A Bluestocking for the Rake by Samantha Holt EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Samantha Holt
- Language: English
- Genre: Regency Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 6.8 MB
- Price: Free
Ginny never thought she’d miss long gowns.
She’d been wrong.
Now she practically hungered for the caress of flowing fabric
that swirled about her legs unhindered.
Once, when she’d suffered the embarrassment of accidentally shutting
her skirts in a door. The ominous rip meant a miserable trip to the modiste
who spent much of the visit tutting over her unfeminine figure and debating
whether any color possibly suited her plain features.
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She smoothed her hands down the tabby wool trousers and wrinkled
her nose. Her mother would hardly believe she was pondering the virtues of
an elegant gown.
The slam of a hand on the kitchen door snapped her attention to the
hiss of steam from the kettle.
“Is my cuppa ready yet, boy?” called a customer through the closed
door.
Ginny rolled her eyes. The majority of customers visiting her sister’s
inn were polite and grateful for a break from their arduous journey. Another
issue with being disguised as a boy, however, was the few rude ones that
felt quite at ease treating her as though she was barely worth waving a hand
at.
She grabbed a cloth and used it to lift the hefty kettle with a grunt.
Loose shirt sleeves hindered her view as she carefully poured the boiling
water into the teapot with a frown on her face. A soft sigh of exasperation
escaped her nostrils.
How could she be so wrong about men’s clothing? She could count on
her hand the number of times she’d been wrong about anything.
Perhaps she was wrong about running too. Wrong about disguising
herself, wrong about hiding in this tiny village.
Ginny almost wished she was still in London, and that she could be at
the modiste’s again, standing motionless while the woman scolded her for
lacking poise, all the while her mouth remaining clamped around pins that
would likely end up jabbed into Ginny’s skin.
Being treated as though she were nothing more than a combination of
her body parts felt almost better than trying to work in uncomfortable
clothes whilst keeping her long hair tucked under an itchy hat.
Carefully arranging teacups on a tray, she forced herself to ignore
another slam to the door and a repeated demand for her to hurry.
She blamed her mother. Mother’s desire to scale the heady rungs on
London society meant Ginny had worn only the most precious of fabrics in
recent years. One would think wearing breeches would be a welcome relief
from the constrictions of fashionable gowns but not when one’s breeches
were made from the itchiest fabric and seemed to constrict one’s, well,
private area.
She battled the impulse to wrench the close-fitting trousers away from
her legs and tug at the bindings constraining her chest.
Not necessary, dear, Mother would probably say.
But it was entirely necessary.
Ginny might not be endowed with much but whatever happened she
could not be discovered.
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