In the time Ragnar had been in the room, he had scarcely done anything other than stare at his wife. Circe stood on the far side of the chamber, framed softly by the golden evening light spilling through the high windows, while Nieah worked patiently behind her. The two women faced the full-length mirror, Circe holding her breath as Nieah pulled the next set of laces on her corset tighter.
He really ought to get her a lady's maid, or two. Ragnar had thought about this many times before. His stubborn wife remained reluctant to ask one of the maids for help, even if it meant struggling with her dresses and styling her hair.
Circe trusted Nieah, was fond of her even, and that was the only reason she had accepted her help now. But Nieah was Ragnar's housekeeper, not a lady's maid. Any time she spent helping Circe dress was time stolen from the long list of duties she oversaw daily.
