actions.
If he was unlucky…His thoughts trailed away. Some things were too unhappy to contemplate.
He sketched a bow to the three women. “Good afternoon, ladies. I believe I shall go in search of a drink.”
Lynette watched the viscount disappear, a frown knitting her brow. Something was happening. There was some subtle message in his touch, some extra stroke that had meaning. But she did not understand. Indeed, she barely had time to recognize the extra touch before he disappeared out the door.
He’d said the worst was almost over. Undoubtedly he referred to the interminable fitting to come. Hours standing still while every part of her was measured and pressed and pinned. But she was well used to such nonsense. Indeed, when her younger sister had been learning her stitches, Lynette had endured countless such afternoons.
How like a man, she realized, to focus on the body’s inconvenience and completely ignore the soul’s. It was not the hours of tedium ahead that bothered her. Indeed, the real problem was the loss of her independence. The shift from her father’s household to the viscount’s had been a change, but not a significant one. A man still controlled her life. True, she had different duties, new things to learn…Her cheeks heated before she could push that thought away. But all in all, much of her life remained the same.
Until today. Suddenly even the most basic of choices—what she wore—had been stripped from her. Could anything be worse?
She brushed away a tear, resolving to take the indignity in stride. In fact, it had not been so terrible. They’d listened to her opinions, even complimented her choices. If they did, in fact, use the gray silk material, she would be joyous.
With that thought firmly planted in her mind, Lynette turned her attention to the fittings, allowing herself to become a human doll. The modiste and her assistants went to work, the woman quite thorough in her note-taking, measuring everything from the width of Lynette’s wrist to the length of her breast. More than once, Lynette found herself blushing, but the modiste was quite efficient and the ordeal was soon over.
They finished quicker than Lynette expected, and she felt her mood lighten. Perhaps there were worse things than losing one’s choice in attire. Of course, she thought as she smiled sweetly at the modiste, she had not lost total control, had she? She had been able to influence the baroness significantly, she was sure.
She watched happily as the baroness shook the lady’s hand. And then Lynette turned to leave, only to realize that the baroness was not following her. Confused, she turned toward the older lady. “Is there more we need to accomplish?”
The baroness smiled, though the expression was not warm. “Of course there is, Lynette. A great deal more. Come this way.”
She gestured to a back room. In fact, the modiste was holding open the door to a darkened interior, and everyone was looking at her. For an absurd moment,Lynette felt like Daniel bearding the lion’s den, but then she shook off the thought. This was a fashionable shop in the center of London. There could not be lions in there.
Nodding to the baroness, she calmly entered the dark hallway, wondering at the sudden, taut silence between her two companions. They quickly followed, as if blocking her escape, and Lynette felt a real stirring of distress. Especially when she slowed her steps only to be pushed rudely ahead by the baroness.
“We have an appointment to keep,” was all the woman said.
Abruptly, the passageway ended. The door that confronted Lynette was simple. Plain. Cold to the touch, but sturdily built and extremely heavy. In fact, it took a great deal of her strength to push it open. Beyond she found a stark room, empty of decoration and barely heated by a weak fire. In the center rested a large table. To one side were a plain screen and a hard chair.
On the other side: a man.
He was a nondescript gentleman. Though
If he was unlucky…His thoughts trailed away. Some things were too unhappy to contemplate.
He sketched a bow to the three women. “Good afternoon, ladies. I believe I shall go in search of a drink.”
Lynette watched the viscount disappear, a frown knitting her brow. Something was happening. There was some subtle message in his touch, some extra stroke that had meaning. But she did not understand. Indeed, she barely had time to recognize the extra touch before he disappeared out the door.
He’d said the worst was almost over. Undoubtedly he referred to the interminable fitting to come. Hours standing still while every part of her was measured and pressed and pinned. But she was well used to such nonsense. Indeed, when her younger sister had been learning her stitches, Lynette had endured countless such afternoons.
How like a man, she realized, to focus on the body’s inconvenience and completely ignore the soul’s. It was not the hours of tedium ahead that bothered her. Indeed, the real problem was the loss of her independence. The shift from her father’s household to the viscount’s had been a change, but not a significant one. A man still controlled her life. True, she had different duties, new things to learn…Her cheeks heated before she could push that thought away. But all in all, much of her life remained the same.
Until today. Suddenly even the most basic of choices—what she wore—had been stripped from her. Could anything be worse?
She brushed away a tear, resolving to take the indignity in stride. In fact, it had not been so terrible. They’d listened to her opinions, even complimented her choices. If they did, in fact, use the gray silk material, she would be joyous.
With that thought firmly planted in her mind, Lynette turned her attention to the fittings, allowing herself to become a human doll. The modiste and her assistants went to work, the woman quite thorough in her note-taking, measuring everything from the width of Lynette’s wrist to the length of her breast. More than once, Lynette found herself blushing, but the modiste was quite efficient and the ordeal was soon over.
They finished quicker than Lynette expected, and she felt her mood lighten. Perhaps there were worse things than losing one’s choice in attire. Of course, she thought as she smiled sweetly at the modiste, she had not lost total control, had she? She had been able to influence the baroness significantly, she was sure.
She watched happily as the baroness shook the lady’s hand. And then Lynette turned to leave, only to realize that the baroness was not following her. Confused, she turned toward the older lady. “Is there more we need to accomplish?”
The baroness smiled, though the expression was not warm. “Of course there is, Lynette. A great deal more. Come this way.”
She gestured to a back room. In fact, the modiste was holding open the door to a darkened interior, and everyone was looking at her. For an absurd moment,Lynette felt like Daniel bearding the lion’s den, but then she shook off the thought. This was a fashionable shop in the center of London. There could not be lions in there.
Nodding to the baroness, she calmly entered the dark hallway, wondering at the sudden, taut silence between her two companions. They quickly followed, as if blocking her escape, and Lynette felt a real stirring of distress. Especially when she slowed her steps only to be pushed rudely ahead by the baroness.
“We have an appointment to keep,” was all the woman said.
Abruptly, the passageway ended. The door that confronted Lynette was simple. Plain. Cold to the touch, but sturdily built and extremely heavy. In fact, it took a great deal of her strength to push it open. Beyond she found a stark room, empty of decoration and barely heated by a weak fire. In the center rested a large table. To one side were a plain screen and a hard chair.
On the other side: a man.
He was a nondescript gentleman. Though
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