The feeling was no alien.
She felt like she had returned to Widhalm Mount, in the salon, with Jeffery and his friends scrutinizing and laughing at her.
Shaking her head, Madelyn violently pushed the ill thought far from her. She was not at Widhalm Mount.
"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs Rose asked. She was inspecting yet another fabric.
Madelyn managed a smile, "I am."
Mrs Rose squeezed her hand, "It is reassuring, isn't it? To be cared for."
Madelyn paused.
The words lingered. It was.
It was a greatness to be accorded more than as a property. It was a goodness to be treated with so much fairness.
The modiste dropped to her knees, rambling now in French, then she raised her dress to circle the tape about her ankle. "Is this a scar?"
