Page 53 of A Snowfall of Silver

She does. When the dress settles around her it looks as though it has been made exactly for her, as if some unknown dressmaker in the distant past took her measurements, and the dress has sat on the rail for all this time, waiting for Viola to wear it.

“It’s … acceptable.” Viola tilts her head in the mirror, but her eyes meet mine there and there’s nothing she can do to hide the pleasure in them.

“Perfect,” Nora murmurs in satisfaction. “Now, Freya, for you,” there’s a gleam in her eyes, “I have a few suggestions.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Our little dormitory has become a dressing room once more. What had begun as Nora’s spontaneous dinner party has turned into a real event. Alma, Nora, Viola and I have spent an enjoyable few hours getting ready, while the men “set the scene” as Kit mysteriously put it.

Nora has curled my hair and piled it on top of my head, but I’ve been so busy helping the others I’m still not in my dress yet.

Viola looks predictably beautiful in her golden gown, her hair swept up; the only make-up she wears is the tiniest bit of rouge on her cheekbones and lips. Alma is dressed in pale blue with flowing sleeves. Nora has rapidly altered a man’s evening suit so that it clings to her generous curves. The suit is midnight blue, the jacket close-fitting with tails, embroidered in gold thread, and a matching gold waistcoat. She looks sensational.

“My goodness, Nora,” I exclaim when I get my first look at the full outfit. “Just think what they were all missing out on not letting the women wear breeches!”

Nora smiles, pleased with herself. “I imagine I’d have scandalized a few regency ladies given half the chance. Here, help me with this button, I don’t think it’s attached properly.”

After helping Nora with more minor alterations, I sit down with Alma to braid the front of her hair back and away from her face, leaving the rest rippling down her back. When I’m finished I step back to admire her.

“You look absolutely wonderful,” I say. “Like Guinevere.”

“I feel wonderful,” she says. “If only we could always dress this way. It makes me feel so regal.”

“You won’t be saying that when you are trying to keep your sleeves from trailing in the soup,” I point out.

Somewhere down the hall a bell clangs loudly.

“That’s it,” Nora exclaims. “The signal! The boys are ready.”

“Oh!” I exclaim. “And I’m not even dressed yet. You go, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“All right, all right,” Nora laughs, following after Viola and Alma. “But don’t be long, you don’t want to miss the fun!”

Finally, I am alone in the dressing room, and I press my hand to my stomach, taking a deep breath. Kit wasn’t kidding all those weeks ago when he said that being on tour meant you didn’t get a minute to yourself. Just for a moment I relish the quiet, the stillness, the fact that I am completely alone. I feel myself settle. As my breathing slows down, my heartbeat slows too.

I move over to the rail where Nora has hung the dress we chose for me to wear. At first glance it is quite simple, a pale lavender charmeuse over an ivory satin slip, edged in soft blue velvet, but when the dress moves, the purple gleams and sparkles, like a piece of polished amethyst.

The dress itself looks like something from a hundred years ago. Sleeves that fall in tiers to the elbow, a bodice rather dashingly low cut over the bust, cinching in at the waist before falling in a full skirt to the floor. It has very fine silver embroidery in a vine-like pattern around the bodice, trailing down the sides and circling the bottom of the dress. Nora told me I would have to wear the proper underwear with it to make it fit, and so I agreed to a stiff petticoat and a corset, though I would not let her lace me up too tight.

“There’s no point in wearing it if I can’t eat in it,” I said firmly.

I slip off my robe and step into the dress. The dress is heavy, and there is, I realize, a big difference between buttoning someone else into a costume and buttoning it yourself. There’s a reason all those Victorian ladies had maids to help with their dressing and undressing.

I manage to get most of the buttons done up and I’m twisting myself into strange shapes in front of the mirror trying to do the rest when there’s a knock at the door. I swing around to find Kit framed there, leaning with one shoulder against the door frame and an amused look on his face.

“Nora thought you might need a hand,” he says. “But you look like you’re managing just fine.”

“Don’t just stand there!” I huff, half-laughing in frustration. “Come and help me!”

He peels himself away from the door and steps into the room.

“Oh!” I exclaim. “You look so handsome!”

I don’t think about the words before they come out of my mouth – it is as instinctive as telling Alma she looked beautiful – but I find that I am flushing a deep and unbecoming red. Thanks to the mirror in front of me I get to actually see my blush spread, which is an experience that I do not recommend. Far better to remain in ignorance.

Kit, to his credit, ignores me and moves forward to help me with my dress. I don’t know why I am so flustered all of a sudden. It was just a shock, I suppose, to suddenly see Kit in evening wear. He’s dressed in a close-fitting black tailcoat, with a matching waistcoat over a crisp white shirt with a white bow tie, and a pair of black trousers. His shoulders look broader in a jacket. His hair is lightly oiled and smoothed back away from his face, apart from a couple of unruly locks that fall over his brow. The oil has turned his hair a little darker, a touch more auburn. I’ve never noticed before that his face is such a nice shape, with such good cheekbones.

“Who taught you to tie your bow tie like that?” I ask, looking at him in the mirror.