CHAPTERONE
“All right, Ladies,” Margaret Olsen, the Dowager Duchess of Braxton commanded, “On the count of three, I want you to tug as if your lives depended on it.”
“I don’t know about this, Your Grace,” Leticia demurred, glancing at her own reflection in the looking glass. She was standing opposite her Aunt Amelia Hudson, the Countess of Pearl. Both she and her aunt were holding the cords attached to the Dowager’s corset.
“Be bold, Lady Leticia,” the Dowager declared, bracing both hands on the bedpost to steady her position. Her high elegant cheekbones became even more pronounced as she clenched her teeth together and murmured, “You must do this.”
“I am not sure it is necessary,” Leticia replied, glancing over her shoulder at the gown that lay carefully spread across the bed. It was made of a soft, shimmering pink fabric that would highlight the brightness in the Dowager’s cheeks, but as it was made in the currently fashionable style, the gown would cinch right underneath the bosom and fall into a long column shape toward the ground. “I don’t think anyone will even be able to see your womanly form as it will be hidden underneath the dress.”
The Dowager rolled her eyes heavenward and gave Leticia an agonized look in the mirror. “Just do it, Girl.”
“But…” Leticia said slowly, stalling for time the best she could, “why don’t we ring the bell for your lady’s maid…Mrs. Hubbard? She’s probably much better at this than Aunt Amelia and me.”
“We could wait for Mrs. Hubbard,” the Dowager said with an almost mischievous gleam in her light-blue eyes, “but if we delay much longer, I won’t make it in time for the festivities today.”
Leticia snorted. “A whole weekend of festivities awaits. I can’t see how being late for one of the events will make any real difference.”
“Leticia,” Aunt Amelia scolded lightly, “try to be helpful, please. Her Grace needs our help. It is our duty to assist the Mother of the Groom in any way possible.”
“But to what lengths? Must we crack one of her ribs?” Leticia groaned, thinking of how, with the pair of them tugging on the stays, this situation could end very badly.
“Nonsense,” the Dowager replied haughtily. “I trust you both to do this. And furthermore, I am a Braxton…we never show weakness.”
A small laugh flew out of Leticia’s mouth before she could catch herself. “Well…yes,” she giggled. “I suppose you are a rather stalwart bunch.” She thought fleetingly of Richard, the Dowager’s son, who was set to be married in just three days’ time. She’d known Richard since her earliest days when she was still in leading strings, and she was forced to chase him and her older cousin, Harry, around the Estate. It seemed odd that someone so proper and austere as Richard, the Duke of Braxton, had made a match with the young and vivacious Miss Laura Loery. But who was Leticia to know one love affair from the next? She’d never even had a beau of her own, and if she was permitted to live as she chose, she wouldn’t become any man’s wife or property—ever.
“Indeed,” the Dowager said, giving her hips and shoulders a little shimmy. “Now, pick up that cord, dear girl. Amelia, use all your strength, and here we go…one…two—”
Aunt Amelia gave a mighty grunt and even though Leticia had been planning to take it easy on the Dowager, she also gave a forceful pull, not wanting the corset to sit lopsided. The Dowager gasped, and as she did, balloon-like, both breasts lifted and sat heavily, just as she’d intended. Leticia eyed the effects of their efforts in the mirror.
Perhaps, Her Grace is overdoing it.
She looked more like one of the young ladies already wandering about the grounds, seeking out their own future husbands, rather than the sixty-year-old Mother of the Groom. But Leticia held her tongue. It was not her place to say such things to the Dowager, and even though she knew Richard and his mother well, it still felt unacceptable to mention her thoughts on the matter.
“Oof,” the Dowager said, clutching at her slim waistline and turning so that she could inspect her trim new features in the mirror. “What do you think, Lady Pearl?”
“You don’t want to know,” Aunt Amelia retorted, and that made a sharp laugh once more burst from Leticia’s lips.
“What?” the Dowager asked, turning at sharp angles, still eyeing her figure in the looking glass. “Do you think it’s too much?”
“Too much with an extra heaping dose of superfluous, ladled on top.” Aunt Amelia shot Leticia a wink, and the two shared a giggle together.
“Fine,” the Dowager sighed dramatically. “Let’s relax the stays a bit.”
“Yes,” Aunt Amelia said casually, “it wouldn’t do for the Mother of the Groom to pass out during the fun and games this afternoon.”
“Nor should she upstage the bride-to-be,” Leticia added under her breath. But when she looked up, she saw identical intrigued expressions on the faces of the Dowager and her aunt, so she knew that she’d spoken her thoughts just a little too loudly.
“Absolutely not,” the Dowager said, running a hand once more, rather wistfully, down her trim mid-section. “You’ll see when it’s your turn to wed, Lady Leticia. All brides wish to be the center-of-attention on their wedding day.”
“But it’s not Miss Loery’s wedding day today,” Leticia pointed out then she cringed.
I must learn to control myself. Not every thought that pops to mind needs to be shared with the whole room.
In the looking glass, the Dowager arched her slim black eyebrow carefully. “While it’s not Miss Loery’s wedding day, she is still the bride-to-be, so we must do everything we can to accommodate her and make her feel special this weekend.”
“I am not sure she even needs it. She was already the Diamond of the Season.” This time, after sharing this utterance, Leticia turned away from the two women.
“Yes,” the Dowager said, now holding still while Aunt Amelia began undoing the top cords on the corset. “We were all very pleased when Richard made a match with the Diamond, but don’t worry, Lady Leticia. You are a great beauty yourself, and soon, you’ll also find your husband.”