by Carol Arens
But how?
The strings had to go in the front, otherwise how was one to pull them taut?
“Count your blessings that you were born a rodent!” she called over her shoulder.
She wrapped the pesky underthing around her back. It was two inches shy of coming together over her ribs and waist! Must have been made for a child.
Cursing like a roustabout lifting a heavy load, she yanked the stubborn thing left, then right...squeezed both ends together. Blame it! She’d bet a dollar the corset wasn’t even meant to close.
A knock wrapped on the door.
“Come on in,” she growled, looking down in concentration at what she was trying to do. “I reckon you know more about this contraption than I do, Travis Murphy.”
“Mon Dieu!” a woman’s voice scolded loudly.
* * *
Ivy was wrong. He did not know all that much about ladies’ undergarments.
But he did know enough to see that she was trying to put the corset on backward. And that even cursing and glaring, she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen.
From the looks of things, he’d sure as shootin’ made the right decision in hiring a woman to help Ivy learn about dressing and manners.
“Ivy, this is Antoinette du Mer. She’s to be your instructor in...” Everything. “Dressing and...and such.”
Antoinette du Mer dropped her satchel. She clucked her tongue, making the odd noise sound reproachful.
Then she circled Ivy, her black skirt making the stiff, scratching sound that came from using excessive starch.
Madame du Mer frowned as though she were studying a specimen in a jar.
“I’m mighty grateful, ma’am.” Ivy shoved the corset at Madame du Mer. “Can’t tell heads from tails of this thing.”
All of a sudden, Madame du Mer spun about to cast Travis an incensed glare.
“Monsieur, you will take your hungry eyes off this young lady and leave the room at once!”
“No need to get riled, ma’am. Travis here is like a brother to me.” She looked at him and winked. “Besides, he’s already seen me naked. I’m a good bit more covered now than I was then.”
Like a brother? He couldn’t say why that pronouncement bothered him, but it did. Something, a feeling he should not have for Ivy, was beginning to take root in his heart.
He needed to weed it out. Ivy was never intended for him. She was meant for William English. If he did anything to interfere with that, the ranch and everyone depending upon it would be ruined.
“This is true?” Madame du Mer narrowed her eyes at him. The instructor tried to block his view of Ivy by standing in front of her with arms spread wide. The teacher was tiny, so he was able to look at Ivy, savor every pretty curve, mistake though it was.
“Yes, but it was by accident,” he declared.
“Turned out to be fair in the end,” Ivy reassured Madame du Mer who looked anything but reassured. “I got to see Travis in the naked too, and not by accident. Reckon I’ve got one up on him.”
Ivy slapped her knee and laughed. Her eyes twinkled at him, blue and pretty. It was good to know that she held the memory of their first meeting with the same fondness as he did.
“This, I will not have!” Madame picked up her satchel, looking as though she were about to storm in outrage from the room. “You assured me my student was pure.”
“Gosh almighty! I’m as virgin as the day I was born!” Ivy’s cheeks blushed pinker than the petticoats mounded on the floor.
“A word, Monsieur.” The small, dark-haired woman crooked her finger at him. He followed her to the far corner of the room.
“I have been around young ladies and their gentlemen for a very long time. I know what is in a young man’s heart. It is clear to me that you do not share Miss Magee’s feeling of sibling fondness,” she murmured, her intent dark eyes commanding his attention. “If I am to prepare her for Monsieur English, I will not have you mooning over her. This will make things difficult, you understand? I will not deceive the gentleman by giving him someone who is not pure.”
“There’s one thing you’ll learn, just as I have, ma’am. Ivy Magee is the purest soul you will ever meet.”
“Perhaps that is true.” She cast a quick glance at Ivy then back at him. “She is quite forthcoming.”
“Travis,” Ivy called from where she had gone to sit on the tall bed. Her bare feet dangled over the edge, swinging. “Learning to dress is taking a mite longer than I imagined. I’ll need something to eat before I begin gnawing on the furniture.”
Madame du Mer sighed deeply. “I will need more money. And I will sleep on a cot in front of that door. But, I will teach the child to be a woman of impeccable manners.”
Travis reckoned he saw Ivy a bit differently than Madame du Mer did.
Where she saw a child, he saw a woman. A woman whose breasts undulated beneath her chemise with the swinging of her feet.
He might never feel brotherly toward Ivy, but he would do everything in his power to try.
* * *
“The first thing an unmarried lady must learn is to never be alone in a room with a gentleman.”
Madame du Mer placed the corset at Ivy’s waist. Ah...the pesky strings went in the back! Mighty poor design in Ivy’s opinion. How was a body supposed to dress herself of a morning?
Watching the mirror, she could see her instructor pulling at the laces with single-minded purpose. If the woman tugged much harder Ivy was going to suffocate.
“And the next is, never ever, allow a man to see you naked. We must avoid such accidents at all costs, ma chère.”
All of a sudden Madame du Mer wrenched the corset strings, anchored them in a knot at the small of Ivy’s back.
She would have gasped had she enough air in her lungs. Gosh almighty! How did such slender arms as Madame’s have so much strength?
“I...can’t...breathe.” Couldn’t hardly sputter words either.
“Oh, but look at how lovely you look!” Madame clapped her hands, her smile wide and pleased looking. “Such a tiny waist. Any man would be proud.”
“Only until he sees me naked, then he’ll know the truth of what I look like. Please, let me out of this female trap!”
“When your husband sees you naked, he will not be thinking of your waist. The deception we play on les hommes is for their benefit. They do not mind in the least.”
Ivy looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her waist was unnaturally small, her face pale as cold milk...but she did look fashionable. She also looked like she was going to pass out.
“Still can’t breathe. Madame du Mer, have mercy on me.”
“You will grow accustomed to the feeling. And if you do faint on occasion, it gives the gentlemen great pleasure to come to your aid. We grant them a moment to be our heroes.”
If Ivy had ever heard of anything more foolish she could not recall it. If a woman’s self-inflicted distress caused a man’s false heroics, why was anyone pleased about it?
“That’s the most foolish thing I ever heard of,” she groaned. “Don’t care how short of breath I get, I ain’t going to faint to make some male feel good about himself.”
“After you become accustomed to breathing shallowly, we will develop your speech.”
“I’d argue ’til I’m blue, but I’m already blue.”
“This only makes you look delicate. Your husband will be pleased.”
“Devil take him if that’s what pleases him. I ain’t never been delicate and I won’t ever be.”
Madame du Mer pulled a stool before the mirror, indicated that she should sit. Blast if sitting didn’t push the little bit of air she had in her lungs clean out.
“And here, ma chère, is the secret that we women keep.” Madame took a brush to Ivy’s hai
r. With a loop here and a whirl there, somehow Ivy’s hair got piled on top of her head. Madame smiled down at it in apparent approval. At least there was something about Ivy that pleased her keeper. “We look delicate to make les hommes protect us...but in truth we are the strong ones.”
“Reckon I don’t want a man who wants me weak.”
“He will know you are not. It’s just the illusion that we cling to.”
“Madame du Mer...I don’t mind admitting that I’m right puzzled.”
“Of, course, ma chère. That is why I am here.” She squeezed Ivy’s shoulders with deceptively delicate-looking hands. “All will be well. And now you will call me by my name.”
“Miss Antoinette?”
“Oui, for some. But you, you will call me Antie.”
This was a form of endearment, Ivy was certain, but if Antie felt kindly toward her... “Set me free, Antie.”
“I will be strict...you have grown up wild as a weed. But in time you will see that what I am giving you is freedom.”
Ivy covered her face with her hands, wanting to weep but refusing to.
Antie’s starched skirt crackled when she knelt on the floor in front of the stool. She drew Ivy’s hands away from her face.
“You are strong, ma petite. This will not change. All will be well in time.”
There was a soft knock on that adjoining door to Travis’s room.
“I’ve brought breakfast,” he announced, his voice muffled by the wood.
A hope flared inside her that he would come in and rescue her. That he would rush in, sword drawn like a knight of old, and cut her out of the corset.
That was a false hope, since curse it, he was the one who had put her in it.
“You will wait. I will tell you when our lady is properly dressed.”
“Hope this dressing business doesn’t take long, Antie. I could eat a horse.” Her stomach would be growling in agreement if it had the room to. But unless she missed her guess, that hungry organ was squeezed to the size of a needle.
“In private, you may eat a horse; in public, you will eat a bird.”
“An ostrich?”
Antie pursed her lips, shook her head.
“A sparrow.”
* * *
Travis nearly dropped the breakfast tray. He was damn sure that his heart had rolled over on itself.
Ivy stood beside the window gazing out at the morning rain. In profile he saw that her lips were pursed, her brows creased in a frown, but in the forty-five minutes he had been gone fetching breakfast, she had been transformed—at least on the outside.
For as miserable as the Lucky Clover’s heir looked, Madame du Mer was beaming.
“Is she not a delight, monsieur?”
The instructor touched Ivy’s elbow, turning her from the window to face him.
No, not exactly a delight. A delightful woman would be smiling.
But she did rob him of breath. With her blond hair curled and tumbling from the crown of her head past her shoulders, she resembled a porcelain doll.
Madame touched Ivy’s waist, indicating the cinched curve, the flare of her hips under the pink skirt. Very clearly the petticoats she scorned were underneath.
No, he was wrong about the doll. With her blue eyes, pink cheeks and sunshine colored hair, she was nothing short of an angel touching her toes to earth.
“I blame you for this, Travis Murphy!” Ah! Her voice was less than angelic. “I feel like an extra pea in a pod.”
“Your sister dresses like this every day,” he answered because he didn’t know what else to say.
“No wonder she’s sickly.” Ivy charged away from the window, stabbed him in the chest with her finger. “If she’s eating sparrows, I’ll have something to say about that!”
“Eating spar—”
“We waste time!” Madame declared. “As you can see, monsieur, we have much work to do.”
“Sure do hope it involves eating,” Ivy grumbled then stalked across the room, kicking and batting her skirt aside as she passed him. “Gull-durned blasted thing.”
She thumped down in a chair, plopped her chin in her hands.
“All will be well,” Madame assured him in a whisper.
He couldn’t rightly figure out how. Seemed that taming Ivy was like taming a wildcat...and he rather liked the wild cat.
“What’s covered up under that tray?” Ivy sniffed when he set it on the table in front of her.
“Ham, fried potatoes, some fancy pastry.”
Madame du Mer set utensils beside the tray, then lifted off the napkin.
“This,” Madame instructed, “lies across your lap. When you feel the need, every second bite or so, gently dap the corners of your mouth.”
Ivy picked up the cloth, demonstrating by a light touch to one corner of her mouth.
“Lovely—perfect, ma chère! Now you may eat.”
Ivy cut a piece of the ham, her elbows pumping.
Madame’s brows plunged.
“Smells mighty fine.” Ivy jabbed the point of her knife into the piece of ham.
She nearly had it to her lips when Madame du Mer shouted.
“Non!”
“Can’t rightly eat unless I put the food in my mouth.”
“There is a proper way, and there is a heathen way.”
Ivy’s frown matched her mentor’s.
Madame eased gracefully into the chair across from Ivy. “This is the way a lady eats.”
Travis stood quietly to the side, his heart heavy. For some reason, he felt like he had captured a beautiful meadowlark and locked her in a cage.
He looked away from the glares the ladies were casting each other to stare at the rain dripping down the window.
All of a sudden he didn’t think much of himself. Ivy had been happy with her life—lovely and free of spirit. Who was he to capture her, to cage her?
No one...except a man who would do anything to protect those who depended upon him.
And to be fair, a capture was not what had happened. Ivy had made this choice of her own free will. His duty was to help her have the happy future in store for her.
Yes, and for everyone else, as well. He could not deny that part of it.
“Yes, much better,” Madame commented. “Little birdlike nibbles with the proper fork.”
He looked back. Madame du Mer was no longer frowning, but she was still not as pleased looking as she had been with the napkin dabbing.
“A nibble’s all that’s going to make it past the corset and into my belly, anyway.”
“A lady does not use the word belly, but that is a lesson for another time.”
“It seemed better than saying gut,” Ivy replied and shoved the little bite past her lips.
“Or craw,” Travis added, feeling a need to come to Ivy’s defense.
“You do not help our cause, monsieur.” After casting him a scowl, she turned her attention back to her reluctant student. “A lady does not discuss body parts in the presence of a gentleman.”
Ivy swallowed her bite of ham, dabbed the napkin to one corner of her mouth, then set it aside.
“I’m worried, Travis.” She indicated with a sweep of her hand that he should sit at the third place at the table.
“What is it?” he sat down and would have picked up Ivy’s hand but Madame would not approve.
“How am I going to learn everything? I’m bound to eat wrong, speak wrong, be a disappointment to Mr. English. Maybe even an embarrassment.”
In his opinion, William was one lucky fellow who had better appreciate the woman Ivy was.
“No, no, ma petite, this will not happen.” Madame placed a fork in Ivy’s hand, positioned it just so. “I am here.”
Ivy did kn
ow how to use a fork, he’d seen her use one, but Madame du Mer insisted on the fingers being poised just so. Even he had never noticed that there was such intricacy to proper manners.
“Très bien!” Madame touched Ivy’s shoulder. “You have done well. Monsieur will go back to his room now.”
“Monsieur would like to visit his friend.”
Madame lifted one eyebrow at him. The canny woman understood that his feelings for Ivy, while friendly, were beginning to change in a way that would not be good for anyone.
“There is much to be done. A wardrobe to be purchased, oui?”
“I reckon, but—”
“Our mademoiselle has been through much change today. She will now take off her restrictive clothing and eat the breakfast you have brought her.”
Ivy leapt from her chair and bent to hug her teacher.
“Gosh almighty, Antie! Thank you.”
“Away with you Travis Murphy. We will meet again this afternoon.”
As much as he didn’t want to go, it was the right thing to do. Ivy did need to eat.
And he should not be alone with her. He couldn’t say it didn’t rankle though.
They had spent over a week together with no one else around and it had never felt improper.
But now there was William English to be considered, and his ambition to be elected to the territorial legislature this fall. His wife would need to be of impeccable manners, virtuous in every way.
That rankled, too. Eleanor Ivy Magee was the most virtuous person he had ever met. She was generous, she laughed heartily, and had a loving spirit.
A man who wanted more was no man at all. He only hoped that English would recognize the prize he was getting.
Chapter Seven
Ivy sat on the floor, her back against the door that connected to Travis’s room with her breakfast tray on her lap.
Praise the good Lord that, with the fancy duds now heaped on the chair and not on her, she could breathe again.
“Are you in there, Travis?”
She heard the creak of bedsprings, then the tap of boots crossing the floor.
“I’m here. What are you doing?”
