The American Heiress Read Online Free PDF

is a good position. Mrs Cash, she’s looked after me.’ Bertha’s voice rose, as if asking a question.
    The hummingbird man’s stare did not waver. ‘Goodbye, Bertha. I don’t reckon I’ll be coming up here again.’ He picked up his cage and walked into the darkness.

Chapter 3

The Hunt

    Dorset, England, January 1894

    ‘B E CAREFUL WITH THAT NEEDLE, BERTHA. I DON’T want to be blooded before the hunt has even begun.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Miss Cora, but this wash leather is tough to work and you keep moving so. If you don’t want to get stuck, I reckon you’ll have to keep still.’
    Cora tried to stand motionless in front of the oval cheval glass as her maid stitched the chamois leather bodice together so that it was perfectly moulded to the contours of her body. Mrs Wyndham had insisted that the only riding habits worth having were from Busvine, ‘He shows the form to perfection, my dear, almost indecently so. There’s something quite naked about his tailoring. With a figure like yours, it would be a crime to go anywhere else.’ Cora remembered the gleam in Mrs Wyndham’s eyes as she said this and the way the widow’s bejewelled hands had speculatively spanned her waist. ‘Nineteen inches, I would say. Very nice indeed. Made for a Busvine.’
    In order to ensure that the habit had the requisite smooth line, Cora could not wear her usual corset and stays. She wore a specially cut undergarment of chamois leather which she had to be sewn into so that no hooks or bumps would disfigure the unforgiving tailoring. Cora almost thanked her mother for the hours spent in the spine straightener when she saw how fine and upright she looked in her habit. Her chestnut hair had been pulled back into a high chignon, exposing the tender nape of her neck. As she adjusted the brim of her hat so that it tilted at just the right angle over her left eye, she felt quite equal to the day ahead. It was only when she pulled the veil down over her face to see whether she should stain her lips red as Mrs Wyndham had advised, ‘Just a spot of colour, dear, for snap,’ that she thought of her mother and the way the left half of her face was now shrouded in a gauzy white veil to conceal the devastation beneath. Cora knew that her mother would expect her to go in and submit herself for approval, but she hated the sight of her mother’s naked, maimed face before she had put on her veil. Of course her mother’s accident had not been her fault precisely, but she felt responsible nonetheless.
    Cora reached for the cochineal stain and dabbed a little on her lips. That woman was right again, the splash of colour made all the difference. Cora had not liked the way that Mrs Wyndham had looked her over as if pricing horseflesh. She had felt ashamed when her mother had brought her in, ‘to introduce us to the right people’. She was almost sure that her mother had paid Mrs Wyndham for her services. Still, Mrs Wyndham had been right about the Busvine. The leather felt warm and soft against her skin. She bent forward, intoxicated with the freedom the habit gave her to touch her toes. As she straightened up, she found the loop on the left side of her habit, which allowed her to lift it up out of the way as she walked. The left side of the skirt was about three feet longer than the right so that her legs would be covered at all times as she rode side-saddle. The trick was to hold the excess fabric across the body with the right hand so that it looked like Grecian drapery. Cora fiddled with the material until she had achieved the desired effect.
    Bertha looked on with impatience; she wanted Miss Cora out of here so that she could have some breakfast. Her stomach was rumbling and breakfast for the upper servants was served promptly at seven thirty at Sutton Veney.
    There was a knock at the door and one of the housemaids walked in shyly.
    ‘If you please, miss, the master says that your horse is being brought round from the stables.’
    ‘Tell Lord