fall to the ground. The undershirt followed, allowing her breasts to bobble free. They were larger than Irene’s, she noted with a flicker of vindictive glee. The older women who talked about thinness clearly hadn't realised just how much men enjoyed large breasts, although that was wanton behaviour and not ladylike. She hesitated before removing her drawers, but Irene was relentless. Slowly, she pushed the underclothes down to her feet and stepped out of them, leaving her clothes on the floor. She found it hard to repress a giggle. She was naked!
Irene studied her carefully, her eyes examining every trace of Raechel’s body. Raechel looked back, noting with some amusement that Irene shaved everywhere. It was a sign of wanton behaviour, she recalled being told by one of the maids. Only lower-class women shaved everywhere. And yet, she’d considered doing it for herself in pursuit of pleasure. If she hadn't been sure the maids would have told her aunt ...
“Men like it that way,” Irene said, shortly.
Raechel coloured, again. “Stop reading my mind.”
“ Learn how to keep me out,” Irene repeated. “You think I’m the only mind-reader you’re likely to encounter?”
“ No,” Raechel said. Gwen had been worried about a French Talker, hadn't she? “But it’s hard ...”
“ Try being an opera singer sometime,” Irene said. “You’ll find it much harder than you think.”
“ I can't sing to save my life,” Raechel said. Was Irene an opera singer? It would make excellent cover for her activities, wouldn't it? “Do I have to learn?”
“ If you have the talent, you might as well make use of it,” Irene pointed out. She reached out and poked at Raechel’s arms, then gently turned her around. “Do you know how to fire a gun? Fight to defend yourself?”
Raechel snorted. “I fought in Russia,” she said, “but no one ever taught me how to fight.”
“ I will,” Irene said. “Come with me.”
She turned and walked out of the door. Raechel followed, feeling cool air drifting against her naked skin. Downwards, deeper into the house, a man was standing, watching both women with cold eyes. Raechel yelped and covered herself hastily, stumbling backwards in shock and horror. No man had entered her bedchamber, not even her father or the butler. The thought of them seeing her naked ...
“ Come on,” Irene said. She seemed unbothered by the man’s presence. “And keep your hands by your side.”
Raechel glared at her, seriously considering simply recovering her dress and running for her life. To expose herself so blatantly to a man’s gaze ... it just wasn't done. And yet, Irene seemed completely unconcerned. Had she exposed herself - or worse - in the course of her duties? She might well have done ...
Stubbornly, Raechel forced her legs to move and follow Irene down the corridor, even though the man was staring at her. Irene gave her a mischievous smile as they reached another door, then led the way inside. Raechel sagged in relief as soon as the door was closed behind her. She was shaking, either in embarrassment or rage. Angrily, she banished the feeling and looked around. The room was crammed with wardrobes, just like the ones she used at home.
“ You’ll go through worse,” Irene said, bluntly. “Trust me on this. The sooner you abandon society’s conventions, the better.”
“ Oh,” Raechel said. She found it hard not to snap at the older woman. “And have you done that yourself?”
“ The rules are different, depending on where you go and what role you play,” Irene said, wryly. Her lips crinkled with amusement. “A French noblewoman, for example, has far more freedom than a British noblewoman. She will often have affairs with other noblemen, although she will be careful not to fall pregnant. Her husband, of course, will feel the same way. But a British noblewoman who is caught having an affair will be disgraced and banished to the country, if she’s lucky.