“We will make quite the couple,” Nicolas says. “Apparently, our plan to blend into the shadows has been upended. And there is still more in these boxes...”
In mine, I find a gorgeous pair of green boots and a belted green coat with a collar and cuffs that look like a lamb’s wool—the tag calls them “shearling.” The other contains a winter overcoat and shiny low black boots for Nicolas. There are also gloves for both of us.
“It seems that we are to venture out of doors. If you do not open that envelope,crécerelle, I may burst of curiosity.”
Inside is a small white card with holly around the edges. It says simply, “Table for two, 3 p.m., reservation under ‘Miranda Hastings’.”
“A late lunch?” Nicolas says, reading over my shoulder. “It would help if we knew where we were going.”
I check the envelope and find I’ve missed a folded sheet. I open it, expecting a restaurant name and address. Instead, I see this:
Depart at 2:45.
Take the elevator.
Leave through the front door.
Turn right.
Walk to the corner.
The directions continue, and as I read them, I smile and wave the sheet at Nicolas. “Rosalind is sending us on a treasure hunt. Appropriate for a pirate, I suppose.”
“Formerpirate, who thought he was a privateer.” He catches my look and sighs. “Yes, yes, I should claim the title of pirate and be done with it. No one writes romantic adventures about dashing privateers. Not even you.”
I tap his arm with the note. “Only because I had not met one. Now that I have, I shall be certain to write such a tale.” I turn to look for the clock, and it takes a moment to recognize it as the box by the bedside, with the time displayed in green light. “Oh! It is already past two. We must dress. You take the water closet. I will make ready in here.”
His brows rise. “I believe I have seen you undressed before,crécerelle.”
“This is different. This is...” I make a dramatic flourish. “A presentation. Now, take your box into the water closet, where there is more than enough room for dressing, and I shall prepare for our festive luncheon.”
2
Nicolas is staring at me, and he may have stared many times before, but I shall never grow tired of it. This time, I am hardly able to stop staring at myself in the mirror. The dress is a delight. There is no other word for it. It is flattering and utterly delightful. The bodice fits snugly; the neckline shows my bosom to advantage while displaying it less than many Victorian dresses. The skirt reminds me of crinolines, but it is featherlight, and the shorter length means I can swirl and feel the dress lift as it swirls with me.
Along with the dress, the box’s bounty also included cosmetics and several pictures of hairstyling suggestions. I choose one that sweeps up my long blond hair and holds it with a green velvet bow to match Nicolas’s jacket. As for the cosmetics, I feel somewhat scandalous applying them, but I cannot resist. There is color for my lips and eyes and a tiny brush to paint my lashes. The lip color is a dark red that matches the dress, and when I look in the mirror, I blush.
“Is the lip color too much?” I ask. “It is very... bold.”
“If I lie and say it is too much, may I kiss it off? Because that is very much what it begs me to do.”
“Then it shall stay, and I shall tempt you all through lunch.” I make kissing faces at him. Then I twirl, just to feel the skirt swirl up around me.
“You realizethatbegs me to do something very different,” he says. “Something that will most certainly make us late for lunch.”
“Then I shall stop doing it,” I say. “I cannot risk tearing these.” I lift the skirt up to my hip and twist my leg to reveal stockings. They are black and decorated with holiday wreaths dotted with red berries. They are also of the most impossibly sheer fabric, even lighter than my silk stockings at home.
Nicolas steps toward me.
I lift a hand to stop him. “When we return.”
“Will I be permitted to rip off those stockings?”
“Certainly. I shall not need them after that. Though it seems I ought to find a few pairs to sneak home with us. You appear quite fond of them. Now, let me get a look at you.”
I do not need to “get a look” at him. I noticed him the moment he opened the water-closet door. Earlier, I’d thought the suit rather drab without the jacket. Now I see my mistake. It is not the suit that matters. It is the fit, and both the trousers and shirt fit superbly, and they have me sneaking another look at the clock.
“I take it that means you approve?” he says.