“Did I ruffle your petticoats?” Blythe said and then chuckled.
Freddy straightened up. “Not at all.”
Though in truth, Blythe had managed to unknowingly find Freddy’s sore spot—her confidence. It had been trodden on for years by people she loved, and some she didn’t. ‘Freddy you ought not to…’ they’d tell her. There were so many things she naturally did that everyone said she ought not to do that to finish the sentence would take her all night. She’d tried to change, but it was impossible, and if she couldn’t change herself, then she had to change where she lived. It’s the only way she would ever belong. People in Covent Garden seemed to actually appreciate independent, unusual natures like hers, so that’s where she would live.
“Explain yourself,” Blythe said.
“I used to ‘borrow’ my brother Huntley’s trousers.” Freddy shoved her skirts out of her way as she attempted to find a comfortable position. “But he’s moved out, and that left only the male servants, and it’s impossible to ‘borrow’ any of their clothing.”
“Why?” Blythe demanded, as if she could not for the life of her imagine anything she wished to do being impossible. Of course, she couldn’t. She’d grown up with freedom, unlike Freddy.
“It’s not as easy as you might think to sneak into a servant’s room and take his trousers.”
Blythe snorted. “Nobs are so very unresourceful.” She waved a hand at her pantaloons. “I pilfered these from one of my brother’s errand boys. Dorian is twelve summers and thin as a piece of parchment.”
“I’ve told you at least a hundred times before that I am not a nob,” Freddy said with a grimace.
“You’re wearing silk on a mission into Covent Garden in the middle of the night to help a Cyprian flee her monstrous benefactor. That makes you a nob, even if you are a rather odd one.” Blythe clicked her tongue and set the horses into motion. “And a rather naive one, too. There’s great danger in Covent Garden. And you—” Blythe shook her head. “You intend to leave your cosseted world for mine?” She paused a moment, likely to make her point. “You won’t survive a day.”
“I’ve survived six months working secret missions with you,” Freddy pointed out, feeling rather smug about how well she’d gotten along in the rookery aiding Blythe in helping women who wished to escape prostitution. And with that thought, Freddy yanked the hood of her cloak up to shield her face from view. Though few people were out this time of night in Mayfair, she still needed to be careful. When she left this life, it would cause a scandal, but she couldn’t leave until she could take care of herself and her elder sister Vivian was good and wed. She’d promised not to ruin Viv’s chance at securing the match she wished to make.
Blythe maneuvered the curricle around a hole in the road before saying, “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s spent all her life in the bosom of safety and luxury.”
“I’m confident,” Freddy said, patting Blythe’s arm, “because I have procured such an excellent teacher.”
“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this harebrained bargain. You don’t even behave like a proper lady ought to.”
“You know I know how, though!” Freddy said, indignant. “It just doesn’t come naturally to me. And I did not talk you into it! I was the one that pointed out to you my own lack of proper decorum! Then you fairly drooled like a dog when I told you my idea.”
“Don’t call me a dog.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I did not mean it literally. I think you lovely and you know it.” Blythe had a flawless complexion and flaming-red hair. She was truly exquisite. “I would not have made the offer to teach you to be a lady otherwise.”
“I assumed you offered because we would both get something from the bargain.”
“Well, of course, that’s why I made it. But my world is different from yours.” Freddy sighed. “See, it’s like this. You can teach me how to be savvy on the streets and how to be a bookkeeper so I can be dutifully employed and have means to live, and then I should be able to get along in Covent Garden, yes?”
Blythe gave her a sideways glace of mirth. “I think it’ll be bumpier than that for you, but yes, you should be able to survive.”
Freddy grinned. “Well, in my world, while I can teach you to be a lady—and they will likely overlook your being a commoner, since you can bring a large dowry to a marriage—they would never give you a passing glance if you were not pretty, no matter how much of a ‘lady’ we make you into. Personally, I like you the way you are. I cannot see why you wish to wed a lord, anyway.”
“And I can’t see why you wish to flee your comfortable life in Mayfair for one in Covent Garden,” Blythe replied. “Nor do I understand why you wore silk instead of a serviceable gown, at the very least. You can’t be haughty and survive inmyworld.”
“I’m offended,” Freddy said, jerking her gown from under her bottom and finally becoming comfortable. “I’m far from haughty, and you know it.”
“Humph.”
“I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?” Blythe asked, sounding all innocent.
“Humph me. I hate it when you humph me.”
“Humphing is a way of life in Covent Garden,nobbie, so you might as well become accustomed to it.”
“Duly noted,” Freddy said, though the exchange caused a brief moment of panic. What if she secured her future in Covent Garden only to find she didn’t fit in there, either?
Dash the thought.She shoved it away.
