“I saw him go that way! Spread out!”



Ramza sprinted through the trees, cursing his poor luck as he hoped he was at least out of eyeshot of the inquisitors, for whatever little it was worth. Making a pitstop at that last major town had been a calculated risk, and not one that had paid off as he was chased into a nearby forest with little idea of where he was going or if it was even possible to escape given he’d been caught with no real food or supplies.

After incurring the wrath of the church and becoming the most wanted man in all of the land he had made the call to split up his companions in hope of the majority being able to escape separately while he drew the heat as opposed to literally carving a path out of the country, a decision he didn’t regret even as he had the dogs of the church snarling at his feat a mere few dozen yards away. He’d forgone his armour and tried to travel light, leaving him with only a small dagger on his person to defend himself thanks to having to abandon his gear in his flight from the town.

He broke through the treeline into what he’d thought would be a small clearing, only to discover that at some point he’d circled around back onto the main road, or at least what he assumed was the main road, it could have led anywhere for all he knew. His eyes darted around furiously as he caught his breath, trying to figure out which direction led away from the town, only for those eyes to come face to face with two horses whinnying as they and the carriage they were pulling ground to a halt.

“Gotten lost, have you, young man? Mind you don’t jump out like that again, you could’ve gotten yourself well trampled had my eyes not been on the road.”



Ramza found himself staring with wide eyes past the horses to their driver, a mustachioed man of obvious high standing based on his clothes and well-groomed appearance. The carriage was large and made of expensive wood, enclosed for privacy with enough space to carry at last four people had they been shoulder to shoulder. He was frozen in response to the man’s casual remark, desperately considering his option as the walls closed in around him.

“I’m afraid I can’t quite go around you, young man. By the way, I don’t suppose you have anything to do with that commotion back there?” The man gestured for him to stand aside with one hand while pointing over him with the other, only for Ramza to impulsively rush past him and climb into the carriage.

“I’m sorry, but I need you to hide me, just for a few minutes!” Ramza couldn’t believe his own desperation, having decided that it was the only thing he could do in this situation. If the inquisitors knew the exact direction he went they could easily catch him, meaning his best bet was to somehow convince this random nobleman to side with him. An incredibly foolish choice, but if nothing else he could attack the first inquisitor to look in the carriage, steal a better weapon, and then try to fight his way out. Better than nothing, at least.

Surprisingly, the nobleman seemed entirely unperturbed by this sudden turn of events, climbing out of the driver’s seat and heading around to the back.

“A wanted man, are we? How exciting! You don’t seem like a brigand to me, but I’ll not pry.” He chuckled, leaving Ramza the more confused of the two as he stuck his head into the carriage as Ramza looked around as if there was some place to hide. Short of the man being a smuggler with a secret compartment or two, this was highly unlikely.

“Just until the inquisitors pass!” Ramza begged, the

“Inquisitors, you say? Well, I’m no fan of the church myself. I’ll hear you out, young man, but you won’t last that long looking like that. We’ll have to disguise you.”



“T-thank you!” Ramza gasped. “But with what?”



“Just leave it to me.” The nobleman seemed to mutter something under his breath, then lightly tapped Ramza on the forehead. Before Ramza could ask what he did, he took off his cloak and threw it around him, covering him from the neck down.



“That should be good enough.” The nobleman said, climbing out just in time for the inquisitors to arrive.

“You there! Submit your cart to inspection! We’re in pursuit of a wanted and highly dangerous heretic!” The leader shouted, accompanied by a group far too big for Ramza to fight and win unscathed.

“A heretic, you say? My, that sounds dangerous.” The nobleman scratched his chin, managing to keep a perfect poker face. “Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for you, I don’t believe I’ve seen one running about, it’s just been me and my wife. And the horses, I suppose.”

“We’ll be the judges of that.” One said menacingly as he climbed onto the carriage. Meanwhile, Ramza was speechless. Wife? He’d been accused of a somewhat less than manly appearance before, but short of a wig and a talented makeup artist he was certain that he couldn’t pull that sort of disguise off.

“I’ll ask that you not be rough with my wife, she’s quite under the weather at the moment, I was just taking her to town to see the physician. Sweating like a pig, as you can see.” The smooth-talking nobleman explained, Ramza giving a weak smile as he tried to give the daintiest pose he could underneath the cloak. For better or worse the exhaustion showed on his face, the nobleman fast-thinking indeed.

The thuggish inquisitor squinted at Ramza for another few seconds, then to Ramza’s shock looked away,  instead inspecting the floorboards and searching for any sort of hidden compartment.

“‘e’s telling the truth.” The inquisitor said. “There’s only a woman in there. Whether it’s his wife or some whore, I couldn’t tell ya, but it’s not our man.”



“Search under the cart just to be sure.” The leader instructed, but there was naught to be found, and the search party soon relented.

“Good luck with the hunting, gentlemen.” The nobleman pushed his luck by waving goodbye to the party, and after waiting a couple of minutes for them to leave ear and eyeshot, went back to

“My deepest gratitude.” Ramza exhaled deeply, feeling like he had been holding his breath for several minutes. “You had no reason to help me, and yet you-”



“Oh, say nothing of it, I’ve always wanted to give those dogs the runaround.” The nobleman laughed, Ramza wondering if it was at how strangely high-pitched his breathy thanks had been. “Introductions are in order, I imagine. I’m Cedric Ashbourne, lord of his province.”

“Thank you, Lord Ashbourne. I promise I’m no scoundrel, and I’ll pay you back if I’m ever able.” Ramza said, touching his throat as his strange voice continued. “By the way, what exactly did you do back there? I assume you cast some sort of glamour to fool them.”



“Glamour? I suppose you could call it that, but I’m nothing if not thorough.” Ashbourne chuckled. “Hold on a moment, I’m sure I have a mirror around here somewhere…”



He dug around in his luggage before producing a small hand-mirror, Ramza’s eyes widening as he held it up before them. Instead of his own visage Ramza saw only a rather beautiful and very feminine woman, with long eyelashes and delicate features. Even the very shape of his face had changed

“I’ve never seen such convincing illusion magic.” Ramza marvelled, touching his lips which felt as soft as they looked. Surely just a coincidence, although usually touching an illusion was enough to break or disturb it…

“It’s not an illusion, I’m afraid.” The nobleman broke out into a shameless grin. “Why don’t you have a feel around under that cloak? I’d take it off, but I’m a gentleman, you see.”

Ramza couldn’t help but notice a certain strangeness around his chest and groin, now that the adrenaline from the encounter was wearing off. He felt around his chest, and then went rather pale, searching around under his shirt and almost letting out a most undignified sound as he touched some very sensitive nipples atop an unusually puffy pair of mounds. Then, his hands moved lower and lower, until

“You turned me into an actual woman!?” He yelped, Ashbourne laughing heartily as if the whole thing was an extended practical joke.

“No wonder they couldn’t find their man, eh?” He guffawed, Ramza blushing bright red in a rather maidenly way.

“Now, young lady…” Ashbourne leaned in, with emphasis on the “lady”,” I have a mutually beneficial proposition for you…”

–

“Must this be so tight, Sophie?” Ramza complained as her head maid and personal maidservant helped her put on her dress,



“It’s not tight, Mistress, it’s perfectly tailored to flatter your figure.”

“Which gives me precious room to breathe in it.” Ramza sighed, practically needing to exhale to feel comfortable in it, leaving her to inevitably be forced to draw breath and once again feel stuffed into her bodice.

“These are things that a lady of high esteem such as yourself must learn to get used to, milady.” The stern yet perfectly dignified maid said as she tightened the lace once last time, Ramza letting out an unladylike grunt as her waist was forced into a perfect thin curve. For a former man like Ramza she supposed that this was the least mortifying part of the outfit, with its broad floor-brushing skirt and puffy shoulders and altogether too much cleavage on display. It was a look she was used to seeing on court ladies, but not in a million years would have pictured themselves wearing.

“Now, shall we see if the Master approves?” Sophie said, taking her hand and carefully leading her out of the room so that she didn’t trip over her own petticoats. “Out of respect for milady’s inexperience, we shall leave the matter of makeup for another day.”

“My thanks.” Ramza muttered in embarrassment, having already been dolled up far beyond her comfort level. This morning along she’d been perfectly bathed, checked for imperfections that might be cleaned up even without a full dose of makeup, and had her short hair done up into a tight bun that made the most of what little hair she had to work with, Ramza expected to grow it out as much as she could in the coming months.

She very carefully made her way down the steps of Ashbourne Manor, hand held by Sophie the whole way. Were it not for her grip, Ramza didn’t trust herself not to say to hell with Ashbourne’s proposition and run away like a jilted girl fleeing the ball. Sophie had been given the full story and explanation of what had unfolded and what would yet unfold, and had taken it without so much as a twitch on her perfectly professional face, leading Ramza to expect that she had been privy to this plan to begin with, albeit perhaps not the unfortunate one chosen to enact it.

Sophie was an archetypical maid in her perfectly pressed long black and white uniform, with long auburn hair done up in a tidy bun that left her piercing eyes unobscured and made her look a far sight more mature than her mistress did. Ramza had never given much stock into the idea of a servant who was truly content with their place, but despite her cool exterior Sophie radiated a certain aura of immense pride over the house she served, and one who took it as a personal insult if every square inch of it wasn’t perfectly in order for the nobles who dwelled within. It was no wonder than that she was no older than thirty and had made the role of head maid, supposedly serving them since she was in her early teens.

In other words she was Cedric Ashbourne’s most trusted servant and ally, and had been assigned the role of turning Ramza into the perfect noblewoman, something she had already succeeded in at a surface level overnight. Now all that was left was Ashbourne’s personal inspection.

“Ah, there you are, Ramira.” Ashbourne said, uncrossing his legs as he looked up from his armchair in the living room as a red-faced Ramza, or Ramira as the two had chosen for her feminine persona, entered the room in all her splendour. “You’re looking even more beautiful than I had imagined.”



“The master has a perfect eye for quality, as usual.” Sophie curtsied, Ramira’s eye twitching as she felt like a juicy leg of lamb being shown off by the chef to the man who had picked it out. Still, it was a far sight better than being served to the table of the church.

“I should hope so, if I’m to participate in this farce.” Ramira couldn’t help but be less than enthusiastic despite having just escaped the jaws of danger.

“You look the part, but you’ll have to work on your attitude.” Cedric said more critically. “Now, it’s your right to be discontent in your own home, but my old mother always said that if you frown for too long your face’ll be stuck that way, and we can’t have that while guests are over. Remember, you’re a freshly wed young woman in the prime of her life, and should act that way.”

“I see now reason why our marriage can’t be simply political.” Ramira indulged in a little noblewoman’s snobbery and crossed her arms, which only served to push up her lovely bust a little more. She let out a sigh and softened a little. “My apologies, Lord Ashbourne, I shouldn’t sulk after all the generosity you’ve shown me. It’s just… a lot to get used to.”



“Well, nobody said it’d be easy. But if we’re to live together for the next year, we should at least not be at each other’s throats, aye?”

“I suppose in the grand scheme of things, it’s not a long time at all.” Ramza mused out loud, thinking back to what Ashbourne had proposed to her back in that carriage.

“My thoughts exactly, and it’ll be a load off of both of our backs.” Ashbourne agreed. “You’ll be able to lay low, and I won’t have so many friends and family giving me grief as to when I’ll be remarrying. Then, once our term is up, milady shall pass away tragically, and I shall be in such grief at losing a second wife that nobody will ever pester me about being a widower again.”

“A perfect scheme, your lordship. Truly magnificent!” Sophie gave a short round of seemingly genuine applause with no sarcasm whatsoever, to Ramira’s incredulity. Perhaps Sophie should have been the loyal wife, she thought to herself.

Apparently he, or now she, had come at the perfect time. The good Lord Ashbourne’s wife that he had loved dearly had died young, leaving him as an eligible bachelor with a lot of social pressure to find a replacement as quickly as possible despite his disinterest in the pool of bachelorettes. Apparently he had just been on his way to find an ideal bride when Ramza had stumbled into his life.

In Ashbourne’s eyes, although he put it in classier words, Ramza was the perfect stooge for his plan to avoid a proper marriage. Ramza had immediately indebted himself to Ashbourne, who on top of that had an enormous amount of leverage by hanging the blade of ratting him out to the church over him. If Ramza were to break his end of the bargain and leave, he’d likely be hunted down again in a matter of days.

As for the fact that Ramza was a man, it was another profound coincidence that Ashbourne already had a way to fix that. Ashbourne had used a secret family technique, a spell that could transform one’s gender in the blink of an eye, supposedly used to solve succession disputes amongst sons and assure that there would always be a male heir if only daughters were produced.

It was suspiciously convenient, but it had saved Ramza’s life so he, now she, wasn’t complaining. The two had agreed to not pry too far into Ramza’s life to the point that Ramza hadn’t even given him his name, the two settling on Ramira as her new name. Ramira figured he might eventually find out, based on her rather specific knowledge of noble lifestyle and protocol and Ramza Beoulve being a wanted man, but for now the two were in a state of plausible deniability.

And so, that brought them to where they were. Ramira would “marry” Ashbourne in a test period of sorts, where the two would have a happy marriage for roughly a year, and then Ramira would be free to leave and do whatever she pleased, including being promised that she would be returned to her original male form and given safe passage out of the country. He’d given her a wink and said that she could stick around if she decided she liked it, but Ramira highly doubted that she wouldn’t be counting the seconds until her freedom. She did, however, respect Ashbourne’s shrewdness and cunning that lurked under his light-hearted charming exterior. But much like how he had agreed to not pry into her life, if there was anything deeper she chose to stay out of it if possible.

The only downside was that she now had to pretend to be his wife for a year, with all the aristocratic baggage that came with it. The majority of that would be hiding inside his estate largely left to her own devices unless there were guests over, which sounded dull but far better than an early death. Getting used to being a woman was bad enough, but the thought of being paraded around was going to take all of the mental fortitude she had.

“If you’re satisfied, I’ll be on my way.” Ramira said, clutching her skirt as she prepared to turn on her heel (thankfully flat for now, but lessons on walking in high heels loomed over her) only to be stopped by Ashbourne.

“You certainly look the part, but you’ll never fool our guests with that attitude.”

Ramira audibly sighed, letting go of her skirt.

“I’m sure I’ll muster the energy when the time comes.” She sardonically reassured him.

“I think it’d do us some good to work on our chemistry in the meantime.” He grinned. “My previous wife and I were quite the lovebirds, and I’ve made it very clear that I wouldn’t marry again unless the right woman came along.”

“You could try making it quite clear that we married for political convenience instead.” Ramira suggested. “Say that my father begged you for a favour.”

“And make it look like I only married you out of pity? Think of your standing, my dear lady. You’ve enough of an uphill battle against those gossiping old hens as it is.”

“Fine.” Ramira gave in. “If it’s affection you want, I’ve the gratitude to give you that much in public.”

“How about in private first? I could do without the chatter of the maids too, I’ve the impression that they don’t seem to believe that you think highly of me.” He suggested. “You can’t keep calling me Lord Ashbourne when we’re supposed to be newlyweds. When we’re talking to guests, what’ll you refer to me as?”

“...My husband.” Ramira said reluctantly. Having been a woman for such a short amount of time, it was still mortifying to say the phrase. However, Ashbourne shook his head.

“It’s a bit formal, don’t you think?”



“...My dear husband.”

“That’s a good start, but keep going.”

Ramira’s eye twitched and her lips curled in distaste.

“...Darling.”

Sophie’s eyes glittered, the head maid giving a rapid round of applause as Ramira turned bright red in the face of her so-called darling’s shameless grin. She was starting to feel like she’d have been better off stuck out in the woods fighting off the inquisitors…

–

“Your tea, mistress.”

The head maid placed down a tray containing a smattering of cookies and cupcakes, one of each plucked no sooner had the metal touched the wooden coffee table next to her mistress.



“My thanks as always, Sophie.” Ramira said, looking up from the book she was reading. It was a rather trashy romance novel, once that Ramira had initially scoffed at but had rapidly gotten engrossed in despite herself. She blamed it on not having many other options, having burnt through most of the more serious literature in the manor’s collection in her boredom. Eventually she’d started making her way through the former mistress’s collection

She’d also burnt through hundreds of snacks in that month, having grown into a habit of drinking tea and munching small but numerous cupcakes, cookies, chocolates, and any other snacks the maids could devise. Apparently one of the maids loved making them, and had taken her mistress’ positive response to heart.

The elephant in the room was the fact that it was impossible for one woman to essentially laze around for over a month barely walking more than the length of the manor per day before sitting on her bustle and snacking without putting on at least some weight, and Ramira was starting to look distinctly chubby as a result of her lethargic lifestyle. Her plush middle was starting to become obvious no matter how tightly her girdle was laced, and her face was taking on a feminine roundness as flab was piled onto her frame. With regular exercise she could have mitigated or at least slowed down the slow outward advance of her flesh, except that her cover story had proven to be a double-edged sword in this regard.

She and Ashbourne were maintaining the guise that his lordship’s new wife had a delicate constitution, and thus had a reasonable excuse to rarely be seen outside or be taken on trips by him. While a good excuse to remain reclusive, it meant that she couldn’t exactly go jogging without arousing the suspicions of the many maids who weren’t in on the ruse. And once they started suspecting that they were lying to them about one thing, who knew how many holes they’d poke in her cover? Thus, Ramira was stuck inside, bored out of her mind and slowly but surely gaining weight.

Although she was well aware of this and how her body was starting to squish even in her casual seated posture, Ramira could hardly bring herself to care with how dull her married life was. At this point she had successfully navigated a grand total of two guests over, and they had both been crusty old men who did the bare minimum of pleasantries before proceeding to ignore her for the rest of the conversation. Granted, Ramira’s lack of interjections and input into those conversations didn’t help, but right now she was more than happy to be seen and not heard. If Lord Ashbourne wanted a nice, pleasant little wife who served as nothing more than a wallflower to get nagging nobles off his back, that was fine by her. However, such a lifestyle was terribly dull, to the point that she almost wished that one of those guests would bring their wife over so that she could have a chance to flex her rehearsed backstory and conversational skills.

Ashbourne had promised that social interactions would become increasingly common for her as the seasons changed and more of the upper class were in his domain, but for now she was stuck spinning her wheels and indulging in snacks. They were damned good snacks, though.

“By the way, Sophie…” Ramira paused from her book before the head maid could excuse herself, only stopping to finish her mouthful of cupcake only because she’d be swiftly scolded for her poor manners if she didn’t. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“By all means, ask whatever you please, mistress.” Sophie curtsied. “It is beneath my station to decline in the first place.”



“Right.” Ramira had mixed feelings on that claim. Sophie said that, but inevitably the only questions asked of her that were answered were ones she wanted to, or were asked in the proper way.

Sophie had the strong will required of a perfectionist head maid, on top of perpetually feeling like she was less Ashbourne’s maid and more his partner in crime. Ostensibly that role should have belonged to Ramira, but more often than not she felt more like she was a stooge who had stumbled into the two’s plot and was pulled this way and that to serve their needs. Ramira felt like if Sophie had taken up a sword instead of a feather duster, she’d be the type of person she’d have trusted with their dirty work.

“What was Lord Ashbo-…” Ramira caught herself, Sophie’s eyes telling her that this wasn’t the term they had agreed upon. “My husband’s previous wife like?”

Sophie’s expression softened just a little at the mention of her previous mistress. Ramira had avoided the question, since for how long it’d been since she met Lord Ashbourne he’d said barely a word about her, save for that he had loved her dearly and had little interest in any woman besides her. Ramira had deemed the topic off-limits, but eventually her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

“She was a woman who truly knew her place in life. A truly wonderful example of a noblewoman.” Sophie gave a characteristically Sophie-like answer. For her, it was obviously most important that a noble act like a noble, but this told Ramira extremely little besides that she probably didn’t ask her maid for permission on things. Thankfully, Sophie continued. “She was exactly the type of woman the master wanted, and he was exactly the type of man she wanted. She was quite the social butterfly, and the manor was always lively with how many guests she had over. She was a most pleasant woman to work for, as long as you could keep up with her wants and needs. A bit high-maintenance perhaps, ”



That doesn’t tell me much, Ramira wanted to say, but it was good enough for her first poke.

“I see. You’re excused, Sophie.” Ramira nodded, Sophie returning it and leaving to attend to her duties later. The lord’s previous wife seemed like the opposite of her, she thought to herself as she added a few more calories to her softening body…

–

“Must we really do this, Sophie?” Ramira resisted as the maid planted her down in front of her dresser, staring into her own pout as the maid opened up a cosmetics kit like a torturer’s set of instruments. Ramira felt like she’d practically have preferred to see the maid draw a knife instead of a brush, if only because she knew what to do if somebody tried to stab her. “We’ve no guests planned for today, let alone the rest of the week. Another day, surely?”

“That won’t do at all, mistress.” Sophie chastised the mistress she claimed to be perfectly obedient towards. “This is an essential skill for any lady, and one that you’re sorely lacking. It’s well past time you learned to do your own makeup.”



“What’s wrong with you doing it for me like before?” Ramira whined. “You’ll do a finer job of it than I ever will.”



“I won’t have you ignoring your own potential, mistress.” Sophie placed her hands on Ramira’s shoulders, as if to push her back down onto the seat if she tried to stand up. “A woman of such noble standing as yourself can surely do a better job than a humble maid such as myself, with a little practice.”

Ramira’s face puffed up even more, unable to believe what she was hearing, her expression enhanced by just how rounded it had gotten from her lethargic lifestyle and overindulgent diet. Gone was her slender figure, now distinctly plush and with plenty to hold, her tight dress pushing up her cleavage into something well and truly impressive, while squeezable thighs lurked beneath her petticoats. For the sake of her own self-image, Ramira had already applied a little mental makeup to her reflection to tune out those extra pounds.

“Fine.” Ramira gave in with great reluctance, and for the next half hour was slowly walked through each stage of slowly applying lipstick, blush, eyeliner, mascara, and all other parts of what was expected of her morning routine. Even worse, she’d have to get up early to do it, and that wasn’t taking into account washing and doing her hair, which was starting to finally get to a womanly length, which required considerable brushing and styling depending on what she decided to do with it. Unfortunately, Ramira was unable to complain about how much time it took after bemoaning how few things she had to occupy her day up until this point.

“There, mistress. Isn’t that better?” Sophie smiled innocently after much trial and error had resulted in something highly presentable, Ramira starting into her beautified reflection with its thick eyelashes and ruby-red lips. She hated to admit it, but she did look pretty good, if she might say so herself…

“I believe we’re done here.” Ramira seized the moment and lifted her plump rear end out of her seat, fleeing the room before Sophie could suggest any more adjustments or perhaps even wiping it all off and starting again to get more practice in. She left so quickly that she nearly bumped into her passing-by husband on the way out, stopping just short of a collision as she stared into his slightly startled but quickly recomposed face.

“Oh, what’s this? You’re looking lovely, my dear wife.” Ashbourne winked. “I daresay I might enjoy my mornings a bit more if I wake up to this every day.”



Ramira turned on her heel and left as quickly as possible without a word, and wanted to pretend that the blush on her cheeks was merely from the makeup…

–

The life of a noblewoman required much more patience than she had expected, Ramira thought to herself as she sat outside on a lovely day sipping tea with Lady Greenwood, the wife of one of her husband’s many, many noble acquaintances who had returned a few weeks ago from abroad, and was a frequent visitor much to Ramira’s chagrin. However, she was an important specimen of a gossip-addicted noblewoman for Ramira to learn from as she painted a rather vivid picture of her many friends and acquaintances, and so Ramira paid great attention no matter how much she droned on and on.

“How interesting, Lady Greenwood.” Ramira gave a practiced smile as the chatterbox of a woman paused to finish her cup of tea and wet her throat for the next audital assault.

On days like this, it was Ramira’s sugar addiction that kept her awake, for all the havoc it wreaked on her figure. Day after day of indulgence took its toll, and Ramira could now be considered formally fat, beyond merely overweight. Her body started to heave when she stood up and squashed when she sat down, her arms heavy with flab and and her belly heavier. Her bust was so big she couldn’t help but notice her husband’s increasing interest in it, despite him having previously expressed little in the way of attraction to her. Perhaps it was this chubbiness that bridged the ten or so year gap between Ramira and Lady Greenwood, the woman in her late thirties noticeably lighter than her, and thus confident that she wasn’t outshone in looks despite how heavy her makeup was to hide her wrinkles, and how grey hairs were mixed into her shiny auburn hair.

“Has anybody ever told you you’re a good listener, Lady Ashbourne?” Lady Greenwood referred to her by her husband’s name, something that had taken a while to get used to, but was by now second nature. They’d been husband and wife for over three months, regardless of the circumstances of her only being capable of being a wife in the first place for the same amount of time, and Ramira was finally starting to get used to it.

“Once or twice. Now, you were saying about Lady Amilia?” Ramira found it easiest to prompt her to keep talking, which her guest was more than happy to continue to do and then some.

Ramira couldn’t help but find the various pompous noblewomen she’d been subjected to terribly dull to spend time with. They were typically vacuous and with precious little of substance going on with their lives, managing to puff up very little into a great much in order to have something to actually talk about. However, Ramira was forced to take a great deal of it to heart, knowing that she’d be considered nothing less than a country bumpkin if she wasn’t up to date on her gossip. She could only make so much use of her pre-mercenary life for conversations, after all, much of it borrowed from things he had watched his sister do, or overheard conversations from the ladies around him. Sometimes she couldn’t believe the audacity of Lord Ashbourne, thinking that he could pluck a random vagrant off the street and expect them to keep up.

However, when Ramira talked to Lady Greenwood today, she found her usual prattling strangely interesting. She was finding herself rather invested in whether or not Lord Duburn was having an affair with Lady Amilia, and the evidence for and against it. If nothing else, it was certainly more interesting than her own uneventful life. It was like indulging in gossip and hearsay allowed one to live out a more interesting life, filled with drama and intrigue that didn’t involve knives in the night or the mobilisation of hundreds of men. Embarrassment was worse than any axe-wound for a noblewoman, and there was nothing more exciting than getting involved in somebody else’s private life. It was no wonder there was seemingly no shortage of affairs or forbidden loves in high society, with how little else there seemed to be going on sometimes.

 Not to say that Ramira approved even as she began to empathise with it. Regardless of her sham of a marriage, she was a strictly one-partner woman, and couldn’t imagine cheating on a spouse, male or female. Besides, she thought to herself with a strange sense of pride, she highly doubted she’d come by a better husband than Cedric… In these circumstances, that was. He was certainly better than all of the other men she’d met in these last few months, that was for sure. He was smart, charming, funny, handsome… If she weren’t doing this purely out of pragmatism, she might consider him quite the catch. Theoretically speaking. Not that she’d put much thought into it.

“Oh, but enough about me.” Lady Greenwood shockingly ended her long-winding story and leaned back in her chair with a smile, waving her hand for one of the nearby maids to refill her teacup. “Why don’t you tell me about how you and your husband met?”



“Again, Lady Greenwood?” Ramira managed to keep a straight face and pretend that it wasn’t a sensitive topic that she was perpetually worried would have holes poked in it. “It’s really not that interesting of a story to tell, let alone listen to.”

“I’m sure it was far more romantic than you’re letting on.” Greenwood’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll get the real story out of you one day, my dear.”



Ramira nearly spat out her tea. Romantic? That? Not in a million years. That said, it’d certainly give Lady Greenwood something to gossip about were she to find out that Lord Ashbourne’s lovely young wife used to be a less than lovely young man a few scant months ago.

“I speak nothing but the plain and honest truth.” Ramira lied. “My husband and I get along swimmingly, but our first meeting was anything but remarkable."

“His old wife never tired of telling us about how they met. It was love at first sight, and even I was jealous. You know, you’re starting to resemble her more and more by the day.” Lady Greenwood smiled knowingly, Ramira only able to give her a blank look of incomprehension back.



What was that supposed to mean? Ramira wondered, her burgeoning second chin squashing slightly as she tilted her head. She knew too little about his previous wife to know.

“I could only dream of making his lordship as happy as she did.” Ramira said honestly for once as she unconsciously reached for another snack.

“At the rate you’re going, you’ve got a good chance of that.” Lady Greenwood chuckled, Ramira munching on her sugary treat as she wondered exactly what she meant by that as well…

–

“Just pull it a little tighter, Sophie!” Ramira gasped, going red in the face as she desperately tried to squeeze into her one remaining dress, regretting having had thirds at dinner last night.



“It’s as tight as it can go, mistress!” Sophie grunted as she pulled the bodice strings, planting her foot into the back of the stool Ramira’s ass overflowed. While it was usually covered by a broad skirt, one could currently see how very pear-shaped her body was, with thighs that she would have once considered obscenely thick and had started to overflow all but the broadest of chairs. Her ass was wider than some of the dresses she’d worn at the start of her womanhood, enough to dwarf her hand should she place it on and press in, or anybody else’s for that matter. Even Ashbourne’s manly hand would look small if he touched it… not that she had mentally pictured it or anything, as the very idea was mortifying. Unbecoming for a woman of her status, even. In any case, Ramira had no intention of letting any man, husband or not, ogle her big butt.

Unfortunately, if she couldn’t cram herself into this ill-fitting dress she’d have no choice but to have it on display for all the world to see. Through an act of immense physical strength and determination Sophie managed to tie the string, the two letting their guard down for a moment as they breathed an optimistic sigh of relief before the bodice itself tore at both sides, Ramira’s gut flopping out she found herself with far more room to breathe.

“I suppose we shall have to find a replacement.” Sophie said in a matter of fact tone of voice

“I was getting tired of that one anyway.” Ramira attempted to brush it off as if she wasn’t horribly embarrassed by it. If only she’d gotten a new dress tailored earlier, she could have avoided this! The thought of eating less or going on a diet didn’t even occur to her at this point, only how she could have mitigated quite literally outgrowing her clothes.

“I’ll be back in just a moment with a suitable replacement, mistress. We should have more in the previous mistress’s wardrobe in storage.” Sophie excused herself, but Ramira lumbered to her feet and stopped her, grabbing her loose nightgown and throwing it on over her lacy bra and panties.

“Wait, I’ll come with you. I daresay I wouldn’t mind having some input on what I wear for once, and not just once we’ve fetched a tailor.” Ramira decided.

“If you insist, Mistress.” Sophie said, and Ramira followed her across the mansion to what Ramira would have assumed would be a dusty storage room, although thanks to Sophie’s dutiful work it was almost as well-maintained as any other room in the house. A sizeable part of it was devoted to the late wife’s personal effects and wardrobe that couldn’t be bestowed upon Ramira, but Ashbourne couldn’t bear to throw out, or so Sophie claimed.

In reality, the boxes and wardrobes contained a variety of extremely plus-sized dresses, Ramira having been able to surmise that the previous wife had also had something of a large figure based on how readily Sophie had offered to fish something from her out of the wardrobe, and also how she’d had larger dresses ready to go to replace the initial ones that Ramira had outgrown. Ramira suspected that this was actually the second or third time that she was wearing the old mistress’s clothes, but to question Sophie on it would be to acknowledge that she was getting or rather had gotten fat, and so the implication sat in the air unmolested.

“Something that the mistress wore in her younger years should fit.” Sophie said, using her own diplomatic wording as she pulled open a wardrobe with a number of large, fancy dresses within. However, Ramira spotted something placed behind them.

“What’s that?” Ramira asked, leaning past Sophie and pulling out a medium-sized oil painting that had been locked away along with her outfits.

“A portrait of the master’s late wife.” Sophie explained the obvious as Ramira set it up on a nearby table pressed against a wall. “The master preferred to avoid reminders of his loss, and so…”



“I see.” Ramira said softly as she got her first glimpse at the elusive woman who cast a shadow over her home life with Ashbourne. Already she could see a few parallels with herself and the woman posing for the very traditional portrait, the type of which could be found in any respectable noble’s home.

Curiously, Ramira couldn’t help but notice that her feminised form shared quite a few similarities with the woman in the painting both large and small. To start with they were both blonde and their faces shared a passing similarity, although the woman had noticeably fuller lips, slightly sharper eyes, and her hair was far more opulent than Ramira had the patience for. Ramira preferred to wear her hair either straight down or in a tidy bow, while the previous wife seemed to prefer elaborate curls and long ringlets that looked entirely too high-maintenance for Ramira. She seemed to be of good cheer, contrasting with the often frosty Ramira who kept all of the maids save for Sophie at arms length, and her husband hopefully further.

Most of all, it was impossible to overlook that they were both significantly overweight. Based on just how rounded the other woman’s face was and how wide she became the lower you went, she was a good hundred, perhaps even two hundred pounds heavier than Ramira at the time of the painting, but Ramira’s doughy face wasn’t quite as far off as she might have preferred. She wondered just how much their lifestyles under Ashbourne had overlapped, given that the dresses in her wardrobe clearly started small and got significantly larger over time.

So this is Cedric’s type, was Ramira’s biggest takeaway. Perhaps after transforming him into a woman he’d been reminded of his ex-wife and involved her in his scheme on impulse. At the rate she was going, he’d be reminded of her by more than just that…

“If you don’t mind, I’ll return that, mistress.” Sophie took the painting back and turned it over, returning it to the back of the wardrobe. “So, which one would you like to wear today?”

“Hmm…” Ramira thought it over. “How about the green one?”



“An excellent choice, mistress.” Sophie gave her typically flattering response. What neither of them acknowledged out loud was that it was the same shade of green as what the woman in the painting had been wearing, a very deliberate choice by Ramira. With any luck, she’d get to notice the look on Ashbourne’s face when he saw her walking around in his former wife’s dress. And if that didn’t work, well, perhaps the dangerously low neckline would catch his attention anyway…

–

“If you’d just raise your arms a little, milady!” The mousy female tailor requested as Ramira stood in her undergarments, dwarfing the diminutive woman both with her own height (albeit a good foot shorter than when she was a man, as standing next to her husband tended to remind her) and with her girth, the now well over a hundred or so pounds overweight woman sagging out in every direction. The flab on her arms drooped as she lifted them, while the measuring tape pressed into her soft skin as it was expertly wrapped around her chest, once engorged to be her most impressive attribute, but was now markedly dwarfed by her expansive gut and undeniable hips, each thigh as thick as Ramira’s whole body had once been, and yet she had quite a lot more to grow being less than halfway through her so-called marriage trial, as Ashbourne had taken to jokingly calling it.

“Alright, that should be all for today, milady. I’ll have your dress ready post-haste!” the young woman excitedly promised before she left, quite excited to work on such an expensive piece of fashion with a unique challenge of fitting a rather plus-sized woman. And the larger the dress, of course, the more she got paid. She was almost as eager as Ramira herself, who had been rather enthusiastic throughout the whole measuring process despite the fact that she’d normally have been embarrassed to have to show off her portly body. Normally, had she not been the one to summon the tailor in the first place.

Before, she’d seen her wardrobe as something purely functional, a necessary evil that she should be dolled up and presentable instead of wearing something simpler and more practical. But as of late, perhaps due to repetition getting the better of her, when it came time for a new dress she’d decided that this time, she wouldn’t simply leave it up to her dutiful head maid and her fashion sense.

While the previous wife’s dresses were lovely, seeing the other noblewomen brag about having the latest fashions from the capital city did make her feel like quite the country bumpkin, wearing quite outdated dresses inherited from another woman. Over time she just couldn’t shake the thought that she should be the one to show off and get to be the centre of attention for once, even if she had spent months telling herself and everybody around her that she’d much rather be anything but. But if she was going to be on display, why not do a better job of it? She’d already made the mistake of telling Lady Greenwood that she was feeling much better than her frail first months of marriage and might even do some travelling herself, in a foolish moment of trying to not look like a boring woman next to her most frequent conversational partner. But on the other hand, if she did venture out of her protective manor… well, she’d certainly have more to talk about, didn’t she?

She’d quickly banished the thought, reminding herself that she was trying to remain low key, but the idea that she could stand to hold herself to a higher standard when she did come out of her cave remained. Picking out her own outfit for once did sound fun, after all. And most of all, it’d give her an opportunity to engage in her current greatest hobby: attracting the attention of her husband. She’d spent months building up an image of him in her head as an unflappable, cunning man who saw her only as a useful tool to be used and later discarded when the year was up, frequently laughing at the two of them acting like a couple (for which Ramira admitted she had only herself to blame for, perhaps being a little too icy towards him in their early months). As such, she found it rather irresistible when she could crack that shell with her womanly charms and get him to act like he really did want her, if only for a moment. Just for fun, of course, as she knew their status quo was unlikely to change.

She knew it turned his head to have him see her in something newer and bolder, and a new dress would be just the thing to do it. Although Ramira had made a show out of her distaste for their arrangement, she’d been monitoring the way he looked at her quite closely, perhaps even before she realised she was doing it. She’d defend herself by saying that it was hard not to notice, with how he’d hardly paid attention to her body at first, only starting to take glances once her hips had swollen and her chest tested the limits of her low-necked dresses. How he’d definitely been appreciative of seeing her in makeup, and nodded approvingly at her wearing the jewellery he offered. How she was certain he’d gone out of his way to take her hand shortly after she’d let Sophie paint them, or how highly he praised her when guests were around. As such, she’d also noticed that she’d had diminishing returns in showing herself off wearing his previous wife’s dresses, getting an initial large reaction and then him starting to take it for granted as she moved up into successive dresses. Before long, having gone through several hairstyles and styles of makeup, she’d started craving another big hit, and had convinced herself that a new dress would be the thing to do it.

But of course, if she thought he’d make a move on her, she’d swiftly remind him that their roles were strictly performative, sometimes even before he’d actually made a move, just to make it clear that he’d been looking at her a little too intently. If he’d laugh and say that he’d never dream of it, one might see her make what looked awfully like a pout, and push up her chest a little further.

If you didn’t know her better, you’d think she was just playing hard to get. Perhaps she’d even laugh at the suggestion, saying that if he wanted it, he should have to work for her. Of course, she’d quickly follow up by clarifying that she couldn’t imagine genuinely being a couple with that man. It must have been quite difficult indeed, with that far-off look in her eyes when she did try to think about it, followed by a blush at whatever conclusion she’d reached.

After that, Ramira spent the next week being rather impatient, her upcoming dress giving her something to look forward to for once rather than the endless rolling days that were punctuated only by checking the calendar to realise that she had passed another month, and that she still had more than half of the year to go.

But here she was, in a dress carefully tailored and its elements hand-picked by her. The bright blue, picked to stand out and contrast against the shades she’d seen other ladies use. The broad, frilly skirt and the large puffy shoulders, up to date with the latest courtly fashions. The tight body that clung to the contours of her plush body in soft silks, comfortable for now but assuring that she’d need it to be tailored within weeks given her eating habits. The plunging neckline, just to make sure that they were looking. As for who “they” were, who else?

“Shall we change out of it, and keep it to debut tomorrow when Lady Greenwood arrives?” Sophie asked the beaming Ramira, who immediately shook her head.

“Perish the thought. I didn’t wait this long just to put it away as soon as I’ve finally got it on. Come, Sophie. I’ve got to show my darling husband as soon as possible.” Ramira smugly pranced out of the room, her body visibly bouncing within her new clothes that she was eager to show off. After all, getting a reaction out of that man was ever so amusing.