The Scent of Jasmine (Edilean 4)

ick white ones, and breeches went easily over her slim legs. She had a great deal of trouble fastening them at the waist, what with all the buttons and ties, but she figured it out. She tucked the shirt into the trousers, slipped her arms through a vest, found a lightweight wool coat, and put it on. As she started for the front of the store, she grabbed a big straw hat off the shelf, and went to the front counter.

“Well?” she said to Alex’s back.

Turning, he gave her a long look, but said nothing.

“You don’t like it? Did I do something wrong? I’m not used to breeches, but I think I fastened them properly.”

Silently, he went behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her toward the mirror. Her reflection showed a girl in boy’s clothing. Her hair hung past her shoulders in thick curls, and she was still wearing her pearl earrings. It was amazing that they’d stayed on as long as they had—but then she’d tightened them often.

Without a word, Alex held out his hand, and she knew what he meant. She unscrewed the earrings and put them in his palm.

“I’ll put these with your other clothes and take them with us.”

“Of course we’re going to take my dress. Maybe it can be repaired. I don’t plan to wear these hideous clothes forever. Once you’ve left on your travels with the other men, maybe I can go back to being a girl.”

“And travel all the way back to Virginia as a lone female? No, you will not.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she was again twisting about.

“What are you doing now?”

“Moving. It feels odd not to have on a corset. I’ve worn one every day of my life since I was twelve.”

“Twelve?” Alex said. “You’ve been tied into that thing since you were little more than a babe?”

“Of course. How else does a grown woman get a small waist? You don’t think a mother would wait until her daughter was an adult, then try to pull her waist in, do you?”

“I can honestly say that I never wondered how a woman got a small waist. I guess I thought they were born with them.”

Cay shook her head at him. “Next you’ll be telling me that you think women naturally have a shine to their hair and roses in their cheeks.”

Since that was true, Alex could only stare at her in silence.

“I think you missed out on a lot in life by having no mother or sisters.”

“I think I was a babe in the woods until I met you,” Alex said under his breath, then louder, “Are you ready to go, lass?”

“You’ll have to stop calling me that, now that I’m supposed to be a boy.”

“When we do something with your hair so you don’t look like one, I will.”

All humor left Cay’s face. “I think that if I wash it and comb it back when it’s wet, it might be manageable just as it is.”

He didn’t like the sadness in her eyes. “Might as well say that about a lion’s mane,” he said and was glad when she smiled.

“Truly?”

“Completely. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever before seen so much hair on one person. And the color is truly magnificent.” As he talked he was walking toward the door and Cay was following him.

“You don’t think it’s too red?” she asked, her eyes wide in innocence. She wanted to distract him enough so that he didn’t see the things she was putting into the bag.

With his eyes on her, he picked up the big bag of goods and held the door open for her. “I wouldn’t change a strand of it.” He glanced back into the store, saw the money he’d left on the counter, and closed the door behind her. “I once had a pony with a mane the color of your hair and it was my favorite of all of them.”

Cay looked at the closed door behind her. “Are you just saying these things to get me to do what you want?”

“Aye, I am, but I’m also telling you the truth, lass,” he said softly. “You have beautiful hair.”

Smiling, she went down the stairs.

In the store, she’d felt the looseness of the boy’s clothing, but it wasn’t until she mounted her mare that she really saw how different they were. Instead of having to rely on people or things to help her mount, without a skirt holding her legs together, she put her foot high up into the stirrup and hoisted herself up. She looked down at her legs in the dark breeches and knew that if her elegant mother saw her now she’d faint. Edilean Harcourt would never wear boy’s clothing, no matter what the circumstances. But Cay couldn’t help feeling just a bit more free. She saw that the Scotsman was watching her in curiosity. “I want to see the map to where we’re going,” she said in the firmest voice she could manage.