”Two shillings is …”
”I don’t know,” Margo wailed. “My head aches!”
Malcolm produced a card from his waistcoat pocket, handwritten with what was clearly a period ink pen. “Study this. If you forget and must refer to this, please explain that you’re a recently orphaned American with a British benefactor and you just can’t keep all this straight, then bat your eyelashes and look helpless and the shopkeepers will probably fall over themselves trying to assist you.”
Margo couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing at the ludicrous face Malcolm presented He grinned and handed over the card. Margo settled herself to study the rest of the currency — florins, pence, groats, pennies, farthings, and all the rest-with a much improved frame of mind.
Horses, Margo learned, were tricky beasts.
Changing clothing in the cramped carriage was easy compared to managing an animal that weighed half a ton and scared her to death every time it blew quietly at the front of her shirt.
”All right,” Malcolm said patiently when she succeeded in bridling the hack without losing a thumb or fingers, “do it again.”
She shut her eyes, summoned up every erg of patience she possessed, and unbuckled the bridle. Then performed the whole terrifying procedure again. They did this an hour and she still hadn’t even saddled the horse, much less gotten on its back. The “riding” lesson had begun with a bewildering new set of terms
to learn: withers, fetlocks, gaits, snaffles, cinches, leathers, headstalls …
Oh, God, why did I ever think time scouting would be easier than college?