THE DEFIANT LADY Read Online Free Page A

disapproval of Ivy’s intractable iron will. “I am having an informal ball in May to introduce you both to our neighbors. It only gives us two months to make sure you are both presentable. Come June, your official debut will commence in the splendor of London. Balls, theatre, opera…”
    The Duchess rang a small brass bell to ring for tea, which was a taciturn affair much like their dinner the previous evening. Willow attempted to break the unrelenting silence a few times, but it was met with vague replies from Ivy and resentful looks from the Duchess. Willow quickly gave up and drank her tea in silence.

    ***

    The next morning after breakfast, Madame LaRue, the Duchess’s personal modiste, arrived with two assistants, plenty of measuring tape and a sketchbook. Madame LaRue was less than five feet tall and traveled with a small platform so she could measure all her customers herself. She was of an indiscriminate age, and it was unclear whether she was thirty or fifty. Her face was unlined, except for when she smiled, and then it was as if tiny spider webs had formed at the corners of her eyes. A flurry of energy, she constantly seemed to be in two places at once.
    The woman positively radiated excitement at seeing Ivy and Willow; she was overjoyed with Ivy’s coloring and Willow’s tall frame. “Two lovely sisters. You will both take London by storm!” the woman predicted.
    “I am so excited!” Willow twirled in place. “I cannot wait for our new wardrobes. I feel positively shabby!”
    It was hard for Ivy to maintain her stoicism when she saw her sister so happy. Though it would take weeks for their clothes to be completed, Willow’s pleasure was unrivaled.
    After hours of measuring, questioning and incessant chatter from Madam LaRue, Ivy fell exhaustedly into a chair. She did not think she had the stamina, or the desire to be a lady. She looked at the Duchess and said, “Please tell me I do not have to do this again for a very, very long time.”
    The Duchess’s resolute face did not change when she replied, “Not until next season.”
    Ivy was unable to stifle a groan.
    Willow grinned, despite the Duchess’s reserved manner, and said, “I have never had so many beautiful things all at once.”  
    “I do believe you will enjoy London,” the Duchess remarked.
    “It sounds wonderful,” Willow admitted. “Though I doubt Ivy shares my sentiments.”
    “Though Ivy is stunning, she reminds me of a newborn colt. It will be interesting to see if she will find her way, or fall at the first sign of difficulty.” The Duchess spoke of Ivy like she had already vacated the room.
    Willow looked at the Duchess in surprise. “You think Ivy is stunning?
    “She also compared me to a horse,” Ivy said dryly.
    Stifling a gurgle of laughter, Willow said, “Ivy would prefer the country to the city. She has more use for a well-crafted fishing rod than ball gowns,” Willow teased. The moment she realized what she said, she closed her mouth and sent an apologetic look to her sister.
    The Duchess’s mouth formed into a tight line of disdain. “You fish ?”
    Ivy was used to scrutiny. In ballet lessons, eyes were always on her. Every step she took had to be precise, her body in perfect form. Any mistake would be pointed out immediately and without hesitation. After Ivy became used to that type of close examination, she knew how to perform under pressure. She employed that skill now, glad that some part of her past could be of use in this new, strange life.
    “I used to fish, Your Grace,” Ivy lied. “When I was younger. I do not anymore.”
    The Duchess’s eyes raked over Ivy, searching for the truth. “Fishing is not ladylike. You will put your mind to learning other more useful skills now, and eventually you will have something to offer a husband.”
    “Fan waving and polite conversation? Will that prove my value?” Ivy shot out sarcastically, unable to keep silent. In France, men loved women of witty