“Two is better. Good for you, Fen.” Pat realised she’d reached for her hand. Fen’s fingers curled responsively round hers. “Jolly good for you. I think you’re absolutely right. There’s not the slightest need for you to rush into marriage. You’re far too wonderful to need anyone else telling you how you ought to go on.” Fen’s smile at that was dazzling. Pat made herself say, “And—and of course it’ll be much easier, once you’re sure what you really want, to find a husband who’ll suit you and listen to you, and—”

“Oh, to hell with husbands,” Fen said, and pulled her forward. Her mouth met Pat’s, as warm and real as the night before but tasting of beer with a tang of mustard rather than brandy. She wriggled into Pat’s arms, and Pat’s hands were in her hair, and they kissed with open-mouthed wonder, because Fen was free and wanted to be here with Pat, and it was all right. It was all wonderfully, marvellously all right.

Pat could have shouted. Instead she slid a hand up, cupping the edge of Fen’s breast, and felt her whimper. Fen’s hands were on her now, sliding over what was by comparison a deeply inadequate bosom, but which still did the job because they both quivered at the touch. They were kissing wildly. Fen strained forwards into Pat’s grip, and pulled back again with a mumble of annoyance. “Sitting on this miserable dress.” She tugged at fabric to no avail.

“Take it off,” Pat said, and clapped her hand to her mouth as Fen’s eyes widened. “I meant, take it out. From under you. I really did mean that.”

“How disappointing.” Fen’s eyes were sparkling bright. “Would off be bad?”

Pat reached around her, enjoying the brush of arms against bosom. In an ideal world she would have undone a couple of clasps. As it was, her questing fingers encountered what felt like infinite buttons, and she gave up. “Blast. I need to see.”

“Help me up?”

Fen stood, shaking out the sadly crumpled dress and holding up the tendrils of hair. Pat stood behind her, unfastening each in the long row of tiny buttons, one by one, exposing a V of creamy skin and then the lacing of a corset, cinching Fen’s flesh. She ran her finger along the top of it, felt Fen shiver.

The dress was unfastened. She wasn’t sure what to do—it looked expensive—but Fen pushed it down so it fell to the floor in a rustling silken heap, turned, and stepped out of it. The corset pushed up her bosom, still adorned with sparkling jewels.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to take that off too,” Pat said. It came out slightly hoarse.

“I’d love to take this off,” Fen assured her. “Turn round first, though?”