Perfect in My Sight by Tanya Anne Crosby Page B

“Battle-ax?”
    “So they say. It seems she rules the nest here, and Peter Holland either does not
     seem to care or is afraid of her as well.”
    “Afraid!” Sarah exclaimed. “Peter Holland? One look at that man tells me he is afraid
     of nothing.”
    “I rather thought so as well,” Mel agreed. “And yet... I am only telling you what
     I have gleaned thus far. Most of the servants here seem quite closemouthed, but for
     a few.”
    “How did they welcome you?” Sarah asked with genuine concern.
    “Most of them not at all, to tell you the truth. They are all quite self-involved,
     I think. Not overly friendly, but neither are they cold. As best as I can tell, this
     is not some medieval household where they are forced into familiarity by necessity.
     But for a few, they all go home to their families at night, and mind their own affairs
     while they are here. But for a few,” she reiterated. “I did have an interesting discussion
     with the housekeeper...”
    “Well, tell me,” Sarah prompted.
    Mel smiled. “Get out of bed first. It unsettles me to see you lying there looking
     like a convalescent.”
    Sarah rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t contain her wry smile. She climbed out of
     the bed and went to the wardrobe, opening the doors.
    She’d had herself a good cry last night, and then had passed the time thinking while
     she’d unpacked. “If they ask, I shall tell them you unpacked my bags,” she said, as
     she rummaged through her dresses... all of them dark in color. She hadn’t noticed
     that detail until this moment, and had to wonder if the choices had been dictated
     by her subconscious. She had long since ceased to wear mourning, but somehow her choices
     were all somber. For today, she chose a deep burgundy wool dress and her simplest
     bustle—something she wished had never come back into style as she much ' preferred
     the long, slim lines. They had come back, however, and while she disdained having
     to follow someone else’s code of style, she wasn’t quite willing to draw the sort
     of attention she might were she to completely eschew the dictates of polite society.
    So she opted for the smallest petticoats and bustles, and cursed the man who first
     created such a ridiculous concoction of ruffles and frills.
    “Shall I help you?”
    Sarah cast Mel a wry smile. “Let us not, and say you did.”
    Mel giggled.
    Sarah glowered at her. “I am only playing a blind woman, remember? I have been dressing
     myself for years; I hardly think I need help now.”
    Mel smiled in answer, and then wrinkled her nose. “You are playing a widow, too, it
     seems, judging by your choice of dress.”
    “Well, it hardly seemed appropriate,” Sarah told her, “that I should adorn myself
     as though I could see.”
    “Is that what you think you are doing? Dressing the part of a blind woman?”
    “I suppose so,” Sarah answered, “though I hardly realized it until just now. As carefully
     as I planned, I certainly did not consciously choose.” Mel rose from the bed and came
     to help her with the petticoat. “Well, I am sorry to tell you, but that particular
     effort is wholly wasted.” She eyed Sarah with some disappointment. “The blind, as
     I’m certain you realize, do not shop to appear blind, Sarah. They hardly know what
     they are wearing. Those who are fortunate to have someone choose for them are dressed
     by silly individuals who make an exceptional effort to be certain they fit in. Those
     who are not so fortunate, well, they wear whatever is available to them, as would
     anyone else. Make an effort to note what Christopher will wear today,” she advised.
     “You will see, I’m certain he is dressed as any other little boy of his means.”
    Remembering her conversation with Peter Holland, Sarah frowned. “How silly of me,”
     she said, and was embarrassed.
    “No need to worry,” Mel reassured. “You shall simply tell them that I do your shopping
     and that I am a dour old