This had to be real, Kendra decided, as she walked to the wardrobe. Or she was a masochist to create such a delusion.
Opening the wardrobe’s heavy doors, she scanned the numerous frothy gowns crowded inside on hooks. Odd, how something as insignificant as the absence of coat hangers could send her heart hammering again in her chest. But a memory—something she’d read or heard—surfaced on how wooden hangers hadn’t become commercialized until 1869. And wire hangers wouldn’t put in an appearance for another ninety years. If she were having a mental breakdown, would her mind be so historically accurate?
Oh, God, she didn’t know. She pulled out the first yellow dress she saw.
“I said the yellow muslin—the yellow muslin, you stupid girl!”
Keeping her temper in check with an effort, Kendra replaced the yellow gown, and skimmed through the rest of the clothes. Finding another bright yellow dress, she pulled it out. “Is this the one you want?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Naturally. What kind of lady’s maid are you? You’re not even French.” She looked at her roommate. “One would think someone as powerful as the Duke of Aldridge would hire a French lady’s maid for his guests. At the very least, a Swiss one.”
Georgette made a sound of agreement. “And I shall wear the green muslin.” While she couldn’t pull off the same imperious tone as her friend, it was close enough.
If the situation weren’t so serious or bizarre, Kendra would’ve laughed at the irony. Here she was—onetime child prodigy, the youngest agent ever to make it through Quantico—taking orders from two snobby debutantes.
The girls got out of bed and disappeared behind the privacy screen. When they emerged, Kendra had found the green dress. She waited until they discarded their nightgowns and put on their undergarments, stockings, and garters. She had to lace up both girls’ stays before helping them into their dresses. After she finished buttoning them, Sarah flounced over to sit in front of the mirrored dressing table.
“Well?” She glanced at Kendra in the mirror. “For heaven’s sake. Stop woolgathering! I need my hair put up.”
Kendra froze. Put up? What the hell did she know about being a hairdresser? Her own hair, thick and straight-as-a-pin, required very little maintenance. Before the shooting, she’d worn it in a ponytail. Afterward . . . well, she hadn’t done anything except wait for it to grow, and then have it styled by Mr. Gerry at his swanky salon in Georgetown.
“What are you waiting for, you stupid girl?”
Where are the manners in this era? Kendra wondered, jaw tightening. She went over to Sarah, and began unwrapping her hair from the rag curlers. How hard would it be to pin up a few curls, for Christ’s sake?
Forty-five minutes later, Kendra admitted to herself that she was no Mr. Gerry, and would rather face a dozen psychopaths than endure another session struggling to subdue wayward curls with only a few ribbons and old-fashioned hairpins that were little more than long, thin wires, all the while suffering verbal abuse from a girl who probably couldn’t do basic math.
Goddamn it, she cursed mentally when one more wispy strand escaped the Grecian knot she’d been attempting on Sarah.
“Lud! What kind of lady’s maid are you?” Sarah declared angrily. “If you were in my household—”
“Shut up.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. Although talking back probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, some of the tightness eased from the center of Kendra’s chest.
Sarah’s eyes bugged out of her head. “How dare you! How dare—”
“I said, shut up.” In for a penny, in for a pound, Kendra decided. “If you want to make it down in time for your breakfast, you’ll keep quiet so I can finish this. And for God’s sake, stop squirming!”
“Ouch!”
“I told you to stop squirming.”
“I—”
“There!” Kendra stabbed in the last pin and eyed the hairstyle grimly. Maybe it was a little lopsided, but if the idiot didn’t jiggle around too much, it should stay put. “I’m done!”
Sarah stood up with a swish of skirts. “You shall be done,” she promised, eyes flashing. “After I speak with the countess—”
“I told you to shut up.” She pointed the hairbrush at Georgette. “You, sit.”
Georgette stared at her wide-eyed.
“Now!”
The girl sat.
“How . . . how dare you speak to us like that!” Sarah sputtered.
Kendra ignored her as she removed Georgette’s rag curlers. “I’m out of pins so I’ll tie your hair back with a ribbon.”
“But—”
“Take it or leave it.”
“But—”
“This is outrageous!” Sarah crossed her arms, toe-tapping furiously, glaring at Kendra.
Kendra ignored her, concentrating instead on brushing out Georgette’s curls. When she snatched up a ribbon, the girl whined, “But that doesn’t even match my dress!”