Transmuted by Cooper Karina

Author:Cooper, Karina [Cooper, Karina]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Historical, Steampunk
ISBN: 9781426899485
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2015-01-10T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

For all I did not hide the intentions of my return to Society’s gilded halls, Fanny’ s excitement could not be dimmed. Once she had assured herself of my well-being, touching her cheek to mine to ascertain that the redness of my face stemmed from high dudgeon and not fever, she settled to the formidable organization she was so skilled at.

With her assistance, I made for Ashmore a list —items, apparel and other such accoutrements I would need in order to ensure my return to Society went as smoothly as possible.

I did not have the heart to remind Fanny that it was a temporary position. That she did not speak of returning to live above the drift told me that she suspected. For this moment in time, as she mended a pair of Levi’s worn trousers and I drafted for her, we were of one accord.

“Mourning dress,” Fanny added after I’d made notes of the various day to day items I’d need. “You won’t need more than two, as the accessories and crape will provide alterations of form.” She peered at me over her mending. “The fashions have changed so quickly, we couldn’t possibly alter one of your old gowns.”

I winced at this, easing the nib from the parchment I wrote upon. “I only need one, and there’s no need to have it tailored for me.” Fanny looked so aghast at this that I amended myself to a mild, “I’m sure I’ll find a readymade that I can have altered.”

A sniff was my only answer.

Muting a smile, I dutifully wrote a reminder to ensure I had enough alterations of skirts, jackets and black-trimmed petticoats to suit the demands of mourning. We had not the time to have one made for me, truthfully.

Because of my efforts to please Fanny, I did know rather more of the rapidly altering lines of fashion than I pretended. The current favorite was heavily inspired by couture—thanks in no small part to the House of Worth. Corsetry was much firmer than it had been, so severe that I likened it rather more to armor than support. The sleeves of day gowns had developed a bit of a flare, a hint of leg of mutton.

I preferred the slimmer sleeves of last year’s demand, but as with most matters of Society, what I wanted did not impress much.

That I was still less than a year into widowhood meant I would be attending no galas. The expectation was that I wear black, including the stiff, crinkled crape that signified a widow’s first year of deep mourning.

Once we’d compiled the list, Fanny set down her mending so that she could look it over. I fetched for her the slim spectacles she had taken to wearing for matters of reading. Tipping her head back, she scrutinized my careful script, mouth drawn down in deep concentration.

“Very good,” she said after a moment. She did not ask me how much Ashmore was willing to spend on such matters. While I had not

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