Mistress Suffragette by Diana Forbes

Author:Diana Forbes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penmore Press LLC
Published: 2017-03-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The Magic of Bloomers

Friday, July 7, 1893

The morning sun streamed through the parlor windows, but I did not care to rise. Shame ripped through my body. Blood pulsed through my temples. How could I have developed feelings for a man who would never be mine—yet again? I burrowed under the blanket on the couch wishing I could become invisible for a while, or perhaps for eternity.

I sidled into the airless water closet across the hallway, holding my breath so that I wouldn’t take in its smell. I rapidly brushed my teeth with one of the new fancy tooth powders from Chicago. I passed a wet cloth over my face, then glanced in the mirror with the tarnished frame. My hair resembled red hay. Gray eyes blinked back tears. Dashing back across the dark hall and into my bedchamber, I yanked open the door of the mirrored wooden cabinet. I spotted Verdana’s bright purple bloomers peeking out from one of the drawers. I snatched the silken trousers and put them on.

There was something about the ridiculous pants that made me want to swagger like a man. They made me feel free and powerful. I tromped out to the parlor. The trousers looked awful but felt liberating. This was how men felt every day—like they owned the world.

“You can’t wear those,” Stone said, suddenly entering the parlor from the kitchen. Who was he to declare what I could and couldn’t wear? Then he smiled, and a light seemed to enchant his face. Men who wanted to do nothing but paint should not possess such criminally nice smiles. It was most unfair to the female population.

“I’m off to Verdana’s,” I said, avoiding eye contact.

He reached out for my arm. I jerked it out of his reach. “Please don’t go,” he coaxed. “I must talk to you. I thought we’d take a carriage and head over to a different part of town.” He inclined his head toward Lucinda’s room where we heard no noise of any kind.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at his face. The scars along his crown didn’t look like they required further medicine. “You should return to New York without delay.”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to discuss.”

I stamped my foot against the cheap, wobbly floor. “Art’s your only mistress. You need to get back to her. She’s getting lonely.”

He threw me a sorrowful expression that begged forgiveness. “Come,” he said, latching onto my arm. “Let’s take a ride around the city. I’ll explain all.”

I shook his arm off again. “I’m sorry, but this request of yours is completely—”

“Of course Penelope will accompany you!” Mother bellowed from the kitchen.

I hadn’t realized she was in the flat, but there she was. Dressed like a large yellow hen, her trademark blonde chignon in place, she emerged with a sense of purpose. Powdered and rouged, she looked ready to ride with the son-in-law that would never be hers.

“Mother, why don’t you go instead?” I would not let her push me into this.

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