brought her.
Her smile was utterly irresistible, Gareth recognized with a wry resignation. The bodice of her chemise was only partially laced and the creamy curves of her breasts, the dark rose of their crowns, peeked between the thin ribbons. The garment was tucked roughly into the waistband of her leather leggings, producing a roll of material around her hips that he found peculiarly endearing.
Without volition, he pulled the chemise free of the leggings and smoothed it down over her hips, then tied the ribbons of her bodice more securely. “You are an untidy wretch,” he muttered. “It’s not enough for you to risk breaking your neck for the edification of a pack of stable lads, but you have to do it half-naked.”
“I beg your pardon,” Miranda said meekly, looking down at his fingers deftly threading the laces into the eyelets on her bodice.
She dropped her orange dress over her head. It was more of a shift than a gown, with a laced bodice through which the white holland of her undergarment was visible, and short sleeves that finished above herelbows, revealing the sleeves of her chemise. She noticed that those sleeves were grubby and cast a discomfited look at milord’s pristine linen.
“If I’m to pretend to be this Lady Maude, I’ll need another gown,” she suggested.
“At least one,” he agreed, pulling on his boots, turning the high cuffs over below his knees. “But there’ll be time enough to see to your wardrobe while your hair’s growing.”
Miranda ran her hands through the short straight bob, fluffing it out around her face. “Long hair is a nuisance when I’m tumbling.”
“Yes, but you will not be tumbling while you’re taking my cousin’s place in the world,” he pointed out.
“I suppose not.” Miranda pushed her feet into her wooden pattens. “I don’t suppose your cousin has any acrobatic tendencies.” She went to the door. “Shall I ask them to send up hot water for you?”
“If you please.” Gareth was still trying to imagine Maude with acrobatic tendencies but the image was too absurd. “And perhaps you’d tell them in the kitchen to send a message to the livery stable to have the nag saddled and ready to leave within the hour.”
“Are we to ride to London?”
“Yes.” He caught her doubtful look and said, “Can you not ride?”
“Packhorses and mules. But London is a very long way, is it not? Too far to ride on a mule.”
“You may ride pillion. Tell them to use a pillion saddle on the nag.”
Miranda went cheerfully on her way, Chip leaping ahead of her down the narrow staircase. At the foot, however, he jumped into her arms when she whistledfor him. She was greeted in the kitchen with great good humor after her rooftop performance, and having relayed milord’s instructions she went off in the direction of the privy.
She had the noisome outhouse to herself, which augured well for the day. It wasn’t that she objected very strongly to sitting hip to hip with her fellows, but privacy was a definite pleasure. An almost unheard-of pleasure in the rough-and-tumble of life on the road.
Her family would be nearing the coast of France by now, if the wind and weather had been set fair for the crossing. Would they! be wondering about her, about what she was doing, how she was faring? Of course they would. Mama Gertrude, Bertrand, and Luke in particular. And Robbie would be miserable without her. Luke would make sure he had food when they all ate, but he wouldn’t be watching for when the boy grew fatigued as he stumbled along in the troupe’s wake. Robbie would never admit his tiredness and ask to ride on the hand-pulled cart that carried most of their possessions; it was always Miranda who lifted him up, ignoring his protests.
Chip had been sitting on the roof of the shed waiting for her and jumped down onto her shoulder as she emerged from the privy. Her customary bubbling optimism was somewhat subdued, and she was feeling rather lonely and forlorn
Her smile was utterly irresistible, Gareth recognized with a wry resignation. The bodice of her chemise was only partially laced and the creamy curves of her breasts, the dark rose of their crowns, peeked between the thin ribbons. The garment was tucked roughly into the waistband of her leather leggings, producing a roll of material around her hips that he found peculiarly endearing.
Without volition, he pulled the chemise free of the leggings and smoothed it down over her hips, then tied the ribbons of her bodice more securely. “You are an untidy wretch,” he muttered. “It’s not enough for you to risk breaking your neck for the edification of a pack of stable lads, but you have to do it half-naked.”
“I beg your pardon,” Miranda said meekly, looking down at his fingers deftly threading the laces into the eyelets on her bodice.
She dropped her orange dress over her head. It was more of a shift than a gown, with a laced bodice through which the white holland of her undergarment was visible, and short sleeves that finished above herelbows, revealing the sleeves of her chemise. She noticed that those sleeves were grubby and cast a discomfited look at milord’s pristine linen.
“If I’m to pretend to be this Lady Maude, I’ll need another gown,” she suggested.
“At least one,” he agreed, pulling on his boots, turning the high cuffs over below his knees. “But there’ll be time enough to see to your wardrobe while your hair’s growing.”
Miranda ran her hands through the short straight bob, fluffing it out around her face. “Long hair is a nuisance when I’m tumbling.”
“Yes, but you will not be tumbling while you’re taking my cousin’s place in the world,” he pointed out.
“I suppose not.” Miranda pushed her feet into her wooden pattens. “I don’t suppose your cousin has any acrobatic tendencies.” She went to the door. “Shall I ask them to send up hot water for you?”
“If you please.” Gareth was still trying to imagine Maude with acrobatic tendencies but the image was too absurd. “And perhaps you’d tell them in the kitchen to send a message to the livery stable to have the nag saddled and ready to leave within the hour.”
“Are we to ride to London?”
“Yes.” He caught her doubtful look and said, “Can you not ride?”
“Packhorses and mules. But London is a very long way, is it not? Too far to ride on a mule.”
“You may ride pillion. Tell them to use a pillion saddle on the nag.”
Miranda went cheerfully on her way, Chip leaping ahead of her down the narrow staircase. At the foot, however, he jumped into her arms when she whistledfor him. She was greeted in the kitchen with great good humor after her rooftop performance, and having relayed milord’s instructions she went off in the direction of the privy.
She had the noisome outhouse to herself, which augured well for the day. It wasn’t that she objected very strongly to sitting hip to hip with her fellows, but privacy was a definite pleasure. An almost unheard-of pleasure in the rough-and-tumble of life on the road.
Her family would be nearing the coast of France by now, if the wind and weather had been set fair for the crossing. Would they! be wondering about her, about what she was doing, how she was faring? Of course they would. Mama Gertrude, Bertrand, and Luke in particular. And Robbie would be miserable without her. Luke would make sure he had food when they all ate, but he wouldn’t be watching for when the boy grew fatigued as he stumbled along in the troupe’s wake. Robbie would never admit his tiredness and ask to ride on the hand-pulled cart that carried most of their possessions; it was always Miranda who lifted him up, ignoring his protests.
Chip had been sitting on the roof of the shed waiting for her and jumped down onto her shoulder as she emerged from the privy. Her customary bubbling optimism was somewhat subdued, and she was feeling rather lonely and forlorn
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