The draft from the open window was much more prominent now. “This one as well then,” Mrs. Burgh noted. At that extraneous piece of commentary, she turned her attention back to the turquoise length of cloth upon which both her new mother-in-law and her husband had agreed and relinquished it into the waiting hands of one of the seamstresses. Standing in only her shift once more, she nearly dared her husband to look back. But he had crossed through the wide double doors back into his room, his mother beside him. She shivered again and stepped down from the pedestal, accepting her dressing robe from the other seamstress. She spied her daughter, perched on the round upholstered ottoman, clutching the pretty length of pink ribbon Mrs. Burgh had earlier tied in the young girl’s hair. Leona looked ready for a nap. “Are we finished?” Natasha asked the dressmaker. “Unless Lady Templeton has any more orders,”
