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Authors: Amanda Quick
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cart without waiting for assistance from one of the men and rubbed the place behind Dante’s pricked ears. “I very much enjoyed wearing these trousers. Much more comfortable than the skirts we sewed together.” She looked hopefully at Concordia. “May I keep them, Miss Glade?”
“I don’t see why not,” Concordia said. She relaxed when she saw that the dog appeared to be enjoying Phoebe’s attention. “They are quite practical in some ways.”
Beatrice trotted toward her and thrust her long nose into her hand. Concordia gingerly patted her.
“I want to keep my boy’s clothes, too.” Hannah stood up in the back of the cart, hooked her fingers into the waistband of her trousers and struck a jaunty pose. In the blink of an eye she metamorphosed into a youth who would not have looked out of place selling newspapers on a busy street corner. “They are ever so much more comfortable than skirts and petticoats. I feel like a different person in them.”
Edwina looked down at her own rough costume and wrinkled her nose. “They may be comfortable but they certainly are not very fashionable.”
“It was rather fun masquerading as a boy, though,” Theodora said, allowing Oates to help her down from the cart. “Did you see the way people got out of our path in the shopping arcade?”
“I think that is because they were afraid we might try to pick their pockets,” Hannah said wryly.
Ambrose looked amused. “You are correct, Hannah, and that is a tribute to your acting skills. I was very impressed.” He vaulted easily to the ground and surprised Concordia with a brief, wicked smile. “And that includes you, Miss Glade. I have never seen a more convincing flower seller.”
“He’s right, Miss Glade,” Phoebe said. “You look ever so much older in those poor clothes.”
Concordia sighed and unknotted the tattered scarf she had used to cover her hair. “Thank you, Phoebe.”
“How in blazes did ye come by this old cart and that broken-down nag?” Oates muttered to Ambrose.
“A helpful farmer loaned them to me.”
Oates looked skeptical. “Loaned them, eh?”
“No need to look at me like that, Oates.” Ambrose clapped him on the back. “I made it worth his while. He’ll be wanting his fine equipage back, however. Will you take care of the matter for me? I told the man I’d leave his horse and cart in Brinks Lane near the theater.”
“Aye, sir.” Oates climbed up onto the box and flapped the reins.
He did not appear even mildly astonished by the unusual nature of Ambrose’s arrival, Concordia thought. She got the feeling that Oates was accustomed to such eccentricities.
“Come, we will go inside and I will introduce you to Mrs. Oates,” Ambrose said. “She manages the household and will show you to your rooms.”
Before Concordia realized his intent, he took her arm and drew her toward the kitchen door. She was very conscious of the feel of his strong fingers. For some ridiculous reason she wished very badly that she was not dressed in such ragged, unfashionable clothes.
To distract herself from that depressing line of thought, she examined the exterior of the big house as they moved toward the door.
The mansion was a handsome building in the Palladian style with tall, well-proportioned windows and fine columns. It was surrounded by high stone walls and well-tended gardens. The effect was quite elegant, but she could not help but notice that the big house possessed, in a subtle, understated manner, the air of a secure fortress. Dante and Beatrice added the final touch.
The excited, chattering girls rushed enthusiastically into the back hall accompanied by the dogs. Concordia watched them, her insidestightening. Had she done the right thing by bringing them here? Had there been any better choice?
She hesitated briefly before stepping over the threshold of the mansion.
“This is a very grand home, Mr. Wells,” she said, keeping her voice low so the girls would not overhear. “I
“I don’t see why not,” Concordia said. She relaxed when she saw that the dog appeared to be enjoying Phoebe’s attention. “They are quite practical in some ways.”
Beatrice trotted toward her and thrust her long nose into her hand. Concordia gingerly patted her.
“I want to keep my boy’s clothes, too.” Hannah stood up in the back of the cart, hooked her fingers into the waistband of her trousers and struck a jaunty pose. In the blink of an eye she metamorphosed into a youth who would not have looked out of place selling newspapers on a busy street corner. “They are ever so much more comfortable than skirts and petticoats. I feel like a different person in them.”
Edwina looked down at her own rough costume and wrinkled her nose. “They may be comfortable but they certainly are not very fashionable.”
“It was rather fun masquerading as a boy, though,” Theodora said, allowing Oates to help her down from the cart. “Did you see the way people got out of our path in the shopping arcade?”
“I think that is because they were afraid we might try to pick their pockets,” Hannah said wryly.
Ambrose looked amused. “You are correct, Hannah, and that is a tribute to your acting skills. I was very impressed.” He vaulted easily to the ground and surprised Concordia with a brief, wicked smile. “And that includes you, Miss Glade. I have never seen a more convincing flower seller.”
“He’s right, Miss Glade,” Phoebe said. “You look ever so much older in those poor clothes.”
Concordia sighed and unknotted the tattered scarf she had used to cover her hair. “Thank you, Phoebe.”
“How in blazes did ye come by this old cart and that broken-down nag?” Oates muttered to Ambrose.
“A helpful farmer loaned them to me.”
Oates looked skeptical. “Loaned them, eh?”
“No need to look at me like that, Oates.” Ambrose clapped him on the back. “I made it worth his while. He’ll be wanting his fine equipage back, however. Will you take care of the matter for me? I told the man I’d leave his horse and cart in Brinks Lane near the theater.”
“Aye, sir.” Oates climbed up onto the box and flapped the reins.
He did not appear even mildly astonished by the unusual nature of Ambrose’s arrival, Concordia thought. She got the feeling that Oates was accustomed to such eccentricities.
“Come, we will go inside and I will introduce you to Mrs. Oates,” Ambrose said. “She manages the household and will show you to your rooms.”
Before Concordia realized his intent, he took her arm and drew her toward the kitchen door. She was very conscious of the feel of his strong fingers. For some ridiculous reason she wished very badly that she was not dressed in such ragged, unfashionable clothes.
To distract herself from that depressing line of thought, she examined the exterior of the big house as they moved toward the door.
The mansion was a handsome building in the Palladian style with tall, well-proportioned windows and fine columns. It was surrounded by high stone walls and well-tended gardens. The effect was quite elegant, but she could not help but notice that the big house possessed, in a subtle, understated manner, the air of a secure fortress. Dante and Beatrice added the final touch.
The excited, chattering girls rushed enthusiastically into the back hall accompanied by the dogs. Concordia watched them, her insidestightening. Had she done the right thing by bringing them here? Had there been any better choice?
She hesitated briefly before stepping over the threshold of the mansion.
“This is a very grand home, Mr. Wells,” she said, keeping her voice low so the girls would not overhear. “I
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