Page 28 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

As I unpacked each valise, I was reminded of Lord Wynter’s excellent eye for style. I had forgotten how many times a day a lady was expected to change her clothes. There were morning gowns, walking dresses, tea gowns, dinner dresses, riding habits and ball gowns, as well as shoes, shawls, hats, gloves, corsets, stockings and chemises.

Despite the fact that I was no naive sheltered society girl, I found myself blushing over that. To have a man buying my undergarments … well, it felt a bit too close to the role I had originally thought Nicholas was offering me.

On the other hand, it was all truly beautiful, and I had never worn anything like these outfits. The wardrobe of an eleven-year-old was much less exciting than that of a young woman of eighteen. Soon the room was buried under an explosion of colour and texture. I stood at the epicentre, taking it all in.

I ran my fingers over a beautiful dark blue velvet riding habit, trimmed with silver braid. Lots of the dresses were in various shades of blue, and I held them up to me in the mirror; they complemented the colour of my eyes to perfection. There were dresses made of silk, brocade, chiffon, jacquard; there were elegant trimmings, lace and silk ribbons and elaborate embroidery, tiny pearl buttons, and glass beads, and fringe. I could not resist touching them all, examining all the details. Even my professional eye could find no defect. They were made with extreme skill.

Hidden away in my own case was one extra addition that I hadn’t told Nicholas about. I had brought the dream dress that I had been working on, and everything I would need to finish it. I planned to work on it while I was here; hopefully I would have the chance to finish it before the ball at the end of the fortnight. I had asked Madame if I could have it and offered to pay for it, but she had surprised me and given it to me as a gift.

“It’s barely even a dress at the moment,” she had sniffed. “You might as well have it.”

She hadn’t asked me what it was for.

A knock at the door snapped me out of my daydreaming. It was Matilda, the lady’s maid Nicholas had employed for me. “Shall I unpack for you, miss?” she asked.

I had already started hanging things in the wardrobe, and I cursed myself for such dim-witted behaviour. I needed to act like a woman who had never lifted a finger for herself.

“Thank you, Matilda,” I responded. “And if you could ring for some water, I’ll tidy myself up before dinner.”

“Do you know what you’d like to wear, miss?” Matilda asked. I could see her eyes widen as she took in the explosion of extremely luxurious gowns that were strewn across every surface.

“This one, I think,” I said, resting my hand on a sapphire-blue silk gown, trimmed with ivory lace.

“Very good, miss.” Matilda bobbed.

The water was promptly delivered, and I washed as quickly as possible before Matilda laced me into my gown. She had also laid out a pair of fine silk stockings, an ivory shawl embroidered with blue forget-me-nots, a pair of silk slippers dyed to match my dress, and a pair of elbow-length cream gloves, each fastened with four tiny buttons.

After I had dressed, Matilda sat me in front of the mirror, and brushed out my hair before braiding it away from my face and styling it in a low chignon. It was much more elegant than I could possibly have achieved.

“Thank you!” I exclaimed, unthinkingly. “It looks wonderful!”

It was much too effusive for a fine lady, but Matilda blushed and looked pleased.

I gave myself a mental shake. I had only been back in the house for five minutes and already my grip on Iris Grey was loosening. I had to pretend to be Serena Fox – but I needed my own cool, calculating head on my shoulders if I was going to pull this off.

I had just stood, straightening out my skirts, when there was another knock at the door.

It was Lord Wynter.

His eyes travelled lazily over my outfit. “Thank you, Matilda,” he said, his gaze still on me. “That will be all.”

Matilda hesitated for a moment, glancing quickly towards me. Nicholas might have hired her, but already I sensed a tiny bit of loyalty towards me. That was nice.

“It’s all right, Matilda, thank you.”

Without another word the maid bobbed another curtsey and left.

Nicholas prowled – there was really no other word for it – towards the fireplace and rested his elbow against it. His face was freshly shaven, his dark hair gleaming. He wore a richly patterned pale grey velvet waistcoat covered in a dense design of blue roses underneath a suit made of dark grey superfine.

“After all your talk of acting with propriety, allow me to tell you that you definitely shouldn’t be here,” I said. “I don’t need to read an etiquette manual to know that.”

“Matilda won’t say anything,” he said, with enough certainty that I knew my new maid must be very well paid. Good for her.

“And why,” I asked, “are you here at all? Have you come to check me over like a piece of furniture? Because I’ve been dressing fine ladies for years now.”

“I think you look perfectly acceptable,” was his response.

“Stop!” I raised a hand to my forehead. “You’ll overwhelm me with such high praise. Can’t have me falling into a swoon before dinner.”