The dainty-heeled slippers might be fashionable, but even though she’d worn them only to walk about the house Ruby knew she had the beginnings of blisters on her stinging toes. Placing her cup of tea down, she eased herself onto the chaise longue and slid her feet from the shoes. Deep purple satin with tiny red heels, they really were quite pretty—but definitely not designed for walking. She kicked them beneath the chaise, wishing that they’d vanish. Unfortunately she had only about another two hours before her patrons began to arrive and then appearance became all. Reaching up, she scratched her head beneath the heavy curls of the red wig. Even now, hours before she could expect to be seen, she kept it firmly in place. Madame Rouge must always be perfect. Nobody could ever know the truth about her. And if that meant shoes that pinched her toes and wigs that scratched her scalp then she would wear them and smile. But not now—now was for her. A cup of tea. A romantic novel. A comfortable seat.
