[color=#e2e2e2]"Samantha Meredith Whitmore, go to your room at once and put on a gown! I will not have my firstborn going to a ball dressed like a ruffian!”
Sam stopped lacing her boots to let out an audible sigh. Mother was going to make this a fight as always. Wars of words wore on Sam’s patience. Mother was the queen of making war over the simplest of things, all because Sam wouldn’t conform to her preconception of what makes a [i]‘proper lady’[/i]. [color=#ffaa22]“Mother you can yell all you want but as you’re already concerned about the time, I do not see how a wardrobe change does anything more than trade one grievance for another.”[/color]
Sam was right of course - that was the quickest way to shut down these arguments - but that only angered mother more. “Yes, and you’re late already.”
[color=#ffaa22]“The carriage will be late, mother; I can still ride to Belchester in time,”[/color] she answered quietly.
Her intent was to ride out herself rather than in a carriage. Clearly that idea was going over exactly as well as her choice of dress.

She never liked overly fanciful dresses. All of hers - the ones she would actually wear at least - were simpler, meant to have something else accompany them. Her choice for tonight was bright red with a simple black embroidery along the shin-high bottom edge, a plainly slim high collar, and short-cut sleeves. She paired it with a men's-styled jacket - black with a matching red edging - and her laced knee-high boots so she could still ride. Ballroom slippers did not sit in stirrups well at all. One of the house servants had taken her black hat earlier to have a small tulip bouquet put in the side. This was a rare occasion she intended to tolerate flowers, but that clearly was not enough of a concession to appease her irate mother.

“I will not have you arriving a windblown mess from riding,” she huffed as she realized that she was already defeated about the wardrobe, “now go out front and get to the carriage young lady!”
[color=#ffaa22]“Was I not supposed to bo change into something less ... [i]‘objectionable’[/i]?”[/color]
Sam had her in a pinch. Mother could not have both. Being turned away from her, Sam smirked at her small victory. A frustrated grunt came from the middle-aged woman. “Just go...”

Sam darted out the front door. Dark clouds loomed in the far distance; it would likely be raining in Belchester. She reached inside to the coat rack, grabbing a long overcoat she could wear atop her existing attire. Max, one of the house servants, came around from another door carrying one of her last bags packed for the trip and her hat. The carriage was already out front along with one of the family’s thoroughbreds, saddled and ready. Sam normally kept the black ribbon tucked inside the hat instead of wearing it around her chin, but she carefully pulled it out this time so it would not blow off as she rode. She tied it snugly after donning her overcoat. Mother stood just in front of the door, shaking her head gruffly. “For the love of God child, do not embarrass us!” she called out as Sam hoisted herself atop the horse.
[color=#ffaa22]“But where’s the fun in that?”[/color] she hollered back, taking hold of the reins, [color=#ffaa22]“Hya!”[/color]

[hr]
The rain was never particularly heavy, but riding at a full gallop through it for the better part of an hour and a half was not the most fun. Avalon was not that far from Belchester by horseback - not more than forty miles - and Sam’s father even had quite the stake in the docks there moving cargo in and out of the bay. She was loosely familiar with the city and how to get there. Her hat was quite wet by the time she arrived, though the rain had not done too much damage to her hair. She kept it just past shoulder-length so it would not become difficult. Her mother always demanded she let it grow out, but Sam was not about to endure thirty minutes of hairdressing a day to please Mother.

A large castle was not hard to find, and Sam had no difficulties finding her way to the gates and into the circle. The fountain the path wrapped around was more opulent than anything she knew in Avalon. As much as she didn’t care for jewelry or shiny things herself, she stared around with an almost-childlike enthusiasm at it all here. She snapped back to the here and now as she came upon the steps and one of the servants startled her horse. “Woah, easy there,” she pulled back gently to settle him.
The attendant took the reins from her as she dismounted as gracefully as she could. A long skirt was not the easiest apparel to get in and out of a saddle with, but she had ripped enough skirts doing it to know how not to. She hurried indoors to finally remove her very wet overcoat. [color=#ffaa22]“Yes, thank you,”[/color] she acknowledged the servant who came to take her coat from her, and then Sam made her way to the ballroom.[/color]