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The Barb and the Bridle by Vielle Moustache
The Barb and the Bridle by Vielle Moustache
Riding, considered as a means of recreation, as a promoter of health, or as the best mode in which to display to the greatest advantage beauty and symmetry of face and form, is perhaps unequalled among the many accomplishments necessary to a lady.
Out of doors croquet may be interesting as a game, and fascinating enough when a lady has an agreeable partner, but as an exercise physically its healthfulness is doubtful.
There is too much standing about, often on damp grass, too little real exertion to keep the circulation up properly, and too many intervals of quiescence, wherein a lady stands perfectly still (in a very graceful attitude no doubt) long enough in the chill evening air to create catarrh or influenza.
Archery, although a far more graceful exercise than croquet, is open to the same objection as regards danger of taking cold.
Skating, though both healthful and elegant, is so seldom available as scarcely to be reckoned among the exercises beneficial to ladies. Moreover, it is attended with considerable danger in many cases.
To be well is to look well. Healthy physical exertion is indispensable to the former state, and in no way can it be so well secured as by riding. Mounted on a well-broken, well-bred horse, and cantering over a breezy down, or trotting on the soft sward, on the way to covert, a lady feels a glow of health and flow of spirits unattainable by any other kind of out or in door recreation.
That the foregoing truths are fully appreciated by the ladies of the Upper Ten Thousand is abundantly proved by the goodly gathering of fair and aristocratic equestrians to be seen in Rotten Row during the London season, and at every fashionable meet of hounds in the kingdom in the winter time.
Nor is riding confined to those only whose names figure in the pages of "Burke" or "Debrett." Within the last twenty years the wives and daughters of professional men and wealthy tradesmen, who were content formerly to take an airing in a carriage, have taken to riding on horseback. And they are quite right. It is not (with management) a bit more expensive, while it is beyond comparison the most agreeable and salubrious mode of inhaling the breeze.
The daughter of the peer, or other great grandee of the country, may be almost said to be a horsewoman to the manner born. Riding comes as naturally to her as it does to her brothers. Both clamber up on their ponies, or are lifted on, almost as soon as they can walk, and consequently "grow" into their riding, and become at fifteen or sixteen years of age as much at home in the saddle as they are on a sofa. In the hunting field they see the best types of riding extant, male and female, and learn to copy their style and mode of handling their horses, while oral instruction of the highest order is always at hand to supplement daily practice. To the great ladies of England, then, all hints on the subject would be superfluous. Most of them justly take great pride in their riding, spare no pains to excel in it, and are thoroughly successful.
In fact, it is the one accomplishment in which they as far surpass the women of all other countries in the world as they outvie them in personal beauty.
A German or French woman possibly may hold her own with an Englishwoman in a ball room or a box at the opera; but put her on horseback, and take her to the covert side, she is "not in it" with her English rivals.
Although the advantages and opportunities I speak of, however, render words of advice upon female equitation unnecessary to ladies of the sangre azul, I trust they may be found useful to others who may not have had such opportunities.
In the upper middle classes nothing is more probable than the marriage of one of the daughters of the house with a man whose future lot may be cast in the colonies, where if a woman cannot ride she will be sorely at a loss. Unlike the ladies of high degree above alluded to, the daughter of a man in good position in the middle class will often not have opportunities of learning to ride until she is fifteen or sixteen, and by this time the youthful frame, supple as it may appear, has acquired (so to speak) "a set," which at first renders riding far from agreeable; because it calls into action whole sets of muscles and ligaments heretofore rarely brought into play, or rather only partially so. Hence the unpleasant stiffness that always follows the first essays of the tyro in riding of the age I speak of, and which painful feeling too often so discourages beginners that they give up the thing in disgust.
Now this unpleasant consequence of the first lessons may be easily obviated by the following means. Bearing in mind that pain or stiffness is the result of want of supplesse, the first desideratum is to acquire this most desirable elasticity. To accomplish this, three months before the pupil is put on horseback she should begin a course of training in suppling and extension motions on foot, precisely similar to those drilled into a cavalry recruit in the army. No amount of dancing will do what is required. Even the professional danseuse, with her constant exercise of the ronde de jambe, never possesses that mobile action of the waist and play of the joints of the upper part of the figure so thoroughly to be acquired by the exercises I speak of, which also have the further greater advantage of giving development and expansion to the chest. I therefore respectfully advise every careful mother, who is desirous of seeing her daughters become accomplished horsewomen, before taking them to the riding master (of whom more hereafter), in the first place to employ a good drill master.
Possibly, the young ladies may have had drill instruction at school; but experience tells me that such instruction is too often slurred over, or only practised at such long intervals that its effect is confined to causing the pupil to walk upright and carry herself well-a very desirable matter, but not all that is requisite as a preparation for riding.
Drill, to be effective for the above purposes, should be practised daily. The course of instruction should begin with very short lessons, lasting not more than twenty minutes at first; but these, given in the presence of mamma, should be most rigidly and minutely carried out, otherwise they are useless. They should gradually be increased in length, according to the strength of the pupil, until she can stand an hour's drilling without fatigue. The course should include instruction in the use of dumb-bells, very carefully given. The weight of these should in no case exceed seven pounds for a young lady of fifteen or sixteen, and may judiciously be confined to three and four pounds for those of a more tender age. The great use of dumb-bells is to give flexibility to the shoulder joints and expansion to the chest. The first lessons should not last more than five minutes, and in no case be continued an instant after the pupil exhibits the slightest symptom (easily discernable) of fatigue.
Of the course of drill instruction, the lessons called the "extension motions" are the most effectual in promoting flexibility of the whole figure; but they must be gone into by very gradual and careful induction, and their effect will then be not only beneficial, but pleasant to the pupil.
As it is possible that this may meet the eye of some lady who resides where no eligible drill master is available, I propose in my next chapter to give a programme of the exercises I speak of, which may then be practised under the superintendence of the lady herself or her governess. But in all cases where the services of a competent and thoroughly practised drill master are to be had it is always best to employ them.
Simple as the instruction may appear, the art of imparting it has to be acquired in a school where the most minute attention is paid to every detail, where nothing is allowed to be done in a careless or slovenly manner, and where (so to speak) the pupil is never asked to read before he can spell. It is this jumping in medias with beginners in riding that so often causes mischief and disgusts the pupil, who begins by thinking that it is the easiest thing in the world to ride well, but when she is put on horseback finds to her dismay that it is anything but easy until acquired by practice and thoroughly good instructions.
* * *
"Where do you think you're going, huh? You're mine now, Little Mouse. Get back in the house!" Vincenzo's voice boomed, sending chills down Victoria's spine as her world seemed to crumble. Victoria Washington was shattered-betrayed by her boyfriend who dumped her the day before his wedding, to her sister. She was left humiliated, mocked by everyone. But fate had other plans for her. She's broken, he's lost. She's full of fear, and he's the monster. Yet, somehow, he's her light while he remains in darkness. Vincenzo Dante will stop at nothing to tarnish his family's name for forcing him into a marriage he never wanted. But what he doesn't realize is that his new wife is stronger than she seems-too broken to bend under his cruelty. But when love begins to bloom, and secrets start to unfold, what will happen next?
Janice, the long-forgotten legitimate heiress, made her way back to her family, pouring her heart into winning their hearts. Yet, she had to relinquish her very identity, her academic credentials, and her creative works to her foster sister. In return for her sacrifices, she found no warmth, only deeper neglect. Resolute, Janice vowed to cut off all emotional bonds. Transformed, she now stood as a master of martial arts, adept in eight languages, an esteemed medical expert, and a celebrated designer. With newfound resolve, she declared, "From this day forward, no one in this family shall cross me."
Dayna had worshiped her husband, only to watch him strip her late mother's estate and lavish devotion on another woman. After three miserable years, he discarded her, and she lay broken-until Kristopher, the man she once betrayed, dragged her from the wreckage. He now sat in a wheelchair, eyes like tempered steel. She offered a pact: she would mend his legs if he helped crush her ex. He scoffed, yet signed on. As their ruthless alliance caught fire, he uncovered her other lives-healer, hacker, pianist-and her numb heart stirred. But her groveling ex crawled back. "Dayna, you were my wife! How could you marry someone else? Come back!"
To the public, she was the CEO's executive secretary. Behind closed doors, she was the wife he never officially acknowledged. Jenessa was elated when she learned that she was pregnant. But that joy was replaced with dread as her husband, Ryan, showered his affections on his first love. With a heavy heart, she chose to set him free and leave. When they met again, Ryan's attention was caught by Jenessa's protruding belly. "Whose child are you carrying?!" he demanded. But she only scoffed. "It's none of your business, my dear ex-husband!"
"Please believe me. I didn't do anything!" Thalassa Thompson cried helplessly. "Take her away." Kris Miller, her husband, said coldly. He didn't care as she was humiliated for the whole world to see. What would you if the love of your life and the woman you considered your best friend betrayed you in the worse way possible? For Thalassa, the answer was only one; she's going to come back stronger and better and bring everyone who made her suffer to their knees. Let the games begin! ***** "I hate you." Kris gritted out, glaring into her eyes. Thalassa laughed. "Mr Miller, if you hate me so much, then why is your dick so hard?"
"Ahh!" She was in a moaning mess. She did not want to feel anything for this man. She hated him. His hands began to move all over her body. She gasped when he pulled down the back chain of her dress. The chain stopped at her lower waist, so when he zipped it off, her upper back and waist were exposed. "D-Don't touch m-ummm!" His fingers rolled around her bare back, and she pressed her head against the pillow. His touches were giving her goosebumps all over her body. With a deep angry voice, he whispered in her ear, "I am going to make you forget his touches, kisses, and everything. Every time you touch another man, you will only think of me." - - - Ava Adler was a nerdy omega. People bullied her because they thought she was ugly and unattractive. But Ava secretly loved the bad boy, Ian Dawson. He was the future Alpha of the Mystic Shadow Pack. However, he doesn't give a damn about rules and laws, as he only likes to play around with girls. Ava was unaware of Ian's arrogance until her fate intertwined with his. He neglected her and hurt her deeply. What would happen when Ava turned out to be a beautiful girl who could win over any boy, and Ian looked back and regretted his decisions? What if she had a secret identity that she had yet to discover? What if the tables turned and Ian begged her not to leave him?
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