Heather O`Roarke Posted April 11, 2016 Share Posted April 11, 2016 The Park was once a marshy water meadow, but now is a thriving attraction with all of London's elite. Charles' grandfather, James I, improved the drainage and controlled the water supply. Other royalty had made improvement to the park over their reigns, but it was Charles II who made dramatic changes. The Park was redesigned, with avenues of trees planted and lawns laid. The King opened the park to the public and is a frequent visitor, feeding the ducks and mingling with his subjects. In the south-west corner of St. James’s Park lays Rosamond’s Pond, a modest sheet of water with a notorious reputation. Many comedies of the time, including those of Thomas Otway, refer to the site as a place of assignation for married ladies and fashionable rogues. Certainly, under the cover of moonlight, the lush locale takes on an air of mystery and romance. A simple wooden railing encircles the entire feature, inviting passersby to pause and lean against it while they watch the wildlife or chat quietly. At one end of the pond is a large willow tree -- its leafy tendrils hide a small stone bench, a favorite haunt of the locale’s after-hours visitors. For any courtier it was early, just after light broke, still a pale blue light, with the unnatural light reflected on the snow, which dampened the soft patter of hooves of slow step progress. A snickering protest from the white stallion, puffs of hot breath left behind. Winter had changed Rosamund's Pond. Benches were no longer hidden due to lack of leaves, leaving a see through curtain of small hanging twigs, but a combination of snow on branches and icicles hanging from the wooden railing created its own wonderland, catching cold rays of sunlight as the sun etched up. No waterfowl, they all had fled to the Duck pond where they kept open a piece of water. A sheet of ice lay flat, hidden by more snow. Nearer to the palace some skating might take place, but this hide away was stilted as ever. Heather, covered by a white cloak lined with white fur, amply covering her red locks, took in a deep breath, letting the cold settle in her lungs, feeling more alive than ever. The weather was not conducive to a hard gallop, but a least she could ride again. Gentle she held the reigns with her kidskin gloves, allowing Rohan to come to a full stop. "Is it not glorious Jerkins?" the lady demanded. A grunt somewhere behind her revealed the fact the lady had an escort, though far away enough to allow her some privacy. Heather pretended her personal guard had just imparted something meaningful, her red lips twisting with some humour. Jerkins, after his retirement from the regiment, had trouble rising early, increasingly so over the years, and she did so adore tormenting him. Drawing out the fun Heather let herself glide from the saddle, and taking Rohan by the reigns let him closer the pond and the half hidden bench.A few snowflakes started to fall softly. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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