A gentle knock came at his door, distracting Kayden from the impossible task of tucking in his rebellious undergarments.
Frustration bubbled inside him as the garment kept untying itself, stubbornly refusing to stay in place.
He was so done with all these historical clothes. Why couldn't there be an easy way to put them on? Just thinking about the horrors women endured while squeezing into those enormous gowns made him frown.
At this point, poverty almost seemed better than the noble torture of corsets and layers of suffocating fabric.
But then, he remembered—wrongly, perhaps—that he had once seen a less privileged woman struggling with a corset so large it looked like a drum strapped around her waist. The sympathy he'd felt for her while she begged for alms vanished instantly the moment he saw the contraption up close.
That poor garment had been through hell, and from the look of it, its suffering was only beginning. He almost pitied the corset more than the woman wearing it.
