“Take off your coat, Rachel.” Petra was wearing a dressing robe over a chemise and drawers. “Would you like a glass of sherry?” She poured a glass for herself from the decanter on the dresser.

“Perhaps after the demonstration,” Rachel said. “I am working after all, even if it’s a somewhat unorthodox fitting.”

Petra laughed a little, but it lacked conviction. Louisa arrived soon after with a portfolio under her arm. She knew Rachel from the Union and willingly accepted a glass of sherry, asking Petra quizzically, “Do I need Dutch courage?”

“No, of course not,” Petra replied, taking a gulp of her own sherry. “Guy has a sense of humor.”

* * *

Guy arrived at home just as the clock struck four. “Is Lady Ashton in her parlor, Babbit?”

“No, my lord, she asked that you join her in her dressing room,” Babbit said without expression, taking his lordship’s coat and hat.

Guy raised a quizzical eyebrow and took the stairs two at a time. He opened the door to Petra’s dressing room and stopped on the threshold. Whatever he had expected it wasn’t his wife in dishabille, and two other women, both of whom looked solemn and businesslike.

“This is a surprise,” he said. “Good afternoon, ladies. Petra?” He looked at his wife for an explanation.

“Guy, may I introduce Dr. Louisa Garrett Anderson from the Royal Free Hospital.”

“Dr. Garrett Anderson.” Guy inclined his head in a small bow. “I know of your work, and of your mother’s, of course.”

“And may I introduce Mrs. Young. She is head of the lingerie department at Marshall and Snelgrove.”

“Mrs. Young.” Guy gave her the same courteous nodding bow. His curiosity was piqued but he was beginning to get an inkling of what his determined and impetuous wife was up to.

“Sit down, Guy,” Petra said, taking his hand. “We want to show you something. Would you like a glass of sherry, or there’s whisky, if you’d prefer?” She indicated the decanters on the dresser.

“Am I going to need it?” he asked, taking a small armchair beside the dresser.

“Maybe,” Petra responded, shrugging out of her dressing gown.

Guy tapped his mouth with a fingertip as he examined his scantily clad wife. “Whisky, then.”

Petra poured a measure and gave him the glass. “Now for the demonstration.” She stood in her chemise and drawers, looking expectantly at Rachel.

Rachel fitted the long S-shaped corset to Petra’s slight frame, straightening the rigid whalebone rib cage, pulling it down over her hips before she began to lace it.