The east wind blew cold this March morning. Daffodils braved the last frosts of winter. Harriet walked in the overgrown bluebell garden, with its vivid color and half-open tepals.

"Harriet, Harriet....are you there?"
Her father,Sir Allingham, Lord of Huntingdon Estate, stood,with an agitated air, by the stables.

Since the departure of her brother, Lord Harold, to Nordingham,on his nuptials to Lady Wolseley, Harriet had felt the weight of history on her twenty-two year old shoulders.

"Harriet ", Sir Allingham barked, "Speak immediately with the stable-hand about 'Star's 'infected hoof..."

Harriet's gaze fell on the rusted plaque by the stable door. A memento,of her first great win, at age six, in the Gold Cup in the Huntingdon Autumn Fair .

From the stables, she caught sight of Mama, Lady Esmond, exiting the front gate in the chauffeur -driven Bentley.An increasingly rare outing for the ageing Bentley.

Stable-hand John's peaked cap seemed frayed at the edges.

Leaving the stables and walking to the dining hall, Papa and Mr Brummel, family accountant, walked ahead of her, embroiled in a heated conversation.

A yellowed sheaf of paper fell on the gravel path . Harriet rushed to pick it up. 'Huntingdon for Sale', was emblazoned on the top.