Fenella J. Miller Read Online Free PDF Page A

britches, thick cotton shirt and her brother’s old top boots. She always wore a coat of her father’s to complete her outfit.
    Pulling out a cap from an inside pocket she had stuffed it in the last time she’d worn these clothes, she put it on her head. Although it was now the third week of April, and the trees in many places were in full leaf, there was still a wintry nip to the air first thing in the morning. She rummaged around in her closet until she found a warm muffler and tied it in a loose knot around her neck.
           Jane appeared with her charge beside her as she was about to leave. Sarah laughed when she saw what Eliza was wearing.
    ‘You look like a scarecrow, Liza. Can I come with you? If you’re going to chase the birds away from the fields I should love to help.’
           Eliza felt a moment’s doubt. Had she allowed her eccentric dress to go too far? Hastily she returned to her bedchamber to check in one of the pier gilt mirrors that stood either side of mantelshelf. She had to admit she didn’t look like the daughter of a gentleman, in fact she didn’t look like the daughter of anyone. Dressed as she was she could be mistaken not for a scarecrow, but certainly for a farm worker, or possibly the farmer himself. She viewed herself from every side to make sure that none of her abundant curves were obvious beneath her disguise.
           She might look like a young man dressed as she was, but at least no one could say she was showing any part of her anatomy in an immodest way. The top boots covered her from ankle to knee, the britches were not tight and her father’s frockcoat fell loosely to her knees. The voluminous waistcoat buttoned across her ample bosom leaving nothing to suggest she was anything other than she wished to appear.
           ‘I’m sorry, Sarah darling, you must stay behind today. It’s far too cold to be out. I thought you were going to help Cook make Edmund a welcome home cake?’
           Sarah, easily distracted, nodded vigorously. ‘I am, I am. And Jane and I are going to bake buns as well, aren’t we, Jane?’
           Jane smiled. ‘Indeed we are, Miss Sarah, and Mrs Turner is waiting for us in the kitchen this very minute.’
    * * * *
    Eliza was riding her father’s old hunter whilst her own mare was in foal. Sampson, a sixteen-hand chestnut gelding, well past his prime, but would still be considered too much of a handful for most women. Riding astride, as she always did, he was well within her capabilities.
    She decided to take the longer route, through the park and across the woods, as it was some time since Sampson had been given the opportunity to stretch his legs and take a few jumps in his stride. She needed the extra time to think about what she was going to do to save her family from ruin. Edmund, as usual, had handed over the responsibility to her and seemed to believe that all would be well.      
    Lost in thought, Eliza let Sampson choose the path; the way was well known to both of them and included no surprises. She ducked her head automatically as they cantered through the trees and tightened her grip and leant forward when he took a hedge or ditch.
           It was unfortunate that Lord Wydale and Mr Reed had decided to walk around the boundaries of the Grove House estate that morning. When the huge chestnut landed in front of them, spraying them both with mud and water from the previous night’s rain, a roar of rage jerked Eliza violently back to the present.
           Expertly she reined back several safe yards away from the two gentlemen she had just smothered in dirt. The language from the shorter, and more elegant gentleman, made her ears burn. She realized her disguise had remained unpenetrated.
           ‘You clodhopping imbecile. You have ruined my jacket with your stupidity.’ The man shouted, his dark eyes blazing with rage. The extremely tall man, was scraping the mud from his cheeks, his