Jasmine awoke the next day with her breasts screaming for relief. She got up from her bed and walked to the cribs in which Pyotr and Bry slept. As the wet nurse and overall nurse maid for the babes, she had been put up in the nursery. To her relief, both babes were already awake. Somehow, she knew that if they had not been, she would have to wait until they woke on their own to empty her engorged breasts.
The relief Jasmine felt upon suckling both children at once was superior to just Bry. She was able to have the enormous amount of milk she produced drained more efficiently. When the babes finished, she burped them and changed their diapers, then brought them downstairs to the main quarters of the house.
After a quick breakfast, Jasmine was sent on her own to the seamstress. Bry was left behind, as Patricia insisted the child would be a hindrance at a fitting. Jasmine walked the streets, avoiding eye contact with anyone. She shuddered under the lecherous looks she got from men.
Jasmine entered the seamstress shop. She walked to the counter, which was manned by an elderly, portly woman.
"My name is Jasmine. I am Simon and Patricia's wet nurse for their son. As I have nothing to my name, they have sent me to get more clothing."
"I assume you are married, if you are a wet nurse," the seamstress said. Jasmine shook her head. "Widowed, then?"
"Yes."
"How long ago?"
"I am no longer in mourning, if that is what you are asking," Jasmine said tartly. Mourning clothes cost more; she didn't want to add to her debt.
"Very well. Come with me. I have some dresses to suit you."
"What of bonnets?" Jasmine asked.
"You need not one. Men will not know you are available to be wed if you wear one," the seamstress said firmly. Any attempts to dissuade her of this notion failed. Before long, Jasmine was being fitted for plain but sturdy clothes. No bonnet.
The seamstress commented on Jasmine's full bust as she pulled the fabric looser so it would fit. Jasmine blushed.
"Oh, no need for the bashful act, dear," the seamstress said. "You are advertising your skills quite well. No one would doubt you make a fine wet nurse."
Once the seamstress finished, she instructed Jasmine to return the next day. Jasmine thanked her for her service and exited the shop. The moment she set foot on the street, she was approached by a young man. He had noble red hair and a regal bearing. Immediately, Jasmine recognized him as a noble that had joined the rebels, Lord Lake. She had known him, when she was Jasper.
"Young woman, you are new to these parts," Lake commented.
"Ah, well," Jasmine stuttered. "I was just employed as a wet nurse for Simon and Patricia."
"A wet nurse? Are you wed?"
"Widowed."
"My condolences." Lake held out his arm. "Please, let me escort you. A fine woman like you should have a chaperone." Jasmine took the arm, her heart pounding with fear and another emotion. One she was horrified to feel towards a man.
Lust.
Lake was handsome and well-spoken, and she felt herself yearning for him to touch her in a way she hadn't been since becoming Jasmine. Was it a side effect of her transformation into a woman? Was this just the start? Would her feelings towards men only grow?
Jasmine banished those thoughts for a more pressing one. Why had Lake insisted on escorting her home? What were his intentions?