Free Jane Feather by Engagement at Beaufort Hall Page B

Esther set down her coffee cup. “Let’s make our escape before they remember our existence and their manners and come hotfoot.”
    They abandoned the coffee tray and headed up the stairs. At the head of the horseshoe staircase Esther took Imogen’s hands. “Are you really all right with Charles living next door?”
    Imogen held her sister’s hands for a moment and then shrugged with a tiny grimace. “I have to be, Essie. It’s what’s happened, and I can only deal with it with as much grace as I can muster. I just wonder why he decided to come down here. There have to be other country houses for sale.” She shrugged. “Anyway, he’s not going to be here that often—he’s far too busy with his law practice—and once we return to town, we’re bound to run into each other. I don’t intend to cause any embarrassing scenes, I promise you.”
    “As if you ever would,” Esther stated. “You have never embarrassed anyone in public. What you do in private, of course, is neither here nor there.” She hugged her sister tightly. “Good night, love. Sleep well.”
    “You too, Essie.” The two parted ways and Imogen closed the door of her bedroom with a small sigh of pleasure. The peace and quiet of her own room, with the gas lamps flaring and the fire crackling, the coverlet turned down on the deep feather bed, hot water steaming on the dresser, were all anyone could wish for on a freezing February night.
    Daisy tapped on the door and came in on Imogen’s invitation. “Should I help you to bed, Miss Imogen?”
    “Just unlace me, please. I can manage the rest.”
    Daisy unbuttoned, unhooked, and unlaced the evening gown of sky-blue silk and Imogen heaved a sigh of relief as the constriction of the whalebone corset was loosened. “Instruments of torture,” she declared. “Why do we allow ourselves to be bullied into the things?” She held up the undergarment with an expression of disgust. “Men decree we should have a certain kind of shape, and we allow ourselves to be pushed and prodded into that form. It’s quite ridiculous and I’ve a good mind to stop wearing corsets altogether.”
    “Oh, Miss Imogen, you couldn’t,” Daisy exclaimed with a horrified gasp. “Why, nothing would fit into the dress in the right place.” She gestured to Imogen’s small bosom, which the corset had ensured was both separated and uplifted, revealing a cleavage that was far from natural. “And you’d have no hips to speak of neither.”
    Imogen poked at the padding at the hipline of the long corset. “Well, why should I pretend to have something that I haven’t?” she asked reasonably, and then went into a peal of laughter at Daisy’s shocked expression. “Trust me, Daisy, the day is coming when women will rebel against these man-made ideals of perfect form. We shall stride the earth in divided skirts, with natural waists and breasts and hips, and not give a tinker’s dam.”
    Daisy looked as if she thought her mistress was run mad. She gathered up the despised undergarment and folded it into the armoire. Imogen sat down on the dresser stool to unroll her stockings. In truth, she knew that she and her sister were lucky in that neither of their parents had permitted them to wear the steel-boned corsets that were considered fashionable but were frowned upon by the medical profession. Whalebone was bad enough, but the steel rods must be agonizing, she reflected, reaching up to unpin her hair.
    Daisy picked up the brush and began to draw it through the shiny mass that fell almost to Imogen’s waist. After a few minutes, however, Imogen said, “Oh, that will do for tonight, Daisy. I don’t think I have the patience for the full hundred strokes. We’ll do double tomorrow. You go to bed.”
    “Well, if you’re sure, Miss Imogen.” Daisy proffered a white lace nightgown but Imogen shook her head.
    “I’ll sit up by the fire for awhile. I’ve some reading I’d like to do.” She stood up in her chemise and