One thing Angel had learned in the ten days since she'd come to Royal Oaks was that Lady Margaret Cavendish - or Peg, as she insisted on being called - did nothing by halves. Within a day, Angel had been gathered into the minute planning of a party to be held barely more than a week from that date here at the manor house itself, in order that Peg could talk all the luminaries of the Chicago nouveau riche and arts scene into coughing up sizeable donations to keep the Chicago Philharmonic Orchestra in business. Every day had brought some new detail that apparently needed Angel's involvement in setting out exactly as Peg wanted it, and today was no different. With just a single day to go until the party itself, Angel had been roped into sitting in with Peg and her dress-maker, to approve the gown that would knock the socks off all those potential investors. Sat in a corner of one of the couches in Peg's lavish bedroom suite, all torn jeans and old t-shirt, she felt distinctly out of place. But one thing she was guaranteed with her sunny little employer ....she wasn't going to be bored.

"Shorter," Peg was looking at herself in the mirror, the shimmering little black dress draped over her. It was a simple sheath of black silk covered with sequins and rhinestones. The hem was already a dangerous inch above her knee. "It has to be shorter, Marge. Modest little black dresses are for widows and spinsters." The seamstress, Marge, looked up at Peg as if she'd lost her marbles. She then turned her gaze onto Peg's companion. Her eyes pleaded with the girl to talk sense into the elderly woman gone made. With pins clenched between lips and teeth, she couldn't say a word.

Catching Marge's slightly panicked look, Angel swallowed her own smile as she looked up at Peg, studying the dress thoughtfully. "Can I make a suggestion?" she offered, pushing herself to stand, walking around the pair of women to where several other dresses and gowns were hanging. "You want to stand out, right, Peg?"

Peg saw the little by-play between Angel and Marge and began to pout. They weren't going to let her wear the cute little black dress! She looked over at Angel and nodded. "Of course. I am the hostess. I have to stand out. That's why I want it shorter." She added the last with a nod of her head for emphasis. "But if you think I should wear something else..." She sighed then, wistfully. "I suppose it'll be for the best, me being an old crone and all."

The pouting did nothing but widen Angel's smile when she saw it in the mirror. "Do you really want people to start talking about you as though you're some kind of cougar who's had her teeth pulled?" she asked, blunt but honest. She'd discovered that sugar-coating things with Peg only made it more embarrassing in the long-run. Her fingers ran over the fabrics, skipping the shorter dresses and finding the long gowns. "I think you can rock Hollywood Golden Age glamour, Bunny. Whaddya think?" She turned, and in her hands was a long, elegant gown in navy-blue satin, fitted and flaring in all the right places, with a suggestive off the shoulder neckline.

Peg harrumphed, and pressed her lips together when Angel first started speaking. She loved the idea of a dress like she used to wear when she first met Joshua. But her facial features lightened with the option, and how it was presented. "Oh, I think you're right!" She clapped her hands happily and her eyes danced. The gown that Angel held was a replica of one she'd worn to a presidential ball sometime in the mid 1930's. "With long, white satin gloves. You're a genius, Angel!" And through all of this, Marge sat back on her heels and gave Angel a very relieved look. The gown didn't need to be altered; it had been created for Peg not even a month prior.

Chuckling at both the enthusiasm from Peg and the waves of relief radiating from Marge, Angel bobbed a silly little curtsey that looked very out of place in her jeans, and hung the beautiful gown up separate from the other hopeful dresses. "I'm not a genius, you're just easy to dress," she grinned to the happy clapper in the middle of the room. "Need a hand getting out of that one?"

"Oh, no, that's alright." Peg then grabbed the hem of the dress and with a loud ripping sound, tore it from her body. The loose stitching and pins flew everywhere as she tossed the material to the ground. Wearing a strapless bra and panties that came to her belly button, she posed and laughed. "I used to be such a dish." Stepping down from the platform, she grabbed her bathrobe and tied it in place. "Your turn, Angel. You've got to wear something fitting for a debutante." And in Peg's eyes, that's exactly what Angel was. This was her first party together and Angel's debut into her social circles.

Angel moved just a second too late the save the dress from destruction, hit in the face with flying rhinestones as she laughed helplessly. "Peg, you're a two-year-old in disguise sometimes," she accused her employer with a smile, shaking her head. She was halted in her crouch to help Marge pick up the pieces by Peg's announcement that she was up next. "Wait, what? You want me to come to this shindig?"

Peg laughed, guilty as charged. She knew that her little tempers and impulsive ways were very child like at times. Nobody seemed to mind much, though and if it made those around her smile, all the better. She giggled and sat down in a plush chair, a champagne flute with her favorite morning drink within her grasp. "You must come. All of my friends will be there and I want to introduce you to them all. Please say you'll come! I won't take no for an answer." Lifting her mimosa, she sipped. "You'll be the hit of the party."

How could Angel say no to that' Cornered into saying yes or spoiling the older woman's day, she sighed in defeat. "Fine, all right, I'll come," she conceded with a roll of her eyes. "But there's really no need to get anything made for me. I've got an LBD, that'll do. It's your party, Bunny. I'll just ....fade into the background."

"Fade into the background. Ha!" Bunny laughed and put her drink down. "You'll wear white, as a deb should. And my friends all love fresh, young blood. They're tired of all of my old stories. No. you'll be my side the whole night and they will love you." She smiled adoringly at her companion. "I do. You're a sweet young lady."

"White?" Angel looked more than a little cornered now. "I'll stick out really badly in white. Black! Black is good, elegant, subdued." Not that subdued was a word Peg ever seemed to have a use for. And unfortunately Marge was already moving, opening up her catalogue book and laying it over Peg's knees for Lady Cavendish to choose. "I have examples of all of these back at the shop," she told her most generous patron. "All I'll need to do is take a couple of measurements of the young lady today, and I'll pop back in good time tomorrow to make sure it fits perfectly."

It wasn't as if Peg hadn't heard Angel's protests, she was just busy looking at the book of fancy dresses. And while she loved having things her way, she loved having those close to her happy even more. "No, I think black is better." She lifted her blue eyes to look up at Angel, apologetically. "The lady wants black, give her black, Marge." And then that smile appeared, happy and childish once again.

As Angel relaxed, Marge caught Peg's eye and winked. Like hell either of them was going to let a debutante wear black. "As you say, m'lady," she nodded, leaving the catalogue with Peg to get up and bully Angel into assuming the correct poses for measurements. Angel leveled a wary look at Peg. "And no miniskirts," she added with a faint smile.

Meg shot Marge a warning look. When needed, Peg had a will of solid steel. She straightened her shoulders and closed the book to watch as Angel was measured. "No mini-skirts, I assure you. Though you've such lovely legs, it's a pity to hide them." She sighed, remembering when she'd been told the same thing. "You've made this entire party so easy, Angel. I really don't know what I'd have done without you."

"You've done all the work, Bunny, I just threw in my opinion every now and then," Angel pointed out. It was true; Peg had such a clear vision of what she wanted and how she wanted it achieved that all Angel had had to do was weigh in with alternatives occasionally when what the lady wanted wasn't possible. She squeaked a little when Marge undid her jeans and pulled them down from her hips, but relaxed when the seamstress then tucked her measuring tape around said hips, muttering to herself. "It's going to be a great evening, Peg, I'm sure you're going to raise bucket loads."

"He wasn't the only one distracted. Did you see his rear"! If I hadn't been staring..." she sighed dreamily and shook her head. "I don't make wagers I can't win. It's the best way to do things, I think." She giggled again and took another bite of her quiche. She chewed thoughtfully, slowly, and then swallowed. "It's almost like having a daughter," she said quietly and turned shy eyes back onto Angel. "Having you around, that is."

The young woman's gaze softened as she looked over at her elderly friend, resting her lower lip comfortably against the rim of her coffee cup. "I don't mind you feeling that way, you know," she offered gently, though she had a feeling she probably shouldn't pass on the information that being with Peg was like spending time with a particularly crazy grandmother. "I never knew my mom, so ....yeah, I really don't mind."

Peg was relieved to hear that Angel wasn't adverse to the warm sentiment. Somehow, she knows that Angel wouldn't have been. She smiled at she ate brunch, making small talk. Once the meal was over, she hastily escorted Angel into one of the sitting rooms where two massage tables were set up, along with stations to do their nails and baths for their feet. She began to strip off her robe the moment she stepped into the room, oblivious to anybody around her. "Oh, you're going to love this. A massage feels so wonderful after you've been working so hard." And with that, her panties and bra fell into the puddle of silk fabric that was her robe on the floor. "You'll see."

This was part of what Angel loved about her new job, the quiet times when Peg would just sit and chat and stop trying to be shocking. Not that she minded the shocking Lady Cavendish, but the older woman had some fascinating stories to tell of her life thus far that could keep Angel enthralled for hours. Naturally, though, the quiet came to a close with a strip tease that left Angel blushing for the elderly woman, covering her own eyes to protect Peg's modesty. "Oh, I think I'll stick with the mani/pedi," she managed through her wide grin, bending to scoop up the fallen robe and underwear.

Angel wasn't the only one in the room blushing. One of the massage therapists must have been new because he was beet red in the face and turned away with a cough. Peg lay upon the table, face down, and was covered by a thick, soft towel by her usual therapist. "Oh, come on, you'll love it." Knowing what was wrong with the girl, she added off hand, "You don't have to get naked." The young man had recovered himself and he gestured to the table. "You really don't," he confirmed.

"You, Peg, are a shameless exhibitionist," Angel informed her employer, rolling her eyes as she approached the other table, meeting the embarrassed eyes of the male therapist. But if Peg was going to get naked, there really was no reason why Angel shouldn't. Closing her eyes, the young woman stripped off as quickly as she could and threw herself face down onto the table, groaning. "Aw, man, this is weird." And the weirdness was made worse by that ever present sense of unseen eyes on her. Mind you, she was pretty sure those eyes had watched her in the shower this morning, so there wasn't anything they hadn't seen before.

Indeed, he had been watching. Not that Joshua was a voyeur; he'd made the attempt to turn away when she bared her skin. But it'd been years since he'd seen young, supple flesh at the peak of its ripeness. Love had nothing to do with the way he simply stared at that television monitor. Glad that Angel decided to get the massage, Peg allowed her eyes to close. She relaxed as the therapist rubbed aromatic oils into her skin. "Oh yes," she sighed happily. "Isn't this the best thing ever, Angel?"

With her cheek resting on her folded arms, her hair pulled far out of the way, Angel was about as relaxed as a fully tensioned spring. But she made the effort to sound relaxed for Peg as unfamiliar, unknown hands began to rub over her slender back. "I'll put it on my list of things to get used to before I die," she told her bouncy employer, somehow managing to tense further when the therapist working on her brushed the sides of her breasts with his firm touch. Was that normal, or was she getting paranoid way too soon about the lingering touches" She didn't know.

Peg lifted her head from the circle of padding to look over at Angel. "It does take a little getting used to," she admitted. "But it does wonders for me and the lumbago." She laid her head back into the circle of padding. "Go ahead and get your mani/pedi. It's alright; at least you tried something new." There was no bitterness or scorn in her voice, not a touch of regret or sadness at Angel's inability to enjoy the massage. She understood that some people just don't like to be touched.

"I'm here now, I'm stubborn enough to at least give it a chance," was Angel's response, followed by the bright sound of her drawing in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself down. It wasn't that she didn't like to be touched, just that she really wasn't used to it. Though not a virgin, it had been a long time since Angel had been intimate with anyone - not counting dreams - and her ability to trust was still suffering from a knock a few years before. But Peg thought she was safe, so she must be, she decided.

"You're such a good girl," Peg sighed happily. She was thoroughly enjoying the massage, and the company that was present. Her therapist tapped her shoulder and she rolled onto her back with a slight grunt. This left her bare from the waist up. Still, she showed no sign of embarrassment. "You'll get used to it. I get massages once a week, usually. Facials and the whole nine yards. Why do you think I look so young" It takes hard work!" She giggled and somewhere in the dark, Joshua smirked. He knew the real reason.

Angel snorted with laughter, deliberately averting her eyes from Peg's outrageous display of flesh. "I think I'll stick with just getting my back done," she chuckled, slowly relaxing from her heightened state of tension. There was something very lulling about the repetitive press of hands up and down her spine and over her shoulders, desensitizing her to that unfamiliar touch and warming her skin in the process.

The room was silent for a few long moments as the ladies relaxed under the skilled hands of the therapists. In fact, Peg had fallen asleep. The silence was broken by a soft snore and the therapists laughed quietly between themselves. It wasn't unusual for Peg to nap during a massage, and the therapist made sure to place a washrag near her mouth to collect the drool.

With Peg asleep, Angel carefully signaled her therapist to stop, grateful when he helped her tuck the towel around herself without showing any more of herself to those unknown, and unseen, eyes. "Seriously?" she whispered to the two masseurs, dark eyes alight with incredulous curiosity. "Once a week, she gets it all done?"

"Oh yes," nodded the masseuse who had been working on Peg. "She won't admit it, but if she doesn't, her back goes all figgy." The girl, dark skinned and of Mediterranean descent, wiped her hands of the oils and then gently nudged Peg awake. "We're done, Miss Peg. Wake up, love." Once Peg woke, the girl went about the business of packing up. Peg sat up and then slid off of the table. "Sorry, I just can't help myself sometimes," she offered an apology for nodding off. Grabbing her robe, she slid it on and went to sit in front of the foot bath. "Come, sit! I'll try not to splash, but it tickles when she cleans my feet!"

Smiling at Peg's sudden bounce into wakefulness, Angel slid off her own table to pull her pajamas back on while the masseurs were busy, shrugging into her cardigan before she moved to curl up in a chair next to Peg. "Why don't you have a masseuse or a beautician on staff if you get this done so often?" she asked curiously. "I'll bet you could hire these two for more than they get paid right now, and they'd love you for it."

At the suggestion, the masseurs paused and looked in unison at Peg. And Peg, she was shocked by it. "Now why hadn't I thought of that?" She looked over at Angel and giggled. "See, I knew there was a good reason I hired you on." And with a wink to Angel, she made the offer official. "How about it' Will you like being hired on here, full time?" She hadn't been expecting a no and wasn't disappointed by the gasps of surprise and acceptance of the positions. It was a done deal now.

"Oh, could I?" Angel laughed, Peg's comment on her intimate grooming or lack thereof wiping away the oddness in the older woman's comment on a man she had known in her youth who still popped up from time to time. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"The first few times," she nodded, happy that she could be a fountain of information, no matter how mundane. "But then you get used to it. It's a woman's lot to bear pain for beauty. No escaping it. We do silly things to attract a man and then end up with a broken heart when some other woman does something even sillier than you thought possible." Not that it had happened since she met Joshua, she spoke from experience. "Anyway, it's all about how it makes you feel about yourself. I used to find that it made me feel incredibly sexy and mysterious."

"The girl I used to live with said it made her feel bald and itchy," Angel chuckled, her foot twitching against the tickle of firm fingers holding her still for a moment. "I think I like your description better. So what would you recommend, Bunny' Armpits and legs, obviously, but down below" "

"Well, that too." Peg giggled at the description. "I think you should get done what you feel comfortable with. But I warn you, once you begin to travel down this road, you'll get addicted to it. And then there's no turning back." She sighed happily and sat back in her chair. "I won't watch, if you don't want me to. I know you're still shy."

"I don't think I'll ever not be shy," Angel admitted with a blush and a chuckle. "I've only been with one guy, really, and that didn't last. I'm just not used to people seeing me or touching me, and it's kinda hard to trust someone enough to get that close, you know?" She squeezed Peg's hand gently once again. "You can always laugh at the silly noises I make."

"Just one?" Peg turned caring eyes onto Angel. "He must have hurt you something terrible for you to keep your defenses up and guarded." She smiled, understanding. She, too, felt a story there and with a squeeze of Angel's hand said that she was there to listen if she wanted to talk about it. She didn't force the subject, but was very interested.

Angel shrugged lightly, deliberately making light of the heartache in her past. "Well, you know, foster kid, never knew my parents, never really had a close relationship with anyone before him," she confessed quietly, looking up at the ceiling as she spoke. "He was the bad boy at school, and he really seemed to like me. He took me on dates and he made me feel like I was really special, you know" Then the day after I put out, he collected his winnings from his friends right there in front of me. I was just a bet." She shrugged again, shaking her head. "Teenaged boys are jerks."

As the story unfolded, Peg's cheery smile disappeared. "Oh dear," she murmured, her hands folding and unfolding. "I'm sorry, so sorry that happened to you." Her eyes were bright blue and sparkled with unshed tears. "What's his name" I must know the name of the scoundrel."

"Oh, Peg, it doesn't matter," Angel forced herself to laugh a little, not wanting to upset her merry employer any further, even when the beautician working on Peg's eyebrows frowned and muttered an agreement with the elderly lady. "It was years ago, I shoulda gotten over it by now."

"It does matter," she insisted. And downstairs, Joshua sat at the edge of his chair, waiting to hear the name. Whoever the guy was, he was going to get a nocturnal visit very soon. "Tell her," he whispered. "If you can speak his name without hesitation it will help to get you past the pain." Her nails now done, she scoots forwards to the edge of her chair. "And you deserve say his name and then are done with him."

Angel rolled her eyes, reluctance speaking through her gaze as she tried to do as she was told. "Rick," she said finally, and her voice was still touched with quiet bitterness. She'd never let go of the pain of her first heartbreak, it was obvious. "Richard Archer. You know, the Salem Archers" Shame they didn't burn his great great whatever grandma."

Peg nodded, knowing the family and their reputation well. "There now, enough of that sadness. You can leave that in your past because the future is going to be filled with fun, laughter and love. You'll see. I'll wager you that it's true." She smiled then; it was a reminder of what she'd said earlier in the day. She didn't make wagers that she couldn't win.

The reminder made Angel laugh, so used to pushing that hurt aside that it came naturally to her now, not knowing that she had unwittingly delivered a sentence of pain onto the boy that had hurt her so badly when she was young, just by speaking his name aloud. She'd also given away where she'd grown up, something she hadn't confessed to Peg yet. She certainly wasn't a Chicago native. "Fun and laughter's enough for me," she assured her friend, finally allowed to pull her feet back from the grip of the girl kneeling with her. "And you, lady, are about to laugh yourself silly while I squeal at this waxing thing."

"Good enough and I am looking forward to it. But, I must visit the powder room just now." She rose from her seat and gestured to the remaining table that sat in the room with a wiggle of her fingers. "I promise I'll be right back. Go ahead and get started." She turned then and fled the room. The television monitor lit up the room downstairs, but it was now empty. The lone occupant setting out to carry out a much deserved hunting and feeding. And though Angel may never know it, the pain laid upon her by this Rick was going to be repaid a hundred fold.

Peg was gone before Angel could say anything about her abrupt departure. But then, life was full of the abrupt and unexpected when you lived at Royal Oaks. She met the eyes of the beautician setting up the wax warmer, both women sharing slightly incredulous smiles. "Trust me, sweetie," the experienced woman said, patting the table beside her. "You get used to it. Now come here and get those panties off, let me see what I'm workin' with."

Peg had slipped away to watch as Joshua left the house, as she knew he would. Touching the pane of glass, she whispered a soft prayer for his safety. When he was out of sight, she turned back and returned to the room. "So much better," she laughed as she sat upon a chair. "I'll be reduced to wearing diapers before too long, if this keeps up." She reached out and a drink was placed into her hand. The servants knew their mistress very well.

By this point, Angel was naked from the waist down, her hands over her eyes, and her face bright red, as the beautician nattered away in her broad Brooklyn accent about just about anything that came to mind, just to distract the nervous young woman lying on the table. "Peg, remind me again why I'm doing this" Bald and itchy, wasn't it?"

"Sexy and mysterious," she giggled, reminding Angel. Peg sipped at the lemonade and made herself very comfortable. "It's not that bad, is it' Women can bear children, they can do anything. Strong, that's what we are. Stronger than men even. You'll be just fine. Just fine."

"Says the woman who isn't having any hair removed at all toDAY!" That was more of a screech than Angel had been intending, but then, she hadn't been expecting the sudden sharp pain as the waxed paper was ripped off her. Her hands flew to grip the sides of the table. "Jesus, what are you trying to do to me?"

Peg couldn't help the cackle that burst forth at the screech. "There, there," she soothed, or tried to as she giggled. "There's nothing to it, nothing at all. See, the pain's subsiding already. See, it's alright, it's alright." Peg felt a twinge of sympathy; she'd reacted in a very similar manner. But the results were well worth it.