Perhaps if she'd checked her hooves! Ophelia felt she was boiling, just below the surface of her skin. She knew how to ride a horse! But was personally checking each horses' hooves something that the wealthy really did? What was even the point of having hired stable hands and grooms, if that was the case? Maybe this was actually a not-very-subtle barb, meant to imply that Ophelia, with her middle-class upbringing on a farm, was the sort of person who ought to be checking hooves prior to a hunt, rather than actually being involved in one.

Since she didn't know how the comment was intended, she didn't know how best to respond, and her window to do so was quickly closing. "I suppose perhaps I am a bit out of practice," she said hurriedly as the other woman turned her horse to leave. "I haven't had much need to ride anywhere since I was given my pegasi and flying carriage on my wedding day." A team of four pegasi and a flying coach was a luxury even amongst members of this social class, and while it was a bit off-topic to bring it up now and try to weasel the brag into the conversation, Ophelia was feeling insecure enough about her hunting skills to try it anyway.

"My dear Mr. Devine prefers I travel in comfort," she continued. "And one hears such stories about what befalls women who are too much engaged in masculine activities, anyway." And there, at last, she'd been able to come up with a fitting barb. She had no doubt Miss Nott had been intending to be catty, and Ophelia was practically a professional at that game — it had just taken her a second to get her bearings back.