My latest release, Her Runaway Lady, a sapphic historical romance, releases on 1 May 2026.
Preorder it here: https://books2read.com/u/bWDKAY
Here’s a sneak peek of Chapter one, where we meet Solange, our protagonist.
Solange ran her cold fingers across the crown of the hat she was working on, its velvet soft under her fingertips. A draft rattled the millinery’s floor-to-ceiling windows and plucked at the hem of her skirts. She shivered. Madame Poulet kept her establishment colder than Solange would like. Surely she could afford a little more wood for the stove.
Solange had become head trimmer at Madame Poulet’s after five years of hard work and one day, she hoped to take over the millinery. Then she would properly heat the workroom.
Dreams were lovely but at present, she had yet another bonnet to make for the middle-class women in the third arrondissment. She stood up from her workbench and stretched. The stool rocked on its uneven legs. When she was in charge of the shop, she was going to fix that wobbly stool, but not today. She was too busy trimming hats to bother fixing furniture. The flame of the oil lamp flickered as she walked by it to the framers’ bench.
“Jeanne, have you finished the frame for Madame Thibault’s bonnet? She’s expecting it to be finished the day after tomorrow.”
The framer peeked up from her work. “Just about.”
Solange leaned over to the framers’ bench, cluttered with wire and pieces of buckram. The smell of the pungent glue the framers used tickled her nose. She peered down at the bonnet frame in Jeanne’s hands. “Hold on. It’s twisted right there. The wire isn’t smooth.”
Jeanne huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. “I know but I’ve already stitched it down. It’ll take ages to redo. Can’t you hide it with some trim?”
Solange grimaced. She could cover the flawed frame with some cleverly applied trim but she disliked poor quality.
Madame called through the tapestry curtain dividing the workroom and the shop, “We don’t produce shoddy work in this establishment, Jeanne. Fix the frame.”
Jeanne and Solange exchanged rueful looks. Madame heard and saw everything.
Jeanne shoved the frame away and twisted her face into a grimace. “It’s going to take ages to fix this and I’m already behind.” Jeanne’s voice trembled.
Solange squeezed her shoulder and took the frame. “No, it won’t. You just have to unstitch the end and twist it smooth with the pliers. It’ll be fast. Here, let me show you.”
Jeanne passed the little pliers to Solange and helped brace the frame. Within a few minutes, the frame brim was smooth and the stitches replaced.
“That’s amazing! Merci. How did you learn to do that?” Jeanne’s brown eyes shone.
Solange grinned and tipped her chin up, filled with pride. “I’ve done every job in this shop. I was a framer before being promoted to trimmer. And before that, I was an errand girl like Amelie.”
“You know all the tricks. You’ll have to show me more.”
“Not today, my friend, I have far too much work of my own.”
Solange sauntered over to the commodious fabric cupboard that stretched along most of one wall, and rummaged through for the fine grey wool the customer had requested to cover the bonnet. It was to be an everyday hat, something to keep off the rain, so Solange couldn’t indulge herself creating elaborate embroidery or plumage. Still, it would be elegant. She would make sure of that. Nothing left her bench that wasn’t at least elegant. Solange carried the bonnet frame back to her workbench and sat down on the rickety stool.
She glanced over at Yvette, her fellow trimmer. The woman was close to her age and heavily pregnant. Today was her last day of work at Madame Poulet’s. Solange would miss the competent Yvette with her dry wit.
“Are you ready to give up work to stay home with the baby, Yvette?”
Yvette rubbed her back and stretched. “Oh yes, and it will be good to put my feet up for a bit before the baby arrives. My ankles are huge. And my fingers are sausages!” She showed her swollen hands to Solange.
“Poor you! How can you sew when you can’t bend your fingers?” Solange inwardly berated herself for not noticing Yvette’s puffy fingers earlier.
Yvette shrugged. “It’s awkward.”
Solange pushed the wool for the bonnet frame over to Yvette. “Here, why don’t you cut the fabric for this and I’ll finish sewing on that trim. You can manage the scissors, right?”
Yvette took the fabric and smiled at Solange. “You’re sweet. I can manage cutting, I think.”
Solange nodded and picked up the hat Yvette had been working on. The little hat had tight spots to angle a needle into. It was no wonder Yvette had struggled. Solange bit her lip and held the hat up to the light for a better view. The light from the tall windows was meagre today, obscured by the rain sluicing down the glass. Daytime rain. It was so inconvenient.
“I miss the guaranteed sunny days before they turned off the Weather Machines, don’t you?”
Yvette’s gaze bounced from Solange then to the curtain dividing the room from the shop. “Hush, who knows who could hear you?”
Solange sighed and slumped a little against her corset. “I know. Forbidden technology. Unnatural. But I really would like a little more sunlight to work by.”
Madame swished into the room. “Light another oil lamp if you need more light. And don’t speak so loudly if you’re going to say such things.” She strolled the room, inspecting her hat makers’ work, and commenting on flaws that would need repair. She hovered next to the trimmers and frowned. “Solange, I thought you were trimming Madame Thibault’s bonnet. Why is Yvette doing it?”
Solange held the tiny hat Yvette had been struggling with up to Madame for inspection. “We switched. This one’s too difficult for her pudgy little fingers now.”
Yvette and Solange grinned at each other.
Madame reached down and took hold of Yvette’s hand. “Mon dieu! Your fingers are like sausages.”
“That’s what I said, Madame.” Yvette’s tone was dry. “Sausages. They don’t look like fingers anymore.”
Madame stroked Yvette’s hand with her own gnarled one, then patted her shoulder. “That’s it. No more work for you. I can’t possibly make you work in this state. And don’t worry about your pay, you’ll get your full day’s pay. Now off you go.”
Yvette murmured her thanks and stood awkwardly, her belly enormous under her skirts. The others came to embrace her and offer words of encouragement. Finally she held her hands out to Solange, a smile wreathing her face. “Thank you so much for everything. You’ve been a delightful work mate. Someday it’ll be your turn to leave to have your own family.”
Solange smiled in response and shook her head. “Do you know how many sisters and brothers I have? I don’t need my own children. I’ll be swimming in nieces and nephews in a few years. Isabelle’s first is due soon.”
Yvette shook her head. “It’s not the same as having your own.”
“As you will soon find out. Let’s get you moving. We don’t want to keep you on your feet.” Solange cocked her head and smiled a half-smile. “I’ll miss you. Be well.”
Then Yvette was gone, in a flurry of called out farewells and waves. The workroom was too quiet without her. Solange took a sip of her vervaine tisane and made a face. It had gone cold, and the lemony taste bittered. Yvette’s parting words about Solange having children of her own had made her pause. She had never wanted babies, especially after seeing Maman struggle so many times. And children were expensive. Not to mention, a man would be required and Solange knew she wasn’t interested in men. So there would be no husband, no children for her. She would be unencumbered, free to pursue her dream of being a successful businesswoman. And lovely ladies were too much of a distraction, so no special friends either.
But how was she going to finish all these hats without Yvette? With a groan, she sank onto the wobbly stool and picked up Yvette’s unfinished hat.
BJ Sikes, author 