A lady most certainly did not do so with a leather satchel slung across her body, filled with pencils, charcoal sticks, and a well-worn sketchbook that was her most prized possession.
But Miss Beatrice Holloway, at that moment, was less a lady of leisure and more a soldier on a desperate campaign.
And the territory beyond this wall—the forbidden, reclusive Blackwood estate—was her last battlefield.
She hitched her skirts, ignoring the damp chill of the stone seeping through her woollen dress, and swung a leg over.
A bramble snagged at her shawl, a parting shot from the civilized world she was leaving behind.