Daisy’s mouth dropped open. “You want me to take off my boots here? In public?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “This is hardly public. We’re out of view of the street, and the only other person is that nanny walking with a small child. Besides, what is it we’re doing that is so terrible?”
Daisy bit her lip. It was inappropriate. She knew that inherently after years of rigid study under her governess and Lady Claystone’s tutelage. Feet were not for public viewing. She’d have to remove her stockings, which would mean lifting her skirts. The idea alone made sweat prickle on the back of her neck. “I can’t.”
Amelia reached for her hem of her dress.
“Lady Amelia!” Daisy whispered. She fervently glanced around the park. “But our stockings! Won’t they be ruined? Graham says to always consider the work we make for others,” Daisy said.
Lady Amelia snickered. “I would prefer you call me Amelia. We are now sisters, after all. Now, about the stockings. I’m not wearing any.”
Daisy turned pink. “How could you not be wearing stockings?”
Amelia shrugged. “Because I knew I wanted to be barefoot on the grass this morning.”
Daisy couldn’t think. Her mind would not make sense of Amelia’s actions. Amelia kicked off her boots and stood. She lifted her hem to expose her toes and flexed them in the grass.
“It tickles, but I never feel more grounded—like I’m present, a part of this world—than when my bare feet are touching the earth. No fripperies, no pretenses. I’m just human.”
Daisy looked at Amelia’s wiggling toes and then at her own boots. “But... my stockings.”
“Take them off.”
“I can’t do that,” Daisy hissed.
“Come with me under the willow.” She tugged Daisy under the wispy leaves. Amelia kneeled on the carpet of dried leaves and bent to reach under Daisy’s skirts.
Daisy went rigid. “I cannot believe you are doing this. I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”
“Your brother is going to have a fit when I tell him!” Amelia said, laughing as she efficiently tugged Daisy’s sturdy stocking to the top of her boot.
“You cannot tell him,” Daisy begged. “Swear it to me right now. On your brother’s life.”
Amelia raised her twinkling gaze to Daisy’s. “Alston would love that we’re doing this. He loves good trouble. Now, put your hand on my shoulder, and I’ll slip off your boots.”
Daisy did. She was not brave enough to resist, and frankly, part of her needed to know what would happen next. What did good trouble feel like? Her heart raced like the sky would collapse if she broke a cardinal rule of proper decorum. Even a minor infraction, like picking up the wrong fork in front of Lady Claystone, earned her a fierce glare. And sometimes Lady Claystone would even take Daisy aside, have her remove her gloves, place her hand on a table or balustrade, whatever was near, and rap her knuckles with her fan. Daisy had hidden many bruised knuckles under her gloves. Sometimes her knuckles would swell, and she wouldn’t be able to write or hold objects in that hand for a couple days.
Daisy closed her eyes as panic mixed with the exhilaration that she was doing something wrong and Lady Claystone wasn’t here to see it.
Amelia slipped off her boots and set them aside. Daisy winced as she set her foot down on the dried leaves, anticipating sharp jabs on the bottoms of her sensitive feet. The texture was rough but not painful, and the crunching of the leaves under her bare feet was a startling new sensation.
“Oh my,” she whispered, looking down at her toes.
Amelia stood. “These stockings are terrible. How can you bear to wear such an itchy fabric and not silk?”
“Silk is for ladies of ill repute.” Daisy parroted Lady Claystone’s words.
Amelia’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I don’t have any silk stockings. I have a nicer pair of cotton, and wool for colder months, but—”
“We will be remedying that today,” Amelia declared. “Abhorrent. I’d bet my fortune your mother wears silk stockings.”
“Yes, well, I’m not sure. But she is a married woman in any case.”
Amelia just shook her head. “Where did you hear such things? Your mother?”
“Well, no. We have a family friend whom I spend a great deal of time with. The Countess of Claystone. She’s like a mentor to me.” Daisy bit her lip.
