Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron by Patricia Watters Page B

speeches given around the country
by women fighting for the cause and handed them to Trudy." If you
read through these, you'll know how to address the women at the
meeting when they ask you questions about voting. Always remember
that knowledge is power."
    Trudy took the clippings, an eager smile on
her lips, and settled onto a tall stool at a table to began
gleaning the articles.
    That evening, as Priscilla sat at the
dressing table brushing her hair while mulling over the day's
events, it came to her that Trudy, with her youth, and her
enthusiasm, and her beautiful young face might be enormously
successful in persuading women to vote for her father. Then she saw
her own face in the mirror, and a sick feeling settled in her
stomach. Lady Whittington's well-meaning attempt to make a plain
woman into something she was not, troubled her. Priscilla had
thought she'd come to terms with her appearance. Then Adam came
along and made her wonder if she'd been too critical of herself
over the years...
    Until Lady Whittington pointed out the ugly
truth.
    She thought about Lady Whittington's
misplaced pity. She didn't want anyone's commiseration. But from
Lady Whittington's piteous looks while dining with her during the
past week, she knew the woman was genuinely concerned, which
Priscilla found aggravating and pointless. Maybe it was time to
apply that defense modus operandi from her early years when
she'd been teased mercilessly about her appearance by her
schoolmates, until she'd announced to them that she was a
descendant of Queen Elizabeth, and produced the color plate to
prove it. Although they never cozied up to her, they had at least
left her be after that. So if it worked during her school days,
there was no harm in applying it now, if only to give Lady
Whittington something to ruminate about. At least for a little
while.
    ***
    When Priscilla bathed and dressed for dinner,
she had expected to dine alone with Lady Whittington. The children
had eaten earlier and were busy with their studies, and the last
she'd heard, Adam was to be at the ranch for the rest of the week.
Instead, he'd joined them shortly after she and Lady Whittington
started eating, and Adam was sitting at the head of the table,
staring at her intently, bafflement on his brow, a look that
closely resembled his mother's questioning stare. The modus
operandi had definitely taken a different turn than intended.
Adam was not supposed to be there. But he was. And she knew
precisely what he was thinking...
    ...she does not need the aid of infusions
and dyes and all manner of female fripperies that will make
her look like a clown...
    And in Adam's mind, she did look like a clown
this particular evening.
    She'd put a dusting of pure white powder on
her face to lighten her skin, added ovals of blush along the ridges
of her cheekbones to heighten them, darkened her lips with rouge,
extended the outer corners of her eyes with Kohl to make her eyes
appear more wide set, and left her brows and lashes blond and
untouched. Lastly, she'd pulled her hair straight back to emphasize
her high forehead, allowing a dusting of coppery-red curls to frame
her face, then tucked pearls into the braid curving across the
crown of her head. Although she'd tried to be subtle with her
representation of the queen, from the looks she was receiving from
Adam and his mother, she knew she had not been subtle enough.
    Attempting to disregard the quizzical looks,
she touched her napkin to her lips, and said, "It feels good to get
cleaned up after a day of typesetting. But after handling all of
the freshly-printed newspapers, I was not sure I could scrub the
ink from my hands."
    Lady Whittington, whose brows had gathered
into a frown of concern, said to Priscilla, "I can see that would
be a problem, especially with your... very pale skin. Do you not
protect your hands with gloves?"
    Priscilla sighed. "I'm afraid gloves would
make it impossible to pick up the tiny characters." She stretched
out her