Annie took the heel of the knee-length boot with both hands, pulling with an indulgent roll of her eyes. You do smell mightily of horses. As had the buckskin breeches still hugging her legs, the black frock coat with gold buttons she had shrugged out of moments earlier, and the frilled white shirt and cravat, both now loosened at the neck. Disagreeable man. His injured ankle continues to pain him, and now he will have Uncle Tobias strutting about to add to his vexation. Petra dipped her chin, lips pursed, but her tone was kind.
You always ensure I am most beautifully turned out, but in this case it is less desirable that I should appear so clean. A mollified Annie helped Petra stand and step out of her breeches. Reddish-blond curls, having escaped her plait during her brisk ride, flew forward, sticking to her cheeks.
Petra pushed them away irritably. Then she held out the riding stays. Though quite an adult at four and twenty, Petra allowed herself the childish act of pulling a face at the garment.
Despite its lovely primrose-pink sateen and a higher cut at the hips, allowing for more comfort while riding sidesaddle, the boning still made her chemise bunch uncomfortably, leaving red marks on her skin.
Yet Petra slid her arms through, then allowed Annie to lace it tight. A high-collared shirt of cambric was added, then a petticoat, before Petra was finally donning the riding skirt and jacket, both constructed from a merino wool that was suitable for the still-cool spring weather. As with all her daytime dresses, discreet pockets were sewn into the skirt rather than relying on those separate pockets attached to strings and tied about her waist under her dress.
