hin, it felt like a breath of air against her body. The silk clung to her bosom, and although it was not low cut, indeed the neckline was high, it was more daring than anything she had ever worn.
Elena helped her put on the drawers…no, they were really trousers. Wide, silken trousers like someone might wear in a harem. They hung low at her waist, leaving her stomach bare, and rested on the curve of her hips before flaring out over her thighs and calves to her ankles. It was a garment truly shocking to a woman used to five petticoats and stiffened skirts, all designed to hide her shape.
This did nothing to hide her shape. As Elena stepped away, Marietta was left facing herself in the mirror, and she was silenced. Was it really her, barefoot, her body draped in cloth as fine as web? She could see the pale shape of her legs as she moved, and most shocking of all, the dark shadow where the female hair grew between her thighs. With a gasp, she reached down to put her hand over herself, to preserve her modesty, and at the same time realized that the stretch of the cloth over her bosom exposed not only the shape and pale color of her breasts, but also the darker circles of her nipples.
“I cannot possibly wear this,” she whispered, appalled. “I may as well be naked!”
Elena put her hands on her hips and met her eyes in the mirror. “And you want to be a courtesan like your mother? I told Madame you would be too prudish. I warned her that she could not expect you to be as brave as she.” Her eyes narrowed. “Maeve! Go and fetch Madame and tell her that her daughter refuses to wear the costume I have chosen.”
Maeve, with a quick, uncomfortable glance at Marietta, rose reluctantly to her feet.
Marietta knew then that this was a test. If she did not wear the costume, if she did not cooperate, then they would dismiss her hopes and dreams as the meaningless cries of a spoiled child. She could see it in their faces.
“Very well,” she said through gritted teeth.
Elena smiled, and gestured to her assistant. The girl picked up what looked like a robe made out of the same fine, pearl-colored silk and handed it reverently to the modiste. Elena carried it forward and held it up for Marietta to slide her arms into the sleeves. This coat, she realized, was made to go over the blouse and trousers. Elena had known that all along. She had simply been waiting to see what Marietta would do.
Evidently she had passed the test.
The coat was just as thin and fine as the rest of the costume, but it prevented anyone from seeing through to her skin—just. As she walked, it drifted out behind her, so that if she wasn’t careful the unsecured front opened up, and her body was displayed for whomever was watching.
Would Max be watching? Marietta sighed. It was hardly the sort of covering she was hoping for, but it would have to do. She would just have to move very, very carefully.
“Now,” Elena said in a rallying voice. “Your hair!”
Maeve was hovering near the door. “Should I still go and fetch Madame?” she asked tentatively.
Elena frowned. “Of course not, girl. We are managing perfectly well without her.”
Maeve flashed Marietta a little smile, and returned to her chair.
The hairdresser preferred to leave Marietta’s hair down, with the front and sides drawn back with combs of a similar color to the costume. “No shoes,” Elena said, when she tentatively asked about slippers. “We will paint your toenails,” she explained, as if there was nothing outlandish in that. When they were done, she looked at herself once more in the mirror, and she was a stranger. Seductive, definitely, submissive, maybe, desirable…that was for Max to decide, if she could persuade him to stay in the room with her.
When she told them that, though, Elena smirked as if she knew better. It was Maeve who answered, “He’ll be gob-smacked,” she said bluntly.
Marietta raised an eyebrow. “Gob-smacked?”
“You’ll take his breath away,” Elena explained.
Marietta thought about that. “I can’t imagine it. He’ll probably give me one of his looks, as if he’s the duke and I’m his slave girl…What are you doing?”
This last was addressed to Elena’s assistant, who was kneeling at her feet, adjusting the hem of her trousers.
“Elena says they’re too long,” the woman said in a voice very like her mistress. “I’m to take them up an inch so that the gentleman can get a good look at your ankles.”
Marietta felt like resting her foot on the woman’s chest and giving her a hard push. She controlled herself. If Aphrodite heard she was being difficult then she might refuse to help her any more and her dreams would be quashed. So she smiled and nodded and waited passively while they finished. But in her heart she was dismayed that she had to pretend to be something other than herself.
“He will be here soon,” Maeve called out in warning, as Elena dabbed jasmine scented oil in places Marietta had never thought of. The time had flown—when Marietta glanced at the window she realized that it was growing dark.
“Am I ready?” She looked wildly around at them. Suddenly, instead of being a cross she had to bear, this little group of women had become a crutch she needed. She knew that her near-nakedness under the thin silken covering was making her feel vulnerable. Safety was in her voluminous skirts and petticoats, with the buttons to her throat, and the sleeves tight to her wrists. The stays, chemises, drawers, and sometimes, at Greentree Manor, the warm flannel against her skin, had been a form of armor.
Now, she may as well be naked, she decided miserably.
“Miss Marietta?” It was Elena, and her face was no longer unfriendly—there was even a hint of kindness in her eyes. “You can be whatever you want to be. Remember that. The choice is entirely yours.”
While Marietta was still trying to work out exactly what she meant, Maeve took her hand and led her toward the door. “It’ll be all right, you’ll see, Miss Marietta. Now come upstairs. Madame’s put you and your gentleman in the Cupid Room.” She gave Marietta a conspiratorial wink. “Just wait until you see it.”
Chapter 12