CHAPTER SEVEN #2
Rather, it was; but she couldn't say as much.
She didn't want Constance thinking either that Isabel was so repelled by her that she insisted on dressing in a separate room, or that she was a weak and trembling waif that wanted coddling.
She could not have explained, really, why she had hesitated at all: it wasn't as if she suspected Constance of any nefarious designs on her person.
It was only a peculiarity that she ought to have overcome by now.
And if her touch made Isabel feel better than she ought to - well, that was her weakness, not Constance's.
It was silly to let it rule her. Before she could ruminate any further, she gave her laces a yank, nearly hard enough to rip the eyelets that held them.
"Easy," Constance said with a little laugh.
"Here, let me -" And before Isabel could stop her, or think of an excuse to stop her, she had taken hold of the laces herself and pulled them free in a few quick tugs.
It left the bodice of Isabel's dress hanging open in the front, but revealed nothing - her shift was still safely in place. Still, she felt almost naked.
"Thank you," she said through tingling lips.
Her hands were shaking; she couldn't reach up to pull the dress off, or Constance would surely notice.
Instead, she rolled her shoulders until the kirtle slid down, then shoved at it where it pooled around her hips until it finally came loose and fell to the floor.
When she stepped out of it, she was breathing hard like she'd been running.
It was not such a feat, taking a dress off; but it felt like one, especially with Constance in the room.
Constance who had not averted her eyes while Isabel squirmed and wriggled out of her clothes - and why should she have?
There was no reason for it, nothing to cause either of them shame - but simply stood there and watched and waited until Isabel stepped free of the dress, then knelt to pick it up.
"I'll leave it here," she said, as casually as if Isabel were not standing there fighting to get her breathing under control, and turned to lay it over the back of the chair sitting beside the door.
Isabel was grateful for it: it gave her a chance to press her damp palms against her thighs, breathing hard through her nose until her heartbeat slowed.
She was being ridiculous. She'd done nothing out of the ordinary.
But she couldn't decide if she was frightened or - something else.
She couldn't decide which option unsettled her more.
Leah's dress still lay on the bed. Giving herself a small shake, Isabel bent to pick it up, grateful for the bagginess and thick linen of her shift - no hint of her true shape could be seen through it, even if Constance wished to.
Whether or not she did wish to was yet another question Isabel did not wish to contemplate.
She shook the dress out, then stepped into it, pulling it up to her shoulders and easing her arms through the sleeves.
Like this, with the back laces still undone, the armscyes did seem a bit loose - but they might be tighter on Leah.
Isabel had never met the girl, so she had no notion of her shape, but she assumed Constance knew what she was doing.
Besides, they would tighten once the dress was closed.
She reached behind herself, scrabbling for the laces, but was forced to admit defeat after only a few moments: they were well and truly out of her reach.
"Here." Constance stepped around behind her and took up the laces, giving them a slight tug to tighten them.
Isabel tightened her stomach, though it wasn't really necessary: she had plenty of room to breathe.
Constance began feeding the laces through their eyelets and Isabel could feel every twitch of her fingers, every slow and careful pull of the fabric.
Constance was usually brisker than this, from what Isabel had seen; she was being careful now, mindful of Isabel's stitches.
Isabel tried to focus on that instead of the feeling of being touched.
She couldn't remember the last time someone had touched her back – or rather, she could, but the memories were not pleasant ones, and she'd done her best to pack them away.
Constance had no regard for how carefully Isabel had organised her past, rolling easily though memories that Isabel had consigned to darkness.
In fairness, Isabel had never told her which parts of her past were off-limits, or why.
She wondered what Constance would say if she did, then recoiled from the thought immediately.
She'd also been talking all the time Isabel was woolgathering.
Isabel tried to focus, and her voice faded back into her consciousness "- dressed by my sister, when Peter and I were wed – the dress was his design, he did all the work on it.
Drove Matilda mad – she said it wasn't right for a man to make his wife's wedding dress, but I never saw the trouble with it.
I knew he was a tailor when I said yes to him.
" She gave the laces a final tug, then tucked the ends under the neck of the gown – her fingers brushed the spot between Isabel's shoulder blades, and she shivered - and stepped back.
Isabel hadn't realized how warming her nearness was until she was gone and the cold was wrapping its tendrils around her again. "How's that?"
Isabel gave herself a small shake, rolling her shoulders and bending her elbows.
Each movement was easy, the fabric moving with her instead of straining.
The armscyes, she noted, had also tightened, though there was still a gap in the area between the sleeves and the bodice.
They'd have to adjust that. "Good. Comfortable. "
"Good." She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Constance give a satisfied nod.
"We'll need to try it on Leah, of course – the two of you aren't quite twins, though I doubt it'll be too tight on her.
" She reached out and smoothed down the fabric of the shoulder.
"You've more of a bust than she does, though I suppose that's natural enough. She's still a girl."
"And she hasn't had children yet," Isabel murmured, trying not to lean into Constance's hand on her shoulder. She had left it sitting there, casual as you please, as though she'd forgotten it entirely. Perhaps she had. Touch seemed to come so easily to her. "She'll grow when she does."
"Mmm," Constance said. "Could be, though it never happened for Matilda. Everything she gained while she was carrying went to her hips and stayed there. She was quite pleased about it." She moved her hand, finally – back to the lacings. "Shall I undo these?"
"Might as well," Isabel said, and Constance got to work.
She was still slow, every action deliberate – and it was worse now, because she was going down instead of up, and each time she pulled the laces through another eyelet, her fingers brushed against the thin linen of Isabel's shift.
Now that she was close again, Isabel was warm – more than warm, in fact.
She felt as though she were standing with her back to the kitchen fire, hot enough to singe.
Every touch of Constance's fingers seemed to send sparks running up and down her spine, around to her ribcage and into her stomach.
The room felt close, airless. Isabel opened her mouth to try and gulp down a breath, but all she actually managed to do was make a humiliating sort of squeaking sound.
She was trembling and she knew it, but she couldn't seem to stop.
"Isabel?" Constance paused with her hands halfway down Isabel's back. It was not helping. Nor did it help when she took a hand and placed it back on Isabel's shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"I –" The words wouldn't come any more than the air would. In vain, she tried to brace herself so the trembling, at least, would stop, but her body wouldn't obey her. She tried again. "I'm sorry."
"You needn't be." The hand on her shoulder rubbed back and forth, Constance's thumb pressing small circles into the spot just next to Isabel's neck.
That only made it worse. "I used to dress women who didn't wish for Peter to see them unclothed.
Some liked it. Others didn't. It's an odd feeling, I know. "
"No, I –" This time, Isabel succeeded in drawing a breath, at least enough to speak. "I – I like it. It – it feels good."
Constance went still and silent behind her and Isabel bit down hard on her tongue – too late, since the words had already escaped her mouth.
She didn't dare turn around to see the look on Constance's face.
Constance took her hand from her shoulder, and Isabel was about to exhale – whether out of relief or disappointment, she didn't know – but then the placed it, palm-down, just below the nape of her neck, and she ceased to breathe entirely.