"Go ahead," William said, "try on the clothing. At the bottom of the sack you'll find your bosom."
Emma began to giggle. "Forgive me, but the notion is just so comical."
He gave her a mock glare. "Do. Not. Laugh. At. Me."
"I'm sorry," she said.
He eyed his brother. "Do I have to have a bosom?"
William and Emma both nodded.
He heaved a sigh. "I will endeavor to don them, but don't expect me to model."
"As you like it," William said. "We just need to be sure they'll fit. You have to own, there aren't many women built like you."
In ten minutes Adam returned, a frown on his face. "I make a hideous woman."
"Just so long as you don't draw attention," William said. "We're striving for ordinary."
Adam rolled his eyes. "Just your average woman who's six feet, two inches tall."
"You'll be seated either on a horse or in a cart," Will said. "No one will know how tall you are."
"How many of our soldiers will also be watching my wife?" Adam asked.
"Half a dozen should do. Is that agreeable to you?"
"Yes. I just hate like the devil for them to see me dressed as a woman. Did you really resort to women's dress when you courted danger for king and crown?"
"Many times. A man will resort to anything to stay alive." William eyed Emma. "Or to protect the life of his wife."
"I think I'll look more natural if I'm riding with a man in a cart."
William nodded. "Then one of our soldiers will drive the cart. That will leave you free to race after Emma in the event of an abduction attempt."
"The cart can also be our arsenal," Adam said.
* * *
That afternoon, all by herself, she walked through Hatchard's book shop on Piccadilly. Since Adam's library lacked a copy of Lyrical Ballads, she decided she would purchase it. Adam would probably want to have it bound in leather later. He went to a special book binder to ensure continuity on the shelves of his library.
Each man hovering in the shop aroused her suspicions. Was one of them the man Ashburnham had hired to grab her? But since she didn't see any men dressed coarsely as the man with the eye patch had been, she thought perhaps none of them had been hired by Ashburnham.
In the two times she'd seen James Ashburnham she'd been struck that he attempted to dress as a well-educated gentleman, but he fell far short. The ill fit of his clothing spoke to the fact he'd likely purchased them second-hand. Then when he spoke, it was obvious his voice was not that of a gentleman. Therefore, it would stand to reason the men Ashburnham hired would be of the same class as he.
She wondered, too, which of these men were Birmingham employees. Adam would have made certain one or two of their so-called soldiers would be with her every minute. She decided these soldiers would all be tall like her husband—which eliminated the slightly built young man of medium height who kept smiling at her. Her gaze discreetly fanned to each lone man. She would be hard pressed to pick one out as a Birmingham soldier. Every man in this book shop looked to be a gentleman.
But then, William would see to it that the disguises—even that of a well-dressed gentleman—were genuine.
It suddenly occurred to her the elderly woman ambling from table to table in the book store was no elderly woman. It was her husband! She would not have recognized him. He had chosen the white wig. "William's right," Adam had said earlier that day. "No one takes notice of elderly women."
She and William both had promised they would not laugh at him. Now that she was watching him fully dressed as an elderly female, she admired him. Laughter was the farthest thing from her mind. Her husband would have made a fine actor. But, then, Adam did everything well. Shakily, he contorted himself to where his back bent as did an elderly woman's. No one would ever think him a handsome young man of six feet two.
As Emma strolled from table to table perusing the books at Hatchard's, she found herself wondering if Ashburnham even knew she had returned to London. His ruthless employee had been permanently silenced. Would Ashburnham even learn of the death of the man he'd obviously hired? No one in Wickley Glen had been able to identify the dead man.
After leaving the book store, she strolled toward Madame De Guerney's. She would inquire about the progress on her presentation dress. Perhaps it would be ready for a fitting.
The pavement seemed to be exceptionally crowded today. While many of the lone men who passed her were gentlemen, just as many were not. A number of them dressed as Ashburnham did in clothing that came from the second-hand shops. Each one who passed caused her to become queasy. Was he the one? she would ask herself.