into them.
“Well-spoken, my dear!” Sir Andrew called through the curtain.
His compliment gave her courage. Taking a deep breath, Rosie drew off Andrew’s nightshirt. The men on the far side of the curtain lapsed into a breathless silence. The little hairs on the back of her neck tingled as if she were being observed. Covering her breasts with the shirt, she looked behind her to make sure that the gentlemen had not pulled aside the drape. Her silken shield still hung in place.
Quickly, she dropped the chemise over her head. The hem fell to her ankles. She tied the lacing around her neck, creating a soft ruff just under her chin. Next she chose a pair of thin, cream-colored stockings and pulled them on, fastening them with red silk garters.
On the other side of the curtain, Jack sighed. “Howcan you look so cool, old man?” he asked. “I am twice as hot as I was before now.”
“Patience, my boy,” Sir Andrew replied. “Tis a virtue you lack in profusion.” He raised his voice. “The bum roll goes on next, my dear. Tis that thing that looks like a sausage. It ties around your waist.”
Rosie again glanced over her shoulder. She could barely make out the men’s shapes as they lounged in their chairs. Jeremy’s vague shadow hovered near the pavilion’s entrance. She held up the padded roll.
“To be sure!” she called to Sir Andrew. “I’ll look like a weaver’s distaff in this,” she added to herself. She wrinkled her nose as she tied the cumbersome thing in place. Then she stared at the bewildering mix on the bed, not sure what came next.
Sir Andrew coughed in a manner that indicated he wanted her attention. “I believe you will need the corset, then a petticoat.”
Rosie whirled around but saw through the silk that the lords had not moved. How did Sir Andrew know what she was doing? She put her hands to her hips and encountered the thick bum roll instead.
“If ye be so wise tell me what does this corsey thing look like?”
Jack stood up. “Allow me to show you, sweet daughter of Venus.”
Rosie backed away from the curtain until the bum roll thumped against the footboard of the bed. “Your pardon, Sir Jack, but I was not a-speaking with ye, but to Sir Andrew. Ye stay right where ye be.”
Sir Andrew chuckled. “Bravo, Rosie! You have taken the wind out of my young friend’s sails for he has no breath left to speak. A corset goes around your bust and regrettably flattens your very fine breasts.”
She found the thing in question and eyed it with even more disgust than the bum roll. “Who thought up this piece of torture?”
Sir Andrew gave a deep sigh. “The gods of fashion, I fear, and we poor humans must toil in abject slavery to their decrees.”
She fitted the uncomfortable cage around her and began to lace it up. “What is the point of a woman’s breasts if they are flat, I ask you?”
“By the book, the girl has hit the right nail upon its squared head. My very thoughts exactly, Rosie!” Jack replied. “I say, let us dispense with corset, bum roll and the whole lot!”
Rosie paused in midlacing. “Does that mean that Sir Andrew must give up his bells as well?” she asked.
“His what?”
A light, silvery jingle answered Jack’s question. The younger man laughed and called for more wine.
“Pull tighter, Rosie,” Sir Andrew advised.
The hairs on the back of her neck tingled again. “How do ye know what’s what?” she asked.
He chuckled. “I am a man of many skills, Rosie. Now hurry along or twill be midnight before you are dressed’ to meet the day.”
She stared at the silken drape while she chewed on her little fingernail. Perhaps Sir Andrew was a wizard. That thought caused goose bumps to rise on her flesh. And yet, he was kind, and did not consort with a brindled cat nor did he have dried dead things hanging from his tent pole. Rosie remembered the witch woman who lived in the woods outside of her village. Many a time her foster father had threatened to
“Well-spoken, my dear!” Sir Andrew called through the curtain.
His compliment gave her courage. Taking a deep breath, Rosie drew off Andrew’s nightshirt. The men on the far side of the curtain lapsed into a breathless silence. The little hairs on the back of her neck tingled as if she were being observed. Covering her breasts with the shirt, she looked behind her to make sure that the gentlemen had not pulled aside the drape. Her silken shield still hung in place.
Quickly, she dropped the chemise over her head. The hem fell to her ankles. She tied the lacing around her neck, creating a soft ruff just under her chin. Next she chose a pair of thin, cream-colored stockings and pulled them on, fastening them with red silk garters.
On the other side of the curtain, Jack sighed. “Howcan you look so cool, old man?” he asked. “I am twice as hot as I was before now.”
“Patience, my boy,” Sir Andrew replied. “Tis a virtue you lack in profusion.” He raised his voice. “The bum roll goes on next, my dear. Tis that thing that looks like a sausage. It ties around your waist.”
Rosie again glanced over her shoulder. She could barely make out the men’s shapes as they lounged in their chairs. Jeremy’s vague shadow hovered near the pavilion’s entrance. She held up the padded roll.
“To be sure!” she called to Sir Andrew. “I’ll look like a weaver’s distaff in this,” she added to herself. She wrinkled her nose as she tied the cumbersome thing in place. Then she stared at the bewildering mix on the bed, not sure what came next.
Sir Andrew coughed in a manner that indicated he wanted her attention. “I believe you will need the corset, then a petticoat.”
Rosie whirled around but saw through the silk that the lords had not moved. How did Sir Andrew know what she was doing? She put her hands to her hips and encountered the thick bum roll instead.
“If ye be so wise tell me what does this corsey thing look like?”
Jack stood up. “Allow me to show you, sweet daughter of Venus.”
Rosie backed away from the curtain until the bum roll thumped against the footboard of the bed. “Your pardon, Sir Jack, but I was not a-speaking with ye, but to Sir Andrew. Ye stay right where ye be.”
Sir Andrew chuckled. “Bravo, Rosie! You have taken the wind out of my young friend’s sails for he has no breath left to speak. A corset goes around your bust and regrettably flattens your very fine breasts.”
She found the thing in question and eyed it with even more disgust than the bum roll. “Who thought up this piece of torture?”
Sir Andrew gave a deep sigh. “The gods of fashion, I fear, and we poor humans must toil in abject slavery to their decrees.”
She fitted the uncomfortable cage around her and began to lace it up. “What is the point of a woman’s breasts if they are flat, I ask you?”
“By the book, the girl has hit the right nail upon its squared head. My very thoughts exactly, Rosie!” Jack replied. “I say, let us dispense with corset, bum roll and the whole lot!”
Rosie paused in midlacing. “Does that mean that Sir Andrew must give up his bells as well?” she asked.
“His what?”
A light, silvery jingle answered Jack’s question. The younger man laughed and called for more wine.
“Pull tighter, Rosie,” Sir Andrew advised.
The hairs on the back of her neck tingled again. “How do ye know what’s what?” she asked.
He chuckled. “I am a man of many skills, Rosie. Now hurry along or twill be midnight before you are dressed’ to meet the day.”
She stared at the silken drape while she chewed on her little fingernail. Perhaps Sir Andrew was a wizard. That thought caused goose bumps to rise on her flesh. And yet, he was kind, and did not consort with a brindled cat nor did he have dried dead things hanging from his tent pole. Rosie remembered the witch woman who lived in the woods outside of her village. Many a time her foster father had threatened to
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