She took it for granted Ann Veronica wore stays—mild stays, perhaps, but stays, and thought no more of the matter. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. "Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. “You are coming right out into life—facing it all. Blueskin will take care of the horses, and I'll go with you. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. Where is Sir Rowland?" "In the library, your ladyship.
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