Sweet relief bloomed that she’d donned both her cap and shoes. “Go on.”
“A lady ought to have a modest gait, not be in a hurry.”
“Be graceful?”
A nod. “If a lady is about town on a busy street, she should be offered the wall next to the houses to pass by. And no looking about with immodest eyes.”
“What if you trip over the cobblestones or soil your skirts with mud?”
“A lady raises her dress to the ankle and no higher. Just gather the folds of your gown with your right hand, like this.” Standing, Maddie demonstrated. “Raising your skirts with both hands is vulgar.”
“Says who?”
“Fancy folk. City rules, remember.”
“There are neither here.”
“Dodging wild animals and Indians leaves little time to fuss with your skirts.”
“Tell me more, Maddie.”
“More? Well, a gentleman’ll call you Missus even if he married you, least in public. And a lady takes care to stand to a gentleman’s right, never his left.”
“I suppose a muster-day kiss is not to be borne.”
Laughter shook Maddie’s spare frame. “Red ears of corn and muster-day cakes and kisses are frontier doings.”
The one question that most needed asking and answering gnawed at her. If Maddie but said the word, Tessa would set down her hopes and never look back. Though Clay had told her over breakfast that one morning he had no sweetheart, her heart craved confirmation.
“Does Colonel Tygart”—Tessa looked toward the gates, catching sight of him and weathering the woozy melt he made of her middle—“have a lady?”
Maddie sighed, leaving Tessa on tenterhooks. “Nay, though a few have set their caps for him.”
With effort, Tessa narrowed her sights to the delight of her new fan. If he had no sweetheart, why the distance? The sudden backtracking?
“And you?” Maddie asked. “Set your bonnet for some settlement gent?”
“Nary a one.”
“Well then,” Maddie said with a satisfied humph. “A right fine match in the making, if you ask me.”
Tessa allowed herself another glance at the gates framing Clay. Earlier, when he’d slipped one hard-muscled arm around her waist, she’d been struck by the sheer physical strength of him, the fact that he’d nearly lifted her off her feet. But his kiss . . . such a mesmerizing mix of restraint and gentleness, and given none too hastily, as if he wanted to savor it despite the hundred or so onlookers.
Light-headed more from the memory than the heat, she thanked Maddie and turned toward Hester’s, her thoughts circling back to the commander. How she wanted to call him Clay as Maddie did. There was something about it she liked, an earthy immediacy far removed from the formality of his full name or even his rank of colonel.
Mayhap she’d best content herself and call him Clay in her own private thoughts.
“Well, if you aren’t the talk of the fort I don’t know who is,” Hester said with no small satisfaction when Tessa entered her cabin near suppertime.
“How fare your brothers?” Ma asked with a lingering look out the open door.
“At the rum,” Tessa answered. “With all the rest.”
“I hope they hold their liquor.” Hester began making flip regardless, in case there was a shortage of spirits. “I’d hate to tangle with Tygart. He doesn’t abide such.”
Ma’s knitting needles flew. “The evils of drink cannot be made light of.”
“Kiwsuwakàn,” Keturah said with a frown. “Drunkenness.”
