you’re supposed to do without. We could try for something else—”
“Nonsense.” The duke cut him off. “The outfit’s perfect, especially with my sultan’s costume.” Cressida tried to object, but he carried on. “We need a face veil and head veil, both fairly opaque.” He studied her. “Mask, face paint…”
The door shut behind Mr. Lyne, who clearly followed orders. Cressida did not. “I am not wearing those clothes, Your Grace.”
“Why not try everything on first? You can back out at any time.”
“I don’t want to back out. I simply want something more ladylike! Can’t I go as… as a nun?”
He laughed. “Trust me, sweetheart, if you want to blend in tonight, the less ladylike you look, the better. The less likely that anyone will recognize you, you see.”
She did, but she still rebelled. “Why would anyone even imagine that I’d be at such an event?”
“Most of the women there will be professionals, yes, but some ladies enjoy wild adventures. An unmarried lady would be a rarity, but not entirely unknown. The key, of course, is never to raise the thought.”
He paused for a response, but Cressida didn’t have one. Now that she’d seen the costume, she wasn’t sure she could go through with this, but at the same time it was a challenge. She’d not known she’d react so strongly to a challenge.
“It is your choice.”
Did he know that was as seductive as Lucifer’s whisperings?
“I have a number of things to arrange,” he said, “so you have time to think it over. It would be wisest for you to stay in this room. Can I send some books for your entertainment?”
Still frowning at the outrageous garments, she agreed, and he left. Cressida picked up the trousers, symbol of her extraordinary situation.
Trousers! Many people still thought ladies’ underdrawers indecent because they resembled male clothing. Impossible to imagine wearing trousers and nothing else, and these silky things would feel like nothing.
They were opaque, at least. She’d seen drawings of Eastern women in similar trousers that were more like veils. These were quite pretty, too, braided with gold at the gathered ankles and up the sides, and tying at the waist with a golden cord. She held them against herself and thought they would probably fit. They’d be too long, but the gathered ankles would help there.
She put them down and picked up the jacket made of purple and red brocade embroidered with gold thread. It was short sleeved, low necked, and buttoned up the front. She told herself that it would cover her as well as the upper part of an evening dress, but without underwear, that was scant comfort.
No shift? No corset? How could she go out in public like that?
She wanted to put the outfit on now, to see the worst, but was hindered by the usual problem. She couldn’t get into and out of her fashionable clothes alone.
It had been different in Matlock. She and her mother had shared a ladies’ maid, but most of their gowns had been made for practicality and comfort, and they’d been able to dress and undress themselves.
Matlock. She dropped the scandalous jacket back on the bed.
Their lives there had been so smooth and comfortable. She’d lived all her life in the handsome house provided by the money her father sent. She and her mother enjoyed good friends and solid positions in Matlock society. Not at the upper level, but the height of respectability, despite her father’s strange absence. Her parents had been married there, after all, so no one could hint that the absentee husband had never existed. Her mother’s many good works had kept them busy, and Matlock was a minor spa town, so there were concerts, plays, parties, and assemblies in the summer.
Soon, if this plan worked, they could return there. Even if her father remained unwell, she and her mother would be in familiar surroundings and among friends. If her plan failed, however, they could never return.
If only her father had stayed in
“Nonsense.” The duke cut him off. “The outfit’s perfect, especially with my sultan’s costume.” Cressida tried to object, but he carried on. “We need a face veil and head veil, both fairly opaque.” He studied her. “Mask, face paint…”
The door shut behind Mr. Lyne, who clearly followed orders. Cressida did not. “I am not wearing those clothes, Your Grace.”
“Why not try everything on first? You can back out at any time.”
“I don’t want to back out. I simply want something more ladylike! Can’t I go as… as a nun?”
He laughed. “Trust me, sweetheart, if you want to blend in tonight, the less ladylike you look, the better. The less likely that anyone will recognize you, you see.”
She did, but she still rebelled. “Why would anyone even imagine that I’d be at such an event?”
“Most of the women there will be professionals, yes, but some ladies enjoy wild adventures. An unmarried lady would be a rarity, but not entirely unknown. The key, of course, is never to raise the thought.”
He paused for a response, but Cressida didn’t have one. Now that she’d seen the costume, she wasn’t sure she could go through with this, but at the same time it was a challenge. She’d not known she’d react so strongly to a challenge.
“It is your choice.”
Did he know that was as seductive as Lucifer’s whisperings?
“I have a number of things to arrange,” he said, “so you have time to think it over. It would be wisest for you to stay in this room. Can I send some books for your entertainment?”
Still frowning at the outrageous garments, she agreed, and he left. Cressida picked up the trousers, symbol of her extraordinary situation.
Trousers! Many people still thought ladies’ underdrawers indecent because they resembled male clothing. Impossible to imagine wearing trousers and nothing else, and these silky things would feel like nothing.
They were opaque, at least. She’d seen drawings of Eastern women in similar trousers that were more like veils. These were quite pretty, too, braided with gold at the gathered ankles and up the sides, and tying at the waist with a golden cord. She held them against herself and thought they would probably fit. They’d be too long, but the gathered ankles would help there.
She put them down and picked up the jacket made of purple and red brocade embroidered with gold thread. It was short sleeved, low necked, and buttoned up the front. She told herself that it would cover her as well as the upper part of an evening dress, but without underwear, that was scant comfort.
No shift? No corset? How could she go out in public like that?
She wanted to put the outfit on now, to see the worst, but was hindered by the usual problem. She couldn’t get into and out of her fashionable clothes alone.
It had been different in Matlock. She and her mother had shared a ladies’ maid, but most of their gowns had been made for practicality and comfort, and they’d been able to dress and undress themselves.
Matlock. She dropped the scandalous jacket back on the bed.
Their lives there had been so smooth and comfortable. She’d lived all her life in the handsome house provided by the money her father sent. She and her mother enjoyed good friends and solid positions in Matlock society. Not at the upper level, but the height of respectability, despite her father’s strange absence. Her parents had been married there, after all, so no one could hint that the absentee husband had never existed. Her mother’s many good works had kept them busy, and Matlock was a minor spa town, so there were concerts, plays, parties, and assemblies in the summer.
Soon, if this plan worked, they could return there. Even if her father remained unwell, she and her mother would be in familiar surroundings and among friends. If her plan failed, however, they could never return.
If only her father had stayed in
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