Page 30 of Hearts of Briarwall

Lydia shared a look with Andrew.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, standing and striding from the room.

Lydia noted Spencer’s curiosity. “Mr. Latimer is a tenant. He occupies the hunter’s cottage with his wife and children and oversees the cattle. It’s calving season, and seven of our herd are expectant mothers.” She clasped her hands. “We might be in for an eventful evening.”

“We?”

She shook her head. “You don’t strike me as a gentleman who would pass up the opportunity to witness the miracle of birth. Am I wrong?”

His brow rose. “You mistook me. I was surprised that you included yourself in this scenario.”

“Really?” She leaned toward him. “And do I strike you as a person who would pass up the opportunity to witness the miracle of birth?” She challenged him with a look.

A slow smile stole across his face. He shook his head. “Now that you mention it, no.”

She grinned, her heart pleasantly thudding.

Andrew reappeared at the doorway. “I’ll need your help,” he said sternly. “Both of you, if you’re willing.”

With an exchanged glance, Lydia and Spencer stood and rushed from the room to change.

“You are not wearing that.” Andrew saddled his own horse while the stable hands readied Hermes for Lydia and a tall brown mare for Spencer.

Lydia clenched her jaw but vowed to maintain decorum. “Wearing what?” Of all the times for Andrew to make a scene.

“You know very well what.” Andrew’s clipped tones told her he, too, was straining for decorum. “Those ...trousers.”

“Whyever not?” Lydia asked lightly. “The whole of Briarwall has seen me in breeches. Ladies wear them to ride bicycles. Inpublic, for heaven’s sake. I’m fasterastrideHermes than when riding sidesaddle, and”—she paused for emphasis—“riding astride issafer.”

He looked down briefly, cinching the belt beneath Domino’s girth, but then shook his head, his face reddened in rising frustration. “I don’t have time for this, Lydia. I’ve gotthreecalves coming, Latimer’s fractured his arm, and you’re throwing afitabout wearing what women have worn forcenturies.”

Lydia clenched her fists but kept her voice steady. “I’m not the one throwing the fit—”

Andrew whirled on her. “Foronce, would you be the lady I’m trying to raise you to be and dress as though itmatterswhat other peoplethink?”

Lydia flinched. The stable hushed, and everything seemed to still, even Hero. Andrew stood before her, yet it was Spencer’s gaze she felt from behind. She had come down at the same time as Spencer, both rushing to meet Andrew in the stable, and Spencer hadn’t even blinked twice at her apparel. They’d only shared a sense of anticipation and hope that all would be well. She’d all but forgotten about her choice of clothes until Andrew expressed his opinion.

She blinked back tears and kept her shoulders straight. Truth be told, she wanted to run. To seek solitude and weep. Heavens, she wanted her friends. Arms around her. Putting up their hands to shield her. She wanted ... she wanted hermother.

She drew in a sudden breath, then released it, shuddering. Her chin lifted. “I wonder, Andrew, what your choice would be.” Her voice quivered.

He drew back half a step, as if just now realizing he’d hurt her. He pressed his fingers to his closed eyes. “What?”

“Given the choice, what would you choose? To birth a calf.”

He breathed deeply, his tone quieting. “To birth a calf or what?”

“No,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “To get on a horse, to getoffthe horse, to get on the floor of the barn, to deliver a calf with blood and sack and birthing fluid, to be up and down, to calm large beasts and coax small babes, and when it is all over to get back up on the horse—which would you choose? One petticoat or two, in addition to your corset, a corset cover—”

Andrew’s eyes flickered behind her and back. “Lydia,” he whispered, likely mortified that she’d saidcorsetin mixed company.

“—and then a riding skirt over the top along with a five-foot train—because how dare a woman have legs—that you have to throw over your arm to walk anywhere—” She took a breath. “Or would you choose a simple pair of breeches?” She glanced at the trousers he wore. “Thrown on over your bloomers and done? Easily repaired. Easily washed.”

Andrew sighed heavily. “I would never have to make that choice.”

“Why is that, dear brother? Because you’re aman? What if you’d been born awoman, heaven forbid?” She lifted her arm, pointing back toward the house. “I would still be up there, changing. Making myself into aladyfor the eyes of, oh, I don’t know, Mr. Latimer and young Davey here, while you and Spencer waited andwaited. I could have done that, yes. But I chose to hasten, Andrew. I chose to hasten toyou, to come toyouraid and to the aid of those animals whose lives hang in the balance right now. Right now. As we speak. As you stand there and belittle me in front of othermen. Taking up the precious time thatIsought not to waste. Because I care more about helpingyouthan what other people think ofme.”

Her voice cracked at the end. “This is who I am, Andrew. This is who I’ve beenraisedto be. I put people and our future before things like clothes and status. Would you rather I be the opposite? I may not be the ideal woman, but you can be sure I will always choose to be the very bestpersonI can be. Are you so disappointed in me?”

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