In Her Element

Almyra stood in front of the mirror, checking that every thread and every piece of hair was in place. The seamstress tugged at the laces of her corset, pulling it tight. She looked at her waist, abnormally small because of the contraption—or cage, rather—it was forced into, and imagined a pair of strong hands on it; imagined her eyes following them, then arms, eventually looking up to meet bright sapphire eyes that were sometimes gray….

A particularly vigorous yank at the back of her gown pulled her out of her reverie.

Curses, she thought, why must he invade even my private thoughts?

She stared at her reflection, her expression dark and dreary. Another tug and she jerked away from the seamstress with a shout of protest. Her companion, Miss Lisle, glanced up in surprise. She shook her head lightly, amusement plain on her face, and turned back to her book.

“If you wish to kill me, do it with the stab of a knife, not slowly cutting off all my breath!” Almyra snapped at the seamstress.

The woman looked up, shocked at her tone. She shook her head, used to the objections of her more unwilling clients, and then looked at the back of the gown.

“I cannot understand it, Miss. Every time I tighten it, it somehow gets loose again. Perhaps there is some power in your vexed mood that is playing with me.” She stole a glance at Almyra’s face before looking down again to fiddle with the corset. She finally managed to get the strings tight enough and laced up the back of the gown, arranging the neckline to perfection. “Frown lines are not pretty on the face of a girl entering society, Miss.”

Almyra stood still, chagrined as she realized that in her frustration she had been sending slivers of air to loosen the laces when they were too tight to sustain her emotion. She opened her mouth to apologize, when the door opened and Matthew walked in.

He looked at her, taking in the sight of his baby sister in her beautiful, mature gown and gave a small smile of approval before gesturing to take off the gown. He turned around to give her some privacy as she did.

When it was off, she pulled on a simple dress over her shift. The seamstress gathered her materials and walked to the door, executing a slight bob in response to Matthew’s nod.

“I’m sorry,” Almyra blurted out in the last minute. The lady smiled over her shoulder in acceptance and understanding and shut the door behind her.

“If you please, Miss Lisle, I have some things I wish to discuss privately with my sister. If you may be so kind...,” he nodded to her as she left, and Almyra was fascinated to see that her sweet friend has turned a light shade of red, and was Matthew’s face looking a bit more colored than usual as well?

Almyra settled herself in a chair with her arms folded demurely, and looked up expectantly. Matthew approached and half-sat on the armrest. Rethinking this when he spotted a stool in the far corner of the room, he dragged the stool forward and sat down on it.

“Almyra,” Matt started, then abruptly closed his mouth. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Almyra, you really need to change your attitude towards Frederick. I am not saying you need to be the best of friends—I know I cannot ask that of you—but you must cease with your overt loathing.” He held up his hand as Almyra tried to speak.

“I know he hurt you in the past, but you know it was not his intention to do so. He cares for you, admires you in the very least. He—“

Almyra stood, knocking over her chair as she did; such was the force of her anger. Her eyes flashed a bright red for a fleeting moment, so quick it was that Matthew almost missed it. He shrunk back on the stool, sure he was only seeing things, yet still feeling a strange fear in his heart and mind.

“He cares for me? Admires me?” her voice shrilled, and she took a deep breath in effort to calm herself. She laughed mirthlessly. “And yes, maybe somewhere in the far, far depths of my heart, I know that what happened then was not intended to hurt me, but the fact remains that it did. And how is it that you know for a fact that he did it out of care, whereas I must assume that the minor part of my heart that believes this is right? No. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She tilted her head, tapping her chin thoughtfully, mockingly.

“Ah, yes. As a member of the esteemed class of men, he saw fit to tell you his feelings. However, it would be weak to show anything but stoicism in the face of the female counterpart.”

Almyra glared at Matthew, her hands sitting on her hips.

“Tell me, brother, does not common courtesy entitle one to apologize upon inflicting pain of any sort on another, regardless of intention?”

Matt had sat silently throughout her ranting. But he looked up sharply when she said this—at the apparent sadness in her voice when she spoke of one being hurt. He was almost astounded to see that her eyes were wet—but then, it all began to make sense.

He reached for his handkerchief, but she put her small, soft hand on his and stilled it. He attempted to brush her tears away, but she looked away in a rare show of vulnerability that definitely did not suit her.

“He really hurt me, Matt,” Her voice was so low, he was not even sure he had heard right. “I thought…,” Her voice caught. She shook her head vigorously, unable to continue, and a few curls came loose from her bun and bounced in her face. She reached up with a shaking hand to fix her hair.

Her brother stood and took hold of her hand. He patted it for a minute before reaching out and pulling her into his arms and holding her tight.

* * *

Frederick leaned against the door post, hugging himself tightly. He had known Almyra despised him for telling on her after she had confided in him, but only now did he realized how deep the hate was. He had done the worst—he had taken her feelings and played with them. He had known that she had strong feelings for him at that young and vulnerable age and he had used them, and even though it was for her own good, it still hurt her terribly. Her blatant hatred was her own way of hiding all the pain.

He reached for the doorknob, hesitated, then reached again. He made to turn the handle when he heard Matthew start to talk.

“Maybe I…,”

But Matthew did not finish his sentence. Curious to know what he had wanted to say, Frederick reached out with his mind, with only a tiny thought of remorse in regard to his friend’s privacy.

Maybe I should talk to Frederick. But I cannot let Almyra know I want to. I am sure she feels she has shown enough weakness in admitting how much her conflict with Frederick bothered her—bothers her still.

Frederick allowed himself a small smile at that. Almyra was anything but weak.

He let his mind wander until it touched Almyra’s lightly, almost caressing it.

I think I shall tell Matt some of what has been going on all these years. He deserves to know. And in telling him, I will have someone to confide in and get help from should the need arise.

Frederick braced himself, remembering her sensitivity to his mental touch, and forged deeper into her thoughts. He was dismayed to see that doubts hung in mind despite her resolve to speak out.

She’s not entirely trusting, thought Frederick. Then, Maybe it is because of what happened with me, that she trusted me and… oh, what have I done?

He absolutely had to help her. He backed out of her thoughts and, slowly, meticulously pushed her doubts to the furthest corner of her conscious as he did, encouraging her to talk to Matthew. She needed it.

He swiped his brow with his forearm and exhaled slowly. He moved away, trusting that he was not being too hopeful in thinking that he had done the right thing.