"Wow," said Rose.
"Yes," agreed Alice.
Jean gave them a quelling glare. The ladies had arrived for Christmas luncheon together and had spotted Lucien in the kitchen surgically chopping potatoes for Jean. His wardrobe had stopped the women in their tracks but he hailed them warmly.
Before they could say more, Jean moved him briskly along. "Lucien, play us some Christmas music," she said, giving him a nudge toward the parlor. "And leave the women to cook."
He bumbled off happily, giving them another view of the shocking trousers.
Normally, Alice and Rose would have been offended to be relegated to women's work, but in this case, shame had them tying on aprons and meekly following Jean's directions. But within minutes, Rose was asking, "Where did he—"
Jean peered to the parlor, but Lucien was playing the piano.
"It's my fault," she admitted. "Ever since he was stabbed, I've been nagging him to relax around the house more. Take off his tie after work. Put on some comfy clothes."
"And that's the result?" Alice was appalled.
Rose was shocked. "You allowed him to do his own shopping?"
"He's a grown man," Jean sputtered.
Alice mused, "I've not seen any evidence previous that Lucien is color blind, but..."
Rose said, "They're sort of...lavender? I've never thought his taste was flamboyant—" She stopped herself before she completed that thought.
Distracted, Jean grumbled, "It's not me who'll be getting a trousseau for the honeymoon, it's him," and the glint in her eyes told the women that she wasn't kidding.
Rose caught what she said. "Trousseau?"
But Jean was watching Lucien. Bent over, he was searching for sheet music in the piano seat. "Maybe just a different color," she mused, as the trousers stretched taut across his bum. "The fit looks just fine."
