The carriage rattled over the cobblestones of the French village. It was a different sound than the gravel of England—louder, more rhythmic, full of life.
Ines sat pressed against the window. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the street.
"Look at that," she whispered, tapping the glass.
The people walking on the street were vibrant. In London, the ladies wore pale pastels—soft pinks, baby blues, and creams. But here, the women wore bold colors. She saw a lady in a dress of deep saffron yellow, and another in a striking emerald green. Their waists were high, in the Empire style that was popular everywhere, but their bonnets were taller, decorated with extravagant ribbons and feathers that seemed to defy gravity.
"The fashions are quite... spirited," Carcel noted, looking over her shoulder.
"They are wonderful," Ines corrected. "They look like tropical birds I read in my novels."
She was excited to see more diversity. It wasn't just the clothes; it was the energy.
