Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(22)
Eliza thought she glimpsed a slight shaking of the much-too-obliging Colonel Hamilton’s shoulders.
And yet . . . she had real work to do. She raised her skirts and opened her knees wide enough to swing her right leg across the saddle. There! Eliza had grown up riding the fields alongside her father and always felt most in charge on the back of a horse.
Sitting astride, Eliza leaned forward into the saddle’s polished leather, which was disconcertingly warm. She certainly fit, but the problem was the dress. Between skirt, underskirt, petticoat, slip, and ankle-length, form-fitting pantaloons—which were new in style and considered a bit French and risqué—there was too much fabric for her to ride sidesaddle or otherwise. Her dress ballooned in front of her, spilling out around the horse’s neck, spooking him in the early evening light, and making it impossible to grasp the reins as well. Behind her rose a mountain of petticoats and skirts, leaving no room for a second figure in the saddle.
“Well, then,” said Eliza. “I’ll need another moment, please, gentlemen.” She slid down from the saddle, aware of the cold ground under her silly shoes and, taking her skirts in her hands, ripped them apart clear up to her knees. But she wasn’t done. Grasping the paler petticoat and underskirt in her hands, she tore them until her legs were covered only by pantaloons and hose.
Apoplectic at the rending of the garments, the halfway-upside-down Mrs. Jantzen hollered out from the back of her horse. “Do speak up, Miss Schuyler. Is your honor in danger? Say the word and I shall set these ruffians to rights!”
“Never fear, madam, all is well,” Alex called over his shoulder. “Miss Schuyler’s dress has merely become a bit entangled, and she has freed it from its, ah, entanglements.”
“Don’t presume to speak to me as if I were a spinster ill versed in the ways of the world, young man. Next thing you know, she’ll be wearing a sack cloth.”
Eliza had heard the unforgiveable laughter in the young colonel’s voice and her blood started to boil. “Mrs. Jantzen, let me assure you I am in full control of my well-being now, as well as in the foreseeable future.”
Looking every bit the rag doll, Eliza pulled her waistcoat in close for warmth. As she stretched her spine to her full height, a twinkling of vanity flashed through her mind. In five miles she would arrive at the army’s winter quarters as a victim of her mother’s fashion sense. With her bonnet ribbons bouncing around her head, she stuck her left foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself back on Hector. Her legs dangled straight down alongside the leathers, heels down and toes up like the experienced rider she was.
“Sirs, you may now return me your gaze.”
The two men turned her way slowly, neither wishing to be the first set of fresh eyes.
“Crikey!” gurgled the coachman. The stunned Irishman buried his face in his hands. “Oh, miss, please. Forgive me. I am, I am—quite amazed.”
Alex couldn’t resist a smile. Nor could he pretend that he wasn’t above finding a certain amount of guilty pleasure at the sight of the general’s daughter perched atop his wary steed in a much shorter dress than any girl has ever worn in public.
“Well, then, coachman! We must all be on our way before the frigid night air sets in. Miss Schuyler and I shall push on at a faster pace than you, due to Mrs. Jantzen’s unfortunate condition. We will ride ahead and send back a flatbed wagon and blankets for a more comfortable and, shall we say, dignified arrival for such a . . . brave lady.”
The coachman squinted at the brave lady’s rump.
“Yes, sir,” he said, yanking his cap down over his eyebrows. “It’s sure to be slow going on this end.”
“Yes, slow indeed.” Alex turned to a shivering Eliza, who was staring resolutely in the opposite direction, pretending not to notice how little she was wearing. He spotted the extra fur blanket on the ground where Eliza had let it fall and handed it up to her.
“Now then, miss, if you will permit me to come aboard?”
Eliza gave him the slightest nod. “You may. If you must.”
It took a single heartbeat for Alex to maneuver himself onto the horse, declaring the space behind the saddle his own. His legs slid beneath Eliza’s ripped skirts, pressing against them. Reaching for the reins, his arms surrounded her but he felt her body stiffen as she shrugged him off.
“I am perfectly capable of directing Hector, Colonel Hamilton. If you will let me see to the reins, then you can offer the spurs in a proper way.”
“Indeed, my lady,” Alex said, handing over the reins. Then, with a firm kick to the horse’s withers, he started Hector up with a force that jerked Eliza’s head back against the young officer’s chest. Again, he imagined he smelled the vaguest hint of whale oil. Whale oil? And could it be that for once he found it sweet smelling if only because she was wearing it?
THEY RODE ON for some minutes without speaking. He doesn’t know, Eliza realized. This conceited officer doesn’t believe I know how to ride. And yet, the partnership between Eliza and Hector had already begun as she held the reins like they were tiny birds, directing the bit gently inside Hector’s mouth. She watched his ears fall forward into the way of a contented horse.
Meanwhile the young officer behind her was having some trouble maintaining his seat. Having neither stirrups nor reins to hold, he bounced on the horse’s croup like a rowboat tossed by waves.