No Choice but Surrender by Meagan McKinney

maiden who had been taken under Avenel's wing to be taught the finer points of how to please a man. But downstairs, she thought almost with a shudder, the real drama was taking place. She was fighting for her life, it seemed, with every new episode. And now that the dictator in the play had complete control over every aspect of her life, she knew the climax was just behind the curtain.
    "This one will have to do! I shall press it again." Brienne looked up as Vivie brought in her round gown, a closed robe that revealed no petticoat, of robin's-egg blue. The dress had a deep plum-colored échelle , whose small bows ran all the way down to the tip of her busk.
    "Really, this is not necessary. I have no desire to—"
    "Your maidenly reluctance suits you, my lady," Vivie said in French. "I have never seen you so beautiful. Your hair! Your eyes! The glow! I know Master Slane will be very happy with you. You must not fear!"
    Not so! she thought to herself, smiling grimly. But it was too much to explain to the woman. Vivie was completely enamored with Avenel, and there was no speaking rationally to her about imagined trysts.
    Seeing her mistress's smile, Vivie misinterpreted it and asked, "You have had a nice day today, yes?" She added slyly, "And if all goes well, perhaps you will have an even nicer night; is it not so?" She started to smile gaily now but saw Brienne's bewildered expression. "Do not fear, I will have the dress back soon, and I will do everything I can to make it look new again for your . . . ah . . ." She started to giggle and found she couldn't finish her sentence. "Tout de suite, ma demoiselle!" She laughed and then disappeared through the dressing- room door.
    Letting out a long breath of disbelief, Brienne shook her head in frustration and then mutinously dropped her chin into the palm of her hand, staring back at the flames in the hearth. She might be called mad, but only because she was residing in a madhouse! It was all too much!
    An hour later, she sat at her dressing table examining the fine work that Vivie had accomplished on her dark tresses. Vivie had loosely piled curl after curl onto the top of her head, allowing only one or two to fall free at the nape. Each strand of hair was shot with burgundy and pink highlights from the smoothing and brushing. Even Brienne had to admit that despite the occasion, it was wonderful to be pampered.
    "Should you powder my hair?" Brienne asked, wondering if it was the lack of powder, and not her own lack of finery, that detracted from the entire effect.
    "Perhaps I will powder it when you have guests. But for now, I know les Américains do not like it. You see, my brother, he is over there now in
Virginia
," Vivie confided in her. "He fight the war, mademoiselle. I tell you this because Monsieur Slane, he was his friend there. That is how I have come to be here. My brother told him of my difficult position. There is hardness here now for the French, you see? I could not find anyone to take me. But then . . ." She gave a happy sigh and continued with her chatter. "But your hair! I am so easily sidetracked! You must forgive me."
    Brienne only laughed and waited for her to finish. Vivie's revelation about her brother clarified a few things. The maid's gratitude to Avenel was now explained. Vivie's kind attentions to her mistress were simply an offshoot of her regard for her employer, which obviously ran very deep and strong.
    "I think you leave it au naturel." Vivie scrutinized her piled hair and then tried to explain. "You see, Monsieur Slane, he does not wear the wig. Because he is like les Amiricains, yes?"
    "Yes, he is definitely like les Américains ." Brienne smiled at her again. She found herself liking Vivie more and more. In addition to her vivacious manner, Brienne appreciated the maid's genuine affection for her. Even their first evening, when she had shown up at the door dirty, tired, and miserable from the stable block, the young Frenchwoman had been