she were a specimen in a laboratory.
Dominique gritted her teeth. She hated being on display.
“Seems you are drawing a bit of attention this morning, miss.”
“Indeed.” Precisely what she did not want to do, either on the street, in the house, or anywhere in London, for that matter.
“When did you have your coming out?” Larena asked as they wove around three giggling ladies.
“Coming out?”
“Yes, your coming-out party.”
Dominique cringed as memories fell on her like a sudden weight. “Five years ago.” Had it been that long? “I had just turned eighteen.” She remembered the excitement of having her first silk gown tailored, of the maids fawning over her before the event, bedecking her curls with jewels and applying rice powder to her face and salve to her lips, the proud look on her mother’s face, and of course, the attention she received from the young men at the ball.
“You must have been quite a hit.”
“I can’t really say. ’Twas the best and worse evening of my life.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“We received news of my father’s death late that same night.” Dominique sighed as her heart shriveled, reliving the agony. “And my mother moved us back to France within a month.”
“I’m very sorry, miss.” Larena gave Dominique’s arm a gentle squeeze. Her blue eyes warmed in concern. “Perhaps ’tis just as well. By the looks you’re getting today, you’d have been married off your first season, to be sure.”
They passed an art gallery on their right, its windows stuffed with magnificent oil paintings lined in rows next to huge bronze sculptures. Horrified, Dominique tore her gaze from a statue of a naked man. She cleared her throat. “Do you disapprove of marriage?”
“I disapprove of slavery, miss, which is what most marriages are.”
Dominique blinked. She’d heard some women call their marriages drudgery but never slavery. “Is that what you thought of the admiral’s marriage?”
“Nay.” Larena shook her head and stared ahead of them. “I discouraged Melody—I mean Mrs. Randal—from marrying the admiral, but truth be told, they were quite happy together. He loved her very much.”
A strange twinge startled Dominique. Somehow she couldn’t picture the admiral loving anyone—or being happy for that matter.
“Do you never hope to marry, then?”
“I’m already eight and twenty, miss. Well past marrying agefor a woman.” she adjusted her shawl. “Besides, I have more than proven that I can take care of myself. I don’t need a man to rule over me.”
The words shot from Larena’s mouth with such spite that Dominique wondered what had happened to make her so opposed to what most women considered a blessed privilege. Yet her independence ignited envy within Dominique. If she had been able to take care of herself and her brother, they would not have had to depend on Cousin Lucien—and she would not be in this horrid predicament.
“You’re far more courageous than I am,” she admitted as she stopped next to an apple cart and gazed across the busy street, wondering how they would ever cross it safely.
The maid studied her. “Perhaps you simply have not been given the chance to prove yourself.”
Ah, but she had been given the chance.
And she’d failed miserably.
After her mother had died so suddenly last year, Dominique, who hadn’t a clue how to fend for herself, had been reduced to dragging her brother through the streets of Paris, begging for morsels of food. It had proven to be the most shameful and terrifying time of her life, and she believed they both would be dead—or worse—if Cousin Lucien hadn’t rescued them. No, she had proven herself incapable of being anything like Larena.
Dominique felt a tug on the bottom of her pelisse and looked down to see a young costermonger, a boy no older than William. “Please, miss, would you buy an apple?”
Smudges of dirt marred his pale complexion. His unkempt hair sprouted in all
Dominique gritted her teeth. She hated being on display.
“Seems you are drawing a bit of attention this morning, miss.”
“Indeed.” Precisely what she did not want to do, either on the street, in the house, or anywhere in London, for that matter.
“When did you have your coming out?” Larena asked as they wove around three giggling ladies.
“Coming out?”
“Yes, your coming-out party.”
Dominique cringed as memories fell on her like a sudden weight. “Five years ago.” Had it been that long? “I had just turned eighteen.” She remembered the excitement of having her first silk gown tailored, of the maids fawning over her before the event, bedecking her curls with jewels and applying rice powder to her face and salve to her lips, the proud look on her mother’s face, and of course, the attention she received from the young men at the ball.
“You must have been quite a hit.”
“I can’t really say. ’Twas the best and worse evening of my life.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“We received news of my father’s death late that same night.” Dominique sighed as her heart shriveled, reliving the agony. “And my mother moved us back to France within a month.”
“I’m very sorry, miss.” Larena gave Dominique’s arm a gentle squeeze. Her blue eyes warmed in concern. “Perhaps ’tis just as well. By the looks you’re getting today, you’d have been married off your first season, to be sure.”
They passed an art gallery on their right, its windows stuffed with magnificent oil paintings lined in rows next to huge bronze sculptures. Horrified, Dominique tore her gaze from a statue of a naked man. She cleared her throat. “Do you disapprove of marriage?”
“I disapprove of slavery, miss, which is what most marriages are.”
Dominique blinked. She’d heard some women call their marriages drudgery but never slavery. “Is that what you thought of the admiral’s marriage?”
“Nay.” Larena shook her head and stared ahead of them. “I discouraged Melody—I mean Mrs. Randal—from marrying the admiral, but truth be told, they were quite happy together. He loved her very much.”
A strange twinge startled Dominique. Somehow she couldn’t picture the admiral loving anyone—or being happy for that matter.
“Do you never hope to marry, then?”
“I’m already eight and twenty, miss. Well past marrying agefor a woman.” she adjusted her shawl. “Besides, I have more than proven that I can take care of myself. I don’t need a man to rule over me.”
The words shot from Larena’s mouth with such spite that Dominique wondered what had happened to make her so opposed to what most women considered a blessed privilege. Yet her independence ignited envy within Dominique. If she had been able to take care of herself and her brother, they would not have had to depend on Cousin Lucien—and she would not be in this horrid predicament.
“You’re far more courageous than I am,” she admitted as she stopped next to an apple cart and gazed across the busy street, wondering how they would ever cross it safely.
The maid studied her. “Perhaps you simply have not been given the chance to prove yourself.”
Ah, but she had been given the chance.
And she’d failed miserably.
After her mother had died so suddenly last year, Dominique, who hadn’t a clue how to fend for herself, had been reduced to dragging her brother through the streets of Paris, begging for morsels of food. It had proven to be the most shameful and terrifying time of her life, and she believed they both would be dead—or worse—if Cousin Lucien hadn’t rescued them. No, she had proven herself incapable of being anything like Larena.
Dominique felt a tug on the bottom of her pelisse and looked down to see a young costermonger, a boy no older than William. “Please, miss, would you buy an apple?”
Smudges of dirt marred his pale complexion. His unkempt hair sprouted in all
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