappointment. No one wanted to be compared to someone else.
“I thought you might wear them on our wedding day.”
“I should be delighted to, my lord.”
And that was it for the conversation. Personally, Finley thought Phoebe handled it very well. For a man who was a genius with machines, his lordship didn’t know much about women.
The silence gave Finley a chance to look around—and to enjoy the ride. It was easier now. Her body seemed to adapt to the mare’s natural rhythm. She was comfortable enough to notice how beautiful the day was as the sun began its slow descent. The grass was green, birds were singing. Voices carried on the breeze, the sounds of conversation and laughter mixing with the smells of grass and horses and machine oil.
Occasionally a young man or woman would pass by on a penny farthing, the large front wheel so funny when compared to the tiny back one. Others rode mechanical horses much like Lord Vincent’s, only their metal had been dulled so it didn’t glare so under the sun. Finley preferred these to his lordship’s. Some of them had fancy scrollwork on them, as well, unlike Lord Vincent’s hammered and embossed
That afternoon Lord Vincent came calling to take Phoebe for a ride in Hyde Park. It was a fashionable pastime, though one Finley thought ridiculous. Imagine, a bunch of rich people all swarming the park at five o’clock just so they could be seen there? Why not go when it was less busy? At least then a body could enjoy themselves.
Finley was not enjoying herself. While Phoebe and his lordship rode in a comfortable open carriage pulled by gleaming brass automaton horses, she was forced to follow behind on an actual smelly horse.
She had only ever been on a horse twice in her entire life, and the first time she had cried until her mother took her down from the saddle. Horseback was a long way up when you’re five and city-raised.
At least she was able to ride astride. It wasn’t terribly fashionable, but it wasn’t considered as scandalous as it had been years ago. A famous horsewoman from Astley’s Amphitheatre had started a trend for it and it had only taken a few noblewomen to follow suit for the rest of society to catch on. It was supposedly much safer than riding sidesaddle, for which Finley was greatly thankful.
She wore a black split skirt—wide-legged trousers that had a panel that could be brought about in front to make it more resemble a skirt—and a purple riding jacket with matching hat. She felt like a great eggplant atop the chestnut mare, despite Phoebe’s assurances that she looked “smashing.” The ostrich plume in her hat kept bobbing in her face no matter how many times she blew it out of the way.
She followed behind the carriage at a discreet distance, obviously a chaperone for the couple. If that wasn’t bad enough, many of the young men she had danced with at the engagement party tipped their hats and said hello to her as they rode past in their modern vehicles, calling even more attention to her eggplantishness.
Still, she could hear whatever Phoebe and her fiancé said to one another. No “usual” person would be able to at this distance, but since she was unusual the same rules didn’t apply.
“I have something for you, my dear,” Lord Vincent said.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have, my lord,” came Phoebe’s pleased reply. She might not want to marry the old man, but who didn’t like presents?
There was a space of silence, probably the time it took Phoebe to unwrap or open the gift. “Oh, they’re beautiful!”
“Champagne pearls,” Lord Vincent explained. “They’ll look lovely with your skin. They were Cassandra’s favorite.”
The dead wife. Finley winced. Not the sort of thing you wanted to say to your future bride. Oh, I bought you this gift that my dead wife loved.
“I can see why,” Phoebe replied politely, but Finley could hear the stiffness in her voice, the disappointment. No one wanted to be compared to someone else.
“I thought you might wear them on our wedding day.”
“I should be delighted to, my lord.”
And that was it for the conversation. Personally, Finley thought Phoebe handled it very well. For a man who was a genius with machines, his lordship didn’t know much about women.
The silence gave Finley a chance to look around—and to enjoy the ride. It was easier now. Her body seemed to adapt to the mare’s natural rhythm. She was comfortable enough to notice how beautiful the day was as the sun began its slow descent. The grass was green, birds were singing. Voices carried on the breeze, the sounds of conversation and laughter mixing with the smells of grass and horses and machine oil.
Occasionally a young man or woman would pass by on a penny farthing, the large front wheel so funny when compared to the tiny back one. Others rode mechanical horses much like Lord Vincent’s, only their metal had been dulled so it didn’t glare so under the sun. Finley preferred these to his lordship’s. Some of them had fancy scrollwork on them, as well, unlike Lord Vincent’s hammered and embossed
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