Free Must Love Breeches by Angela Quarles Page A

days, I’ve got another problem. My eyesight’s weak—I’ll need glasses soon.”
    Ada frowned. “You appear to see quite well without them.”
    Isabelle explained about contact lenses and how she could go only another week at the most without removing them.
    “You have spectacles in your eyes?”
    “Well, not in them, but on the surface, yes.”
    Ada edged closer and studied one of Isabelle’s eyes. Isabelle tried not to blink and stared straight ahead.
    “Remarkable,” her tone incredulous. “I believe I see the edge of what appears to be a clear skin over your eye. You are able to wear those and not spectacles?”
    “Yes, but not much longer. They have to be taken out regularly and cleaned, and after a while, replaced. But I don’t have any cleaning solution with me. So, I think I should get fitted for glasses—spectacles—as soon as possible.”
    “Certainly, we shall visit a spectacle seller tomorrow when we visit my modiste.”
    ‘Spectacle seller’ didn’t sound too scientific. She’d have to deal with it then.
    Back at the Somervilles’, Ada started a letter to her mother at her escritoire in the sitting room. Isabelle took a chair by the fire and tucked her feet under her. She stared into the pinkish glow of the burning coal, the volcanic smell tickling her nose. So different from a log fire—instead of crackles and pops and bright, showy flames, this was a steady glow with a rhythmic ticking noise.
    The present from Lord Montagu called to her. She bounced a leg up and down. No, she must wait. Ada hadn’t said anything.
    Ada set down her pen. “There, that should do it.” She rang for a footman to post it immediately.
    “Now, let us see what kind of coat my cousin gave you.” Ada smiled and swished to her room. She returned and placed the box in Isabelle’s lap.
    Isabelle gripped the twine and gave it a tug, anticipation coursing through her. She lifted the lid. Nestled inside lay what appeared to be a chocolate-brown cape. “Oh, it’s beautiful.” She shook it out.
    “A mantelet. Quite practical of him.”
    Isabelle fingered the light fabric. Muslin? The edges were embroidered in a floral pattern of the same color. “When would it be appropriate to wear?”
    “Any time during the day, I should think.” She slapped her thighs. “Now to get dressed for the ball.”
    “Wait,” Isabelle said, “there are other things I need to ask you about—have toothbrushes been invented yet?”
    “Indeed.” Ada left and returned with an object she placed proudly in Isabelle’s hand. “You may use my spare. We shall purchase one for you when we visit the shops. And here is some tooth powder.”
    Isabelle grasped the toothbrush and fingered the handle. An intricately carved bone handle—she peered closer—carved with an image of Poseidon? Seeing something so modern rendered in an old-style way gave her a jolt. She ran a thumb over the rough fibers. “What’s the brush part made of?”
    “Hog bristles.”
    Okay, she hadn’t heard that. She tried not to show any distaste. Hey, at least they had toothbrushes. But, apparently, no toothpaste yet. Man, she’d hated tooth powder ever since she’d run out of toothpaste and had to use her great aunt’s supply during a visit.
    She set these in her lap. “Thank you.” So many things she’d taken for granted were different. She’d already had to use a chamber pot and a clump of dry wool when she’d had to go to the bathroom. It explained the practicality of the slit in her ‘drawers.’
    Thank God she had a confidante as well as a roof over her head. So far, Mrs. Somerville had remained understanding. “Is Mrs. Somerville a widow?”
    “Oh, no. Her husband is a physician. That is the reason they live in this part of town. He is the lead doctor at Royal Hospital Chelsea, so is generally absent attending to patients. Do you like her?”
    The question caught Isabelle off guard. “Yes, she’s been open-minded about me, that’s for