‘Aren’t they a little revealing?’
‘These are the latest styles, my lady. Let me show you.’ She gestured for the younger woman to come closer. ‘Notice the wider sleeves. They allow the colour of the chemise to show to advantage. The bodice fits close to the body.’ She let her gaze rest on her client a moment. ‘A figure like yours should also be shown off to best advantage, my lady.’
Ashlynn wondered what on earth Iain was going to say about that. The proposed style was so far removed from the modest drape of a Saxon gown that it was vaguely shocking, but the woman in her found it hard to resist. The thought occurred that such a fashion might also be pleasing to a man, if for rather different reasons. Would it please Iain? Would he truly see her then? With almost uncanny prescience Madame interjected.
‘My lord was most insistent on this point.’
‘He was?’
‘Oh, yes, my lady. Gowns in the French style. Those were his instructions.’
Ashlynn made no more demur. There was little time to dwell on the matter because the seamstress’s assistants wanted to measure her feet. Having done so, they traced out the size on soft leather prior to cutting out shoes which would later be sewn to fit her.
‘It will take a few days to complete the work,’ said Madame, ‘but I hope it will meet with my lady’s approval.’
Ashlynn was quite sure of that. She could hardly wait to see the results. Iain’s face imposed itself on her mind. Would her choice meet with his approval? She hoped so. He had made her a most generous gift and one she had certainly not been expecting. It behoved her to thank him at least.
* * *
When the session ended she sought him out and found him in the hall.
Iain heard her in silence and then replied, ‘As the wife of a laird it is fitting that you should dress as one. Do not feel obliged to thank me.’
‘I did not thank you from a sense of obligation, my lord, but because I meant it.’
There followed another short silence before he inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Then I accept your thanks in the spirit they were meant.’
After he had left Ashlynn took herself off to the roof terrace needing space to try and order the riot of her thoughts. She was tempted to pinch herself to find out if she woke or slept. It would not have surprised her in the least to discover the last couple of hours had been a dream. Never in a thousand years would she have expected him to think of this, but she was woman enough to appreciate it and to look forward to seeing the finished gowns. It would be good to wear truly flattering feminine garments again. Would he find her attractive then? She glanced down at the homespun dress and sighed. He obviously considered her a perfect fright at present. Almost at once she was ashamed of the notion; she ought to be beyond this sort of foolishness. They would have company over Yuletide and he wished her to look the part she played, that was all. Had he not made it clear enough? She could have no hopes of him.
Quite deliberately she turned her mind away from Iain to the matter of Yule. If they were to have a feast then arrangements needed to be made for that and for the guests. Rooms must be cleaned and beds prepared. Then there was the hall. The very thought of it was enough to bring a grimace to the face. After years of neglect and solely masculine influence it was more like a temple to barbarism than the heart of the house. However, that was about to change. Ashlynn lifted her chin. Like it or not, she was mistress here now. Had she not been told to arrange matters as she pleased? Having made up her mind she returned within doors and summoned Morag.
‘Gather all the household servants in the hall. I want to talk to them.’
* * *
Some time later a disgruntled steward waylaid Iain below stairs with a string of queries. Did his lordship really mean for the hall trestles to be taken down and scrubbed? Was the straw to be changed when it had barely been down six months, and the floor swept at that time too? Since when had dust and cobwebs ever hurt anyone? Had his lordship really intended that the majority of the servants should be taken from their regular duties to carry out such work, or that two of them should go out for a whole morning to collect greenery and leave him, Davy Kerr, shorthanded as a result?
Iain listened with concealed surprise but said nothing at first, waiting till the man ran out of breath.
‘Who ordered this?’ he asked then.
‘Lady Ashlynn, my lord.’
‘Did she so?’
Davy Kerr’s pigeon breast swelled with virtuous indignation. ‘Aye, my lord.’
Iain eyed him steadily. ‘Then you’d best get to it, man.’
For a moment the steward could only stare at him in disbelief. ‘Beg pardon, my lord?’