Morgan’s knock was as brisk as her manner. “I’ve come with some gowns.” She strode into Ellery’s chamber dressed in a skirt slit for riding, leather breeches, tall riding boots beneath. A short military-cut jacket fit snugly across shoulders wider than normal for her slender frame. Her fiery copper hair hung gorgeously roped and braided, an odd feminine vanity in someone that seemed immune to all other female conceits. She tossed the clothing across the bed. “Not many, mind you. I’m not a follower of Ackermann’s, but they should fit you well enough.” “It’s lovely.” Ellery held up a gown of soft forest green, trimmed in ermine with a wrap to match, noting the frosty look that passed across Morgan’s face like a shadow. “The others are more day to day. Except for the silk.” The frost turned diamond-hard, and her mouth thinned to an angry line. “They’re all perfect.” Ellery wondered at Morgan’s reaction, but didn’t ask. In her life, she’d learned not to bother others with her problems, and they wouldn’t bother her.
