Alone in her room, Charlotte finished rubbing herself with cream, faintly scented with orange blossoms, and paused in front of the mirror. For some reason, ever since she woke up this morning her belly felt fiery. Even the sight of her own curvaceous self—the body she had lived with for twenty years!—seemed exotic, exciting. She tried to look at herself as a man might, but gave up. She’d lost some weight recently, but oddly enough her breasts seemed to have grown larger. When she looked at the tender weight of her breasts, all she saw was a honey-colored male hand curving around them…. Charlotte shivered all over, and turned away from the mirror.

She managed to dress herself almost completely before sitting down and waiting impatiently for Marie to return. What on earth could be taking her so long? Finally she pulled her bell cord, and downstairs Marie gasped and pulled away from Cecil’s chest.

“Go, go!” she said quickly, her French accent intensified by excitement. Lady Sophie lived only a few streets away, so he could be there and back in a flash. Marie dashed up the servants’ stairs and slowed to a walk just outside Charlotte’s door, quietly slipping inside.

“I am sorry, my lady,” she said, beginning to fasten the small buttons that made the gray suit so form-fitting.

Her mistress was sitting in front of her dressing mirror, absentmindedly staring at herself.

“That’s all right, Marie,” she said.

Marie smiled a bit. She was very lucky and she knew it. Charlotte was never bad-tempered, and even when she was irritable she rarely snapped at Marie. Whereas Marie had a friend working for a certain young lady who had not received an offer so far this season, and she regularly had to dodge hairbrushes and combs, and recently her mistress had even thrown a jar of face powder at her!

There was a discreet knock and Marie stopped brushing Charlotte’s hair and opened the door, just a crack. It was Cecil, looking very formal.

“Lady Sophie York would be pleased to join Lady Charlotte in approximately one hour,” he said, rather loudly. Then he whispered wickedly, “And Mr. Cecil would like to take a certain French miss into the laundry closet for a ride!”

Marie rolled her eyes indignantly, shutting the door.

Charlotte was looking rather amused, for some reason. She couldn’t have heard Cecil, Marie reassured herself.

“Lady Sophie will ride in an hour, my lady,” she said.

“Hmmm … was that Cecil?”

Marie’s hands got even busier, arranging and rearranging Charlotte’s soft curls.

“Yes, my lady.”

“He’s quite handsome, isn’t he, Marie?” Charlotte asked mischievously, picturing the fair-haired man who often accompanied her on rides in Hyde Park.

“I don’t know,” her maid said hurriedly.

“He’s very English-looking,” Charlotte persisted.

“There! You look lovely, my lady. Ravissante” Marie said.