“Yes,” Katerina replied, shuddering at the memory of painful injuries
compressed by whalebone. “I have no need to be too fashionable. I prefer to look
modest. Clothing I can don and remove myself would be my preference.”
Mme Olivier rolled her eyes at the thought of modesty and simplicity, but made no comment, turning instead to the topic of undergarments. “How will you
support your bosom?” she demanded.
Katerina glanced down at the small swell in the front of her borrowed
chemise. “It needs very little. Perhaps some stays will suffice?”
Mme Olivier circled her and regarded the slender figure. “Yes. That will do
nicely. A few extra pleats in the skirt will create the illusion of a more generous
curve.”
And make me look like a stuffed goose, I wager. “Very well.”
Two hours later, Christopher returned for his wife. He had arranged to have Mackenzie move their meager possessions to their new home and posted an
advertisement for a cook-maid, which was scheduled to run the next day. Soon,
they would need to shop for more furniture, but today he had long since grown
tired, and he was sure Katerina felt worse. By the time he settled the bill at the
shop, their bed should be in their home and ready for a couple of newlyweds to
retire in.
He entered the shop and found his wife standing on a stool while Mme
Olivier adjusted the hem of a dress. The rich burgundy with black piping suited
her dusky coloring, and the sleeves, rather than being heavily puffed to the wrist,
were fitted to her slender arms. Undergarments, nightgowns, and more dresses in
sedate plaid and brown prints lay in a pile, ready for purchase. A glorious white
party dress draped across the arm of an assistant, ready to be fitted to Katerina's
delicate figure.
“She looks good in white,” he commented idly from the doorway of the
room.
“With her lovely coloring, she certainly does,” the modiste replied.
“Well done. I see you haven't let her economize too much.” He waved at the
pile of garments.
The proprietress gave his wife a telling glance before turning to him with a
smirk. “No, I know you are a man of excellent taste and want your wife to look
her best.”
“I do.”
“I think this is excessive,” Katerina said softly from her perch.
I knew she'd think that. “Hardly, love. I would say it's just enough.”
She pondered this in silence for a moment, and then said simply, “Thank
you.” The words were accompanied by an intense look that promised more
tangible thanks later.
“You are very welcome,” he replied, risking the wrath of the modiste to lift
