Page 98 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Felicity screwed up her nose, pretending to think about it. “Well, he was cute, but also smelly. I declare, if there was a patch of mud or dung to fall into, that boy could find it.”

As intended, Marcia dissolved into giggles. “Oh, thank you for this! I—I can’t wait to tease him!”

“Yes, he has changed a bit, has he not?” Felicity sobered slightly, considering their years apart. Her son was smart, charming, and passionate about his interests…and she was a little sad she couldn’t claim any credit in molding him to become the young man he was today.

You owe his sister a great debt, for protecting him from Exingham all these years.

With a happy sigh, Marcia hoisted herself atop the fence. As she swung her leg over, she grinned down at Felicity. “You know what’s great? Trousers. Look at this!” She kicked her boots back and forth against the wooden rails. “Bull might be annoying sometimes, but he knew exactly what kind of clothes I needed—sizes too!—and now I can climb and run and—and all sorts of things!”

“Bull is rather good at acquiring things, is he not?” Felicity’s lips curled wryly. “I have found it best not to ask him how. But”—she tapped a finger on Marcia’s knee—“I would wager you are the type of young lady who ran and climbed and did other things even while wearing skirts, are you not?”

Marcia grinned. “Guilty! But corsets make that stuff harder. Mrs. Mac told me I’m going to have to start wearing them soon enough, but I told her no.”

Felicity, who’d been wearing them since she was Marcia’s age, shifted uncomfortably. Not because of the corset—she’d long ago become used to it—but because on some level, she agreed with the girl.

“And what did your father say to such rebellion?”

“He laughed.” When Felicity raised a brow, Marcia nodded emphatically. “He said he didn’t want to wear a corset either, and it seemed cruel to make me wear one, just because I’m developing bosoms.”

“He said that? Bosoms?

Marcia grinned. “Well, no, but he went like this.” She cupped her hands in front of her chest, and rolled her eyes. “So I knew what he meant.”

“I had no idea you got your sense of social rebellion from him.”

“I didn’t. Papa’s not a rebel, he’s just…” Marcia shrugged. “He showed me how to protect myself. He told me I shouldn’t have to be someone I’m not, just to impress a man.”

How utterly unlike Felicity’s own father. “He is a good father,” she agreed quietly.

“When I grow up, I don’t want to have to simper or primp or do other ridiculous things to get a man’s attention.”

Felicity hummed. “Other ridiculous things?”

The girl leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Do you know, Bull told me some ladies shave their hair.” She gestured to her legs. “Why in the world would someone do something that ridiculous? Because men like it, that’s why.”

Shaving their legs? Felicity’s eyes widened. Is that what Griffin was used to? Was he disgusted by the fact her legs—and other parts—were covered by soft auburn hair? Oh dear.

“Isn’t that odd, Flick?”

Pushing aside her worries, Felicity managed a weak smile. “I confess, it is not something I would consider. But luckily, you have a few more years before you have to worry about attracting—or not attracting—men.”

“That’s what Papa says, too. I think he’s hoping I’ll suddenly become interested in boys, and he won’t have to have these conversations with me. But any boy who likes me is going to have to like me in trousers, because these things are bloody brilliant!”

Oh goodness, again with the language. Well, luckily, they were alone here, with none of Peasgoode’s workers near the back of the stables. Or Rupert.

“Did your father approve of your recent betrousering?” she asked.

Marcia grinned. “No, not really. I didn’t let that stop me.”

“I can see that,” Felicity agreed wryly.

The girl let out a heavy sigh and kicked her booted heels against the wood. “It’s fabulous to be able to run and jump and climb. Don’t you wish you could do all those things? The things boys do all the time, without being told they’re unladylike?”

Felicity cocked her head to one side, considering her response as they watched the cattle in the meadow. “I think… I never was jealous of the boys—like my brother—who could do all those sorts of things. I was jealous of the men who could study their passions at university, and be accepted in the scientific world without having to fight for every paper published, or—even worse!—have to privately approach other researchers with their advancements, just because no one would take them seriously if they announced it publicly.”

The girl was watching her with a serious expression.

Felicity shook her head. “I am making a mess of the explanation. I suppose I should say yes, I have, at points in my life, deeply regretted not being born a male, with all the rights and privileges they seem to take for granted. But I am also, at times, quite happy to be a female.”

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