as a woman.
He sat down as he waited for her to return. It seemed to be taking an interminably long time. Finally, giving in to impatience, he called out, "Henry?"
"Just one moment!" Mrs. Trimble replied. "I just need to take in the waist a bit more. Your sister is very slender."
Dunford shrugged. He wouldn't know. Most of the time she wore baggy men's clothing, and her dresses were so ill-fitting it was hard to tell what was under them. He frowned, vaguely remembering the feel of her that time he'd kissed her. He couldn't remember much—he'd been half asleep at the time—but he did recall she'd seemed quite well-formed, rather fresh and feminine.
Just then Mrs. Trimble stepped back into the room. "Here she is, sir."
"Dunford?" Henry poked her head around the corner.
"Don't be shy, minx."
"Promise not to laugh?"
"Why on earth would I laugh? Now get out here."
Henry stepped forward, her eyes hopeful, fearful, and quizzical, all at the same time.
Dunford caught his breath. She was transformed. The yellow color of the dress suited her perfectly, bringing out the gold highlights in her hair. And the cut of the dress, while certainly not revealing in any way, somehow managed to hint at the promise of innocent womanhood.
Mrs. Trimble had even changed her hairstyle, taking it out of its braid and pinning some locks atop her head. Henry was nibbling nervously on her lower lip as he examined her, and she exuded a shy loveliness that was as enticing as it was puzzling, considering he'd never dreamed she had a shy bone in her body.
"Henry," he said softly, "you look...you look..."He searched for the right word but couldn't find it. Finally he burst out with, "You look so nice!"
It was the most perfect thing anyone had ever said to her.
"Do you think so?" she breathed, reverently touching the dress. "Do you really think so?"
"I know so," he said firmly. He looked up at Mrs. Trimble. "We'll take it."
"Excellent. I can bring you some fashion plates to look at, if you'd like."
"Please."
"But Dunford," Henry whispered urgently, "this is for your sister."
"How could I give that dress to my sister when it looks so utterly charming on you?" he asked in what he hoped was a practical tone. "Besides, now that I think of it, you probably could use a new dress or two."
"I have outgrown the ones I have," she said, sounding a bit wistful.
"Then you shall have it."
"But I haven't any money."
"It's my present."
"Oh, but I couldn't let you do that," she said quickly.
"Why ever not? It's my money."
She looked torn. "I don't think it's proper."
He knew it wasn't proper but wasn't about to tell her so. "Look at it this way, Henry. If I didn't have you, I'd have to hire someone to manage Stannage Park."
"You could probably do it on your own now," she said brightly, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm.
He almost groaned. Trust Henry to disarm him with kindness. "I probably wouldn't have the time to do it. I have obligations in London, you know. So the way I see it, you save me a man's wages. Probably three men's wages. A dress or two is the least I can do, considering."
Put that way, it didn't sound quite so improper, Henry decided. And she did love the dress. She'd never felt so womanly before. In this dress she might even learn to glide when she walked, like those fashionable women-on-rollers she had always envied. "All right," she said slowly. "If you think it's the right thing."
"I know it's the right thing. Oh, and Henry?"
"Yes?"
"You don't mind if we let Mrs. Trimble dispose of the frock you wore here, do you?"
She shook her head gratefully.
"Good. Now come over here, if you please, and look at some of these fashion plates. A woman needs more than one dress, don't you think?"
"Probably—but probably not more than three," she said haltingly.
He understood. Three was all her pride would allow. "You're probably right."
They spent the next hour choosing two more dresses for Henry, one in the deep sapphire lawn
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