Page 30 of Summer

I am exhausted from the travel and wandering around the manor with the duchess. Thankfully she’s decided she can continue wedding planning without me, and I break away from her to head to my room.

I am almost to my room when I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Gennelle – no one walks with such assurance, with such purpose.

“Don’t think you can get out of our lessons,” she says, and I turn slowly to regard her.

“Lessons?” I can practically hear my bed singing to me from the other side of the door, encouraging me to slide into the sheets and take a wonderful afternoon nap.

“Yes. You cannot embarrass us at the viscountess’ ball,” she reminds me.

“I told you I know a waltz or two,” I grumble. This will cut into my nap by a few hours.

“And I told you, that’s not enough. You will be expected to know more than just a few waltzes,” she laughs as she says it as if I told her I knew the alphabet therefore I could write a novel.

“This evening, then,” I say, reaching for the door handle.

Her fingers wrap around my wrist, the move so quick I don’t have time to react. Her touch is warm on my skin. When she removes her hand, my flesh tingles with the memory of her. I resist the urge to rub my wrist, to replace the raised scar with the sensation of her hands on me.

“Now,” she insists. Her hands are back at her side, fists balled.

“Fine,” I sigh. “But first I need to change. No use in learning these complicated dances in the wrong wardrobe.” I push into my room, leaving the door open. She stands at the threshold, her hands still fisted at her side. “Are you going to help me dress, or shall I call Sessaly?”

Gennelle’s eyes narrow. “I’ll find Sessaly,” she says before slamming the door on my face.

Oh well.

I take my time undressing from my traveling dress. I get a whiff of myself and nearly gag, deciding to bathe before the lesson. I’m sure I’ll become sweaty once more, but the thought of being tied into one of the awful dancing dresses while smelling like sweat and grime sets my teeth on edge.

After a short bath, I gather a towel around myself and enter my room, expecting to see Sessaly glowering at me. Instead, it is Gennelle, standing awkwardly near the door to my room.

“Where is Sessaly?” I ask.

“I couldn’t find her,” Gennelle breathes.

“So you’ve come to dress me instead?” I ask. My words are bold, but Gennelle doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t let on if this upsets her. She simply crosses the space to my armoire and flings it open, moving through my dresses with lightning speed.

I finish drying myself and dress in a simple shift. I’m hidden by the doors to the armoire as I slip on stockings. She slams the doors shut as she pulls out a dress. It is the same dark purple as the grass outside, with light green filigree along the sleeves and hem.

When she sees me, she freezes, her gaze tracking slowly along my body. The shift is shapeless but thin, meant for soaking up sweat and protecting my body from the corset. Still, her gaze is hungry as it tracks over my body, pausing at my nipples. They strain against the fabric, suddenly erect as she watches me.

“You forgot the corset,” I tell her, taking a step in her direction. She holds up her hand to stop me, and I freeze. She turns back to the armoire and flings it open once more, though I don’t hear her for several long breaths. Then the shuffling returns, and she emerges with a corset in hand.

I turn my back to her, gripping the back of the chair of my vanity, waiting for her approach. The hair along my arms stands on end, my body alive at the prospect of her touch. The corset slips around my mid-section and lays flat against me. She is careful to avoid touching me, careful not to let even a fingernail drag across my skin.

I cannot have that. I want her – need her – to touch me again.

She begins to tighten the corset, but it is a lackluster effort. She secures the tie, and it slips down my body, leaving me shapeless. I toss a look at her over my shoulder. “Do you not know how to tie a corset? I thought it was a simple task.”

Her eyes flash in anger, and she steps forward, undoing the tie. The corset slides back up my body and she laces it once more, still not tight enough.

“Tighter,” I command.

“Don’t presume to tell me what to do,” she hisses, her breath skittering across my exposed shoulders.

“I don’t want to be here all day just because you don’t know how to lace a corset appro…” My words are cut off as she yanks the ties, nearly stealing my breath.

“Watch how you speak to me,” she says, pulling another row tight.

“It’s a wonder I can speak at all, with how tight this corset is,” I respond, the sarcasm dripping from my voice.