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“Are you as foolish as your mother?” Aunt Sarah asked, as the footman handed them into a gleaming white carriage.
“I don’t think so.”
“Then we shall suit each other famously. Now then.” Aunt Sarah settled back against the cushions. “You must mount that steed. Hoist that lance.”
“Er...” Was her aunt speaking of a jousting tournament?
“What we need is the proper armor.”
“Chain mail?” Alice asked helpfully.
“Chain mail? I was thinking lace... with a few wisps of silk.”
Wispy was right.
Practically nonexistent.
She might as well appear in her altogether.
Alice was blushing merely looking at the scandalous garments the ginger-haired shopgirl laid upon the counters. If one could call them garments.
Alice rather thought more fabric was required to deserve the designation.
“I could never wear something like this.” If there was even a slight draft, she’d catch pneumonia and die. “I only wear linen or flannel nightdresses, to protect against drafts.”
“Very prudent, I’m sure,” Aunt Sarah said with a twinkle in her lively brown eyes. “However, for tonight something a little less sensible and a lot more seductive is required.”
The shopgirl surveyed Alice from head to toe. “You would look well in scarlet, milady. It’d bring out the roses in your cheeks.” She held out a corset fashioned from thin red silk. “This one’s direct from Paris. We only had it in yesterday. They call it the Gay Lady.”
Alice frowned. Her garments didn’t have names.
She preferred sensible cotton, linen, or muslin, fashioned for ease of movement.
“It won’t cover very much of me,” Alice said.
“That’s the point, milady, if I may be so bold as to say so.”
“Suppose I catch a chill?”
“You won’t.” The shopgirl winked. “Not in this. You’ll have plenty of company to keep you warm, I’ll wager.”
The shopgirl and Aunt Sarah exchanged amused glances.
“See how even the lacing is the finest of silks? Have a feel, milady,” the girl urged.
Alice had never in her life pictured herself wearing something so utterly sinful, and yet... She slid her forefinger along the folds of the fabric.
Smoother than flesh.
Smoother than rose petals.
As soft as Kali’s fur after she’d grudgingly had a bath and dried herself in the sun.
A silk that made even a sensible girl think purely decadent thoughts.
The shopgirl, sensing victory, rubbed a scrap of the silk between her fingers. “Your husband will never have felt anything so soft.” She drew a pair of thin pink silk stockings from a box. “It’s to be worn with these.” Next she unwrapped scarlet and white lace garters. “And these. Trimmed with real Swiss lace, they are.”
Garments such as these could make a lady feel more confident. More in control.
