Gideon nodded. “Yes.”
At that, Beatrice narrowed her eyes just enough to send the words she could not speak aloud.
You arranged this without talking to me?
For the first time since he’d entered the room, something in his composure fractured.
A tightening at the corner of his mouth. A flicker of discomfort in his eyes before he answered her unspoken question.
“With seven ladies in attendance, assistance seemed prudent.”
“I had understood I was to assist.” The words came out evenly enough.
That had been the plan, had it not? Not necessarily spoken aloud, but…
Gideon’s gaze settled on hers. “You are to take part. But you are still a student.”
The distinction landed with the sting of a ruler across the knuckles.
“Oh.” Beatrice turned, very politely, to Lord Longstaffe. “How fortunate, then, that you were available.”
She was saved from having to express more gratitude than that when Mr. Drake returned again, this time announcing the arrival of the others.
Lark arrived first, bright-eyed and plainly delighted. Lady Theodosia followed, her composure wavering only when she noticed the mattresses. Miss Finch and Miss Harcourt came in after her, and then Lady Calliope Rensleight, whose gaze went at once to her sister’s breeches.
For one very polite moment, no one spoke.
It was Miss Finch who recovered first. “I see you were not jesting about the attire.”
“Not at all,” Beatrice said. “It was a purely practical suggestion.”
“Practical,” Lady Theodosia repeated.
Miss Harcourt glanced from Beatrice to Persephone, then, rather desperately, to Gideon. “Are breeches necessary, Lord Hawkins?”
Gideon cleared his throat.
Beatrice looked at him. So did every other lady in the room.
“In point of fact,” he said, with admirable gravity and an unfortunate flush beginning at his collar, “there may be certain maneuvers for which breeches provide greater—” He paused. “Greater modesty.”
Miss Harcourt blinked. “Greater modesty than a gown?”
“Yes.” Gideon’s jaw tightened.
Longstaffe, to his credit, looked away. Lark pressed her lips together.
Gideon clasped his hands behind his back. “The choice, of course, remains entirely yours. No lady will be required to wear anything that makes her uncomfortable.”
“Very well then,” Lady Theodosia murmured.
Beatrice could not tell whether she was amused, appalled, or already reconsidering.
Gideon appeared unwilling to find out. “Now. If we are all assembled, we had best begin.”
He stepped forward, taking the place beside Beatrice.
And despite her irritation—because Longstaffe’s presence was sensible, damn him, but Gideon had not thought to ask her first—her skin tingled at his nearness.
