This was the hard part of being a man. Six years ago, when she first put on Robbie’s taken-in clothes, she had felt silly, like she was in a costume. That had lasted all of five minutes, and then she felt righter than she had in her entire life. She was supposed to be wearing breeches and top boots, riding jackets and cravats. Her hair was meant to be cropped. When she absolutely had to dress as a woman—those visits home from Cambridge when Robbie was still alive—she usually borrowed one of Louisa’s shabbiest and most faded gowns. She felt like a mummer, like an actor in a farce, and longed
...more
