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“Sometimes men are such fools. They don’t really know what they want. All he required was a little nudge in the right direction,” said Indy confidingly. “In Mr. Shakespeare’s time, the men dressed as ladies to perform the plays. I merely reversed the roles. I played the Petruchio to his Kate and forced his hand. If there’s a gentleman you want to bring up to scratch, I advise you to purchase a blade and learn how to use it.”
Lady Susan, with ginger-colored hair and pale eyebrows, tilted her head to the side, like a bird. “Oh, I don’t know if I could do that. It’s terribly shocking.”
“Time waits for no woman,” said Indy. “Grab destiny as though you want it. That’s my motto.”
“I simply couldn’t,” repeated Lady Susan.
Indy held out the hilt of her knife. “Here, take it. See how it feels in your hand.”
Lady Susan accepted the knife gingerly. “It looks wickedly sharp.”
“I have many daggers, but this one is from Norway. The handle is made of polished birch and the blade from steel. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Lady Susan handed back the knife. “Ah, yes. Very beautiful.” Her expression said the exact opposite.
“Speaking of beautiful,” said Lucy brightly, “we want details about your wedding gown.”
“We heard from Mrs. Featherstone that you are to be wed in cascading layers of canary yellow frills from your neck to your toes.”
Indy sheathed her knife. She eyed the exit. If she made a run for it, the young ladies wouldn’t be able to catch her. She was wearing boots and they were wearing silk slippers.
Miss Lydia glanced at her friends. Lucy nodded at her encouragingly. “I wish to... that is... are you quite certain such a gown will be the most becoming for your figure and complexion?”
The girls crowded closer, cutting off her access to the exit. “I’m quite attached to my pineapple dress,” Indy said firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“We know everything,” said Lucy. “The pineapple dress, the duke’s pink silk doublet, the champagne fountain.”
“The swans.” Miss Lydia sighed, clasping her hands. “They mate for life. It’s so romantic.”
“I daresay so many swans might produce some ratherunfortunateconsequences upon the lawn,” drawled Miss Francoise in her charming French accent.
“Hush, Fran,” said Lucy with a frown. “There will be footmen following after the swans to control any... situations.
“Your attendants must wear pale yellow,” said Miss Lydia.
“No, they must wear pink,” said Lady Susan.
“You must carry orange blossoms,” said Lucy.
“She must carry rosebuds,” disagreed Miss Lydia.
What was it about young ladies and weddings? Their eyes shone with a nearly fanatical fervor.
“I was thinking of carrying flowering thistles,” said Indy. “The flowers will match my eyes.”
Lucy’s brows knit. “Thistles? Aren’t they rather... prickly?”
“I’m quite prickly, so they’ll be appropriate. Or I could carry an arrangement of artichokes.”
That silenced them. They all looked aghast.
“Artichokes? They eat them quite often in France, you know,” said Lady Susan. “Steamed and dipped in a melted butter. They’re delicious, but as a wedding bouquet? No, no, it won’t do at all.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have a nice bouquet of rosebuds?” asked Miss Lydia hopefully.
“Let her carry artichokes if she wants to,” said Miss Francoise. “And wear her pineapple gown. I for one think it will be quite charming.”
“About the gown...” said Lucy. “We had thought you might wish to see these fashion plates fromla Galerie des Modes.” She caught Indy’s hand and pulled her toward a round table that stood near the gleaming pianoforte in one corner of the music room.
