Free When She Was Wicked by Anne Barton

Anabelle was scrambling to think of a way to end the awkward silence when she saw Rose gesturing.
    Anabelle’s spectacles would have proved immensely helpful at this juncture. She moved closer and squinted. Lady Rose held a palm flat in front of her, formed a loose fist with her other hand, and rested it on her palm.
    “Heavens, you’re quite right,” Olivia exclaimed. “Why, I have no manners at all.” She stuck her head into the hallway, and called to a passing maid. “Judy, fetch us tea, please. And some rolls and butter.” She rejoined Anabelle and Rose. “Let’s sit and have a chat, shall we?”
    Anabelle hesitated, but Rose gently pulled her hand toward the large bench beneath the window. They settled themselves on the faded but comfortable cushion, propping pillows behind their backs. Anabelle occupied a sunny spot and savored the warmth of the rays on her neck. The nursery-turned-workroom was a marked improvement over the dark, crowded back room of Mrs. Smallwood’s shop. Also, vastly preferable to a jail cell. A chill skittered between her shoulders, a not-so-subtle reminder of why she was here.
    Anabelle cleared her throat. “I think that my first project should be finishing the two ball gowns. Together, they should take no more than three days to complete. Although, if we decide on elaborate embellishments, a fourth day might be necessary.” If she didn’t find her spectacles, it could take even longer.
    “I’m sure that’s fine,” Lady Olivia remarked in a politeif only vaguely interested manner. Lady Rose nodded her head, so Anabelle continued.
    “Thereafter, I’d like to create one dress a week for each of you. You can decide which items are most pressing, but I expect you’ll need morning dresses, walking dresses, and evening gowns. And all the garments to be worn with them, of course. Spencers, pelisses, cloaks, mantles, and chemises.” Just listing all that she needed to do was rather daunting. It was an ambitious schedule, but she was determined to keep to it so that she could complete the terms of her sentence and return home to Mama and Daphne. Just being around the Sherbourne sisters made her miss her own. “This will require you to try the garments on two or three times a week to ensure the best fit. But at the end of three months, you’ll each have ten new gowns. What do you think?”
    “Why, it sounds positively exhausting. Not the fittings—Rose and I have nothing better to do, do we, Rose? But that is an awful lot of sewing. Do you have an assistant?”
    Anabelle choked on a laugh. “No. I will be busy, but I enjoy making dresses. It’s actually… rewarding.”
    Rose leaned forward as though fascinated. Even in her half-blind state, Anabelle understood the question in her eyes.
    “A pretty dress makes a woman feel happy. I can see it in her face, and that makes
me
feel wonderful. Don’t get me wrong, the sewing is sometimes tedious—mind numbing, if you want to know the truth—but even plying a needle can be soothing—”
    “Until one’s thread gets jumbled in a disastrous knot.” Lady Olivia shuddered, as though she’d experienced her share.
    “True,” Anabelle admitted. “Knots are ghastly.” And they chuckled—even Lady Rose, in a silent sort of way.
    A tall footman appeared in the doorway, holding a beige blob which Anabelle deduced was her shabby portmanteau. “Oh,” she said, standing, “my things have arrived.”
    “Come in, Roger,” said Lady Olivia. She turned to Anabelle. “Would you like your bag in your room?”
    “I’ll take it.” She was eager to know if there was a note from Daphne.
    Roger walked in and handed her the case. She thanked him and rummaged through her bag. Three simple dresses—one of which was Daphne’s—two chemises, a corset, stockings, slippers, a hair brush and mirror… but no letter. She’d probably been too busy. Anabelle sighed.
    “Where are the rest of your things?” asked Lady Olivia.
    Anabelle flushed.