wide-shouldered chemise over her head, letting it fall around her in a voluminous swath of fabric. This particular piece had little shape to it, and Alex was always rather amused by how thoroughly unfeminine a garment designed specifically for females could be.
Eliza set herself to arranging the chemise to Alex's figure, folding the fabric here, pinning it there, as she said, «Well, it seems that John Coachman is smitten."
"Reall y?" Alex had trouble envisioning her father's coachman, an immense giant of a man who rarely spoke to anyone but the horses, smitten. "With whom?"
"Margaret, the butcher's daughter."
"Truly?"
Eliza nodded, snatching up a stiff whalebone corset from where it lay on Alex's bed. From a small box on the dressing table nearby, the maid selected a large corset needle, threading it expertly with a length of cord as she returned to Alex. "I must say, he does seem to be more will in' than usual to drive the kitchen maids down to the meat market."
Alex took hold of the corset, centering it on her torso and passing the sides back to Eliza, who deftly threaded the two halves together as they talked.
"And does she reciprocate?" Alex held the rigid stays to the natural curve of her waist, waiting patiently for Eliza to finish her task.
"I'm no' certain, but Mary, the kitchen maid ... ?" Alex nodded in recognition. "She says that Margaret always has an extra sweet for John when he's there, and that she always asks about him when he's not. Hold on."
"Excell ent! Love comforteth like sunshine after rain! Oof!" Alex reached out and grabbed hold of the bedpost as Eliza began tightening the corset laces.
"I told you to hold on." Eliza kept tugging, the stays growing tighter and tighter as both girls began to breathe heavily. "I thought you didn't believe in love."
"I never said that!" Alex exclaimed, her emphatic tone lost as she struggled for air. "Of course, I believe in love."
"Oh? Breathe."
She took one last deep breath, feeling the stays tighten to the point of pain, and couldn't help herself from swearing roundly. "Enough!"
"Finished." Eliza turned to retrieve the next layer of clothing. "I'm goin' to forget that you just cursed like a dock-side sailor."
"Blame my brothers." Alex gasped for air, perching on the edge of the bed. "It's too tight."
"It will loosen. You know that."
She did know that. "I hate fashion." Alex scowled.
"Tel me about this new belief in love," Eliza said, distracting Alex and holding open a circle of petticoats. This piece was more elaborate than any of the others Alex had donned, a Madame Fernaud creation in cambric and linen with a stunning swath of beautiful green fabric affixed to the bottom, designed to match the dress Alex would wear that evening.
Alex paused to admire the delicate rosebuds that had been painstakingly added to the undergarment before all owing Eliza to throw the piece over her head. "Not new. It's not love I'm opposed to. It's marriage! The first reminds women that they're free to be as they wish — because someone loves them for it," Alex said, her voice coming from inside a mass of fabric as she pushed her way through the petticoats toward the light of the room. "And the other takes away that freedom."
Eliza began securing the top of the petticoat, tying a small row of bows that ran down the bodice of the garment. "Seems to me that the right kind of marriage could increase that freedom, nay?"
Alex tilted her head to one side, thinking on Eliza's point. "I suppose so ... but how many of those have you ever witnessed?"
"Yer parents have one like that, I'm thinkin' ... and yer grandparents before them." The maid moved to the bed and lifted the rich green ball gown, giving it one final shake to loosen the folds of satin fabric before holding it out for Alex.
"That's different," Alex replied, stepping into the dress and helping Eliza to pull it up over her arms to fit her now perfectly shaped torso. Holding the bodice straight while the maid
Eliza set herself to arranging the chemise to Alex's figure, folding the fabric here, pinning it there, as she said, «Well, it seems that John Coachman is smitten."
"Reall y?" Alex had trouble envisioning her father's coachman, an immense giant of a man who rarely spoke to anyone but the horses, smitten. "With whom?"
"Margaret, the butcher's daughter."
"Truly?"
Eliza nodded, snatching up a stiff whalebone corset from where it lay on Alex's bed. From a small box on the dressing table nearby, the maid selected a large corset needle, threading it expertly with a length of cord as she returned to Alex. "I must say, he does seem to be more will in' than usual to drive the kitchen maids down to the meat market."
Alex took hold of the corset, centering it on her torso and passing the sides back to Eliza, who deftly threaded the two halves together as they talked.
"And does she reciprocate?" Alex held the rigid stays to the natural curve of her waist, waiting patiently for Eliza to finish her task.
"I'm no' certain, but Mary, the kitchen maid ... ?" Alex nodded in recognition. "She says that Margaret always has an extra sweet for John when he's there, and that she always asks about him when he's not. Hold on."
"Excell ent! Love comforteth like sunshine after rain! Oof!" Alex reached out and grabbed hold of the bedpost as Eliza began tightening the corset laces.
"I told you to hold on." Eliza kept tugging, the stays growing tighter and tighter as both girls began to breathe heavily. "I thought you didn't believe in love."
"I never said that!" Alex exclaimed, her emphatic tone lost as she struggled for air. "Of course, I believe in love."
"Oh? Breathe."
She took one last deep breath, feeling the stays tighten to the point of pain, and couldn't help herself from swearing roundly. "Enough!"
"Finished." Eliza turned to retrieve the next layer of clothing. "I'm goin' to forget that you just cursed like a dock-side sailor."
"Blame my brothers." Alex gasped for air, perching on the edge of the bed. "It's too tight."
"It will loosen. You know that."
She did know that. "I hate fashion." Alex scowled.
"Tel me about this new belief in love," Eliza said, distracting Alex and holding open a circle of petticoats. This piece was more elaborate than any of the others Alex had donned, a Madame Fernaud creation in cambric and linen with a stunning swath of beautiful green fabric affixed to the bottom, designed to match the dress Alex would wear that evening.
Alex paused to admire the delicate rosebuds that had been painstakingly added to the undergarment before all owing Eliza to throw the piece over her head. "Not new. It's not love I'm opposed to. It's marriage! The first reminds women that they're free to be as they wish — because someone loves them for it," Alex said, her voice coming from inside a mass of fabric as she pushed her way through the petticoats toward the light of the room. "And the other takes away that freedom."
Eliza began securing the top of the petticoat, tying a small row of bows that ran down the bodice of the garment. "Seems to me that the right kind of marriage could increase that freedom, nay?"
Alex tilted her head to one side, thinking on Eliza's point. "I suppose so ... but how many of those have you ever witnessed?"
"Yer parents have one like that, I'm thinkin' ... and yer grandparents before them." The maid moved to the bed and lifted the rich green ball gown, giving it one final shake to loosen the folds of satin fabric before holding it out for Alex.
"That's different," Alex replied, stepping into the dress and helping Eliza to pull it up over her arms to fit her now perfectly shaped torso. Holding the bodice straight while the maid
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