breeches. Elizabeth swallowed a wild flutter in her throat and tried to accept the gift with some semblance of dignity. She clearly didn’t manage it, for Katarina’s eyes crinkled again. But the older woman said only, “Here, let me have your dress, and I’ll see what I can do about the stains.”
“Is there something you can do?” Elizabeth squirmed to undo the buttons down her back. Katarina had not even thought to ask if she would need help—well, obviously not if Katarina were used to wearing breeches—so it was perhaps just as well that Elizabeth was often too impatient to wait for her maid and had therefore perfected the art of undoing her own buttons without snapping any of them off. And that she almost never wore stays. “Is that something else that’s changed? In my—” She took a breath, and said the ridiculous and wonderful words. “In my time, we only brush gowns.”
“We could wait for the mud to dry, and brush that,” Katarina agreed, taking the soaked and muddy garment from Elizabeth’s hands. “What do you do for tea-stains, though? Or grass-stains?”
“I get a frightful scolding,” Elizabeth admitted, and Katarina chuckled.
“I can only imagine,” she said, and bent to examine the damage. “Well—it’s muslin. It will hold up to hot water or it won’t. At least it’s white and there’s no pattern to worry over, so I can use kerosene for the tea. Do you want to risk it?”
“I think I have to,” Elizabeth said. “Kerosene?”
“My mother used it for grass-stains. After she gave me a frightful scolding. It worked more often than not.”
“Is there grass to stain your skirt, in London?” Elizabeth wondered.
Katarina chuckled again, though now it was a hard sound, without humor. “Not hardly. I spent my childhood in Devon.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said. She seemed to have walked right into something, though she could not imagine what. She hesitated, then fell back on tea-time manners, as ludicrous as those were when standing in one’s chemise in a strange woman’s bedchamber. “That’s said to be such a pretty place, isn’t it?”
“Once,” Katarina said—shortly, but not unkindly. “Right, then, I’ll be downstairs. Bring your shift once you’ve changed.” Without waiting for a reply, she was gone, crossing the room in a few long strides and hardly disturbing the curtain as she slipped around it.
Elizabeth let out a sigh.
She looked at the blouse and breeches, then set them down beside the candle. She wriggled out of her chemise—easy enough, no buttons to confound her fingers—and lifted it over her head. Naked except for shoes and stockings, she spent the time it took to draw two long breaths looking around at the dirty room and the unbelievable situation in which she found herself.
Then she picked up the blouse. It was of a coarser material than her chemise, rougher against her skin than she was accustomed to, but it hung loosely and so did not overly trouble her. The breeches were rougher yet, and Elizabeth hesitated before pulling them on—then noticed something that had been tucked between them and the shirt. She examined the white garment, deduced what it was for, and stepped into it. It was also too large, but it tied around the waist. Elizabeth knotted it firmly, then pulled the breeches on over it.
The cuffs hung past her ankles, and she nearly tripped trying to take her first step. She caught herself, biting back a giggle that was probably incipient hysteria. Well, that wouldn’t do. She thought about it for a moment, then sat down gingerly on the edge of Katarina’s chest. She reached under one floppy leg, undid the garter that held her stockings in place, and re-tied it over breech leg and stocking, hopefully securing both. She did the same with the other leg, and stood to inspect her handiwork. It looked ridiculous. She wanted to laugh out loud.
Katarina had left a final
“Is there something you can do?” Elizabeth squirmed to undo the buttons down her back. Katarina had not even thought to ask if she would need help—well, obviously not if Katarina were used to wearing breeches—so it was perhaps just as well that Elizabeth was often too impatient to wait for her maid and had therefore perfected the art of undoing her own buttons without snapping any of them off. And that she almost never wore stays. “Is that something else that’s changed? In my—” She took a breath, and said the ridiculous and wonderful words. “In my time, we only brush gowns.”
“We could wait for the mud to dry, and brush that,” Katarina agreed, taking the soaked and muddy garment from Elizabeth’s hands. “What do you do for tea-stains, though? Or grass-stains?”
“I get a frightful scolding,” Elizabeth admitted, and Katarina chuckled.
“I can only imagine,” she said, and bent to examine the damage. “Well—it’s muslin. It will hold up to hot water or it won’t. At least it’s white and there’s no pattern to worry over, so I can use kerosene for the tea. Do you want to risk it?”
“I think I have to,” Elizabeth said. “Kerosene?”
“My mother used it for grass-stains. After she gave me a frightful scolding. It worked more often than not.”
“Is there grass to stain your skirt, in London?” Elizabeth wondered.
Katarina chuckled again, though now it was a hard sound, without humor. “Not hardly. I spent my childhood in Devon.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said. She seemed to have walked right into something, though she could not imagine what. She hesitated, then fell back on tea-time manners, as ludicrous as those were when standing in one’s chemise in a strange woman’s bedchamber. “That’s said to be such a pretty place, isn’t it?”
“Once,” Katarina said—shortly, but not unkindly. “Right, then, I’ll be downstairs. Bring your shift once you’ve changed.” Without waiting for a reply, she was gone, crossing the room in a few long strides and hardly disturbing the curtain as she slipped around it.
Elizabeth let out a sigh.
She looked at the blouse and breeches, then set them down beside the candle. She wriggled out of her chemise—easy enough, no buttons to confound her fingers—and lifted it over her head. Naked except for shoes and stockings, she spent the time it took to draw two long breaths looking around at the dirty room and the unbelievable situation in which she found herself.
Then she picked up the blouse. It was of a coarser material than her chemise, rougher against her skin than she was accustomed to, but it hung loosely and so did not overly trouble her. The breeches were rougher yet, and Elizabeth hesitated before pulling them on—then noticed something that had been tucked between them and the shirt. She examined the white garment, deduced what it was for, and stepped into it. It was also too large, but it tied around the waist. Elizabeth knotted it firmly, then pulled the breeches on over it.
The cuffs hung past her ankles, and she nearly tripped trying to take her first step. She caught herself, biting back a giggle that was probably incipient hysteria. Well, that wouldn’t do. She thought about it for a moment, then sat down gingerly on the edge of Katarina’s chest. She reached under one floppy leg, undid the garter that held her stockings in place, and re-tied it over breech leg and stocking, hopefully securing both. She did the same with the other leg, and stood to inspect her handiwork. It looked ridiculous. She wanted to laugh out loud.
Katarina had left a final
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