The Redemption of Julian Price(2)

“Brandy?” Thomas frowned. “There’s a trade embargo. How would you have come by a bottle of brandy?”

“My uncle sent several casks to store down here. French goods are a rare commodity these days.”

“I suppose that might be because they are illegal,” Thomas said dryly.

“Since I lack Thomas’ scruples, I’ll race you for it,” Harry said with a laugh and began removing his clothes.

“What about you, Hen?” Julian asked.

“I . . . ah . . . don’t know that I feel much like swimming today,” she replied. Although she’d swum in this lake with the boys countless times, Henrietta watched them cast off clothing with a growing sense of discomfort. She’d never taken much notice of their anatomical differences until things had begun to change. . . or rather, she had begun to change.

“Is that so?” Julian asked. “Hen has given up without a fight? That’s a first, isn’t it, Harry? She’s usually the one to lead the charge in leaping fences and climbing trees.”

Henrietta jutted her chin. “You think I can’t beat you, Julian?”

“I know you can’t,” he said, adding with an arrogant look she wanted to wipe from his face, “but you are always welcome to try.” His smirk said he knew the goad would work.

He was right.

“I accept your challenge,” Henrietta answered. Turning her back to the boys, she kicked off her shoes and stockings and then wiggled out of the breeches she’d borrowed from Harry. She struggled a bit with her stays but managed them unaided while Julian and Harry impatiently waited. Would they notice? She was relieved when neither Thomas nor Julian gave her a second look.

Her transformation had begun slowly several months earlier, unbeknownst to all but her chambermaid, Millie, who’d calmed Henrietta’s panic when she’d awoken in a pool of blood. It was Millie, rather than Mama or Lavinia, who’d explained the changes nature had cruelly wrought upon her. And loyal Millie, as always, had kept her secret.

“Aren’t you going in too?” Julian asked Thomas, who had remained placidly seated, fishing pole in hand.

“I hardly see the point,” Thomas replied. “I’m a poor swimmer and have no interest in strong spirits. I’ll just stay here on the bank and cheer you on.”

“Suit yourself,” Julian said. “Or better yet, you can walk to the other side and judge the winner.”

As always, the boys stripped down to their breeches and Henrietta to her shift. Wearing only the thin layer of white linen, Henrietta stood on the bank nervously awaiting Thomas’s signal to start. Just as Thomas shouted, “Go!” Julian shoved Harry into the water. Laughing and splashing all the way, Henrietta, Julian, and Harry raced across the ornamental lake, arriving panting on the other side, where Thomas declared Julian the victor. Harry was a close second, and Henrietta followed a dismally distant third. Only a year ago, she could have held her own against any of the boys, but once more nature had not proven her ally. Julian and Thomas, at fifteen, were two years the twins’ senior and fast approaching manhood. They’d each sprouted at least four inches in two summers and outweighed her by well over a stone. Even Harry, who shared her birthday, was growing bigger and stronger by the day.

“Tell you what, ol’ chum,” Julian consoled Harry, “I’ll share the bottle with you.”

“What about me?” Henrietta asked. “I raced too.” The moment she spoke up, she wished she hadn’t. She should have just done as the others had, dragged herself up the muddy embankment and thrown herself onto the grass to dry. Instead, she’d stupidly drawn attention to herself and the transparent linen that now revealed all of her closely guarded secrets to three gaping faces.

Harry was first to recover. “For God’s sake, Hen, cover yourself!”

Her gaze darted around in panic. With what? Her clothes were on the other side of the lake. Noble as ever, Thomas came to her rescue, stripping off his shirt and handing it to her, gaze downcast.

“Thank you, Thomas.” She accepted his dry garment, noting the color that suffused his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. She quickly pulled the dry shirt over her wet shift.

“Go home, Hen,” Harry demanded.

“What do you mean?” she asked, perplexed.

“Exactly as I said,” Harry replied. “You are to get dressed and go back home to Mother and Lavinia.” Henrietta gaped at her brother, unable to comprehend his radical alteration in behavior. He’d always treated her more as a brother than a sister. “Now, Hen,” Harry insisted. “If you refuse, I’ll tell Mama everything, and she’ll never let you out of the house again.”

Henrietta spun away with tears of anger burning her eyes. Her body may have changed, but she had not. She’d always been more comfortable with male companions over females. They had readily accepted her when she’d proven their equal in climbing, riding, and other sports, but everything changed once she’d sprouted breasts. Thomas could hardly look her in the face anymore. Julian, however, seemed particularly fascinated. A month later, he even tried to kiss her at the Michaelmas Fair. In response, Henrietta had balled up a fist and drawn his cork, leaving him with a small hump on the bridge of his nose. Perceiving her breasts as the root of her troubles, she’d considered binding herself, but it was too late. The damage was already done.