Chapter 19

With the luxurious allowance of two new tapers for her candlesticks, the satins and silks hung in the cedar wardrobe of Kitty's small dressing room gleamed dully. They were lined up exactly as she had left them, some with a sheet of plain white cotton or paper between them to discourage creasing and colour loss.

Timidly, as if she could scarcely believe that she was going to feel them on her skin again, she reached forward slowly, running her hand over them. She had grown accustomed to the rough texture of the cheaper linens and cottons that had formed the basis of her wardrobe these days; the fine gowns of her past felt impossibly flimsy, as if a sturdy breeze would simply blow them away.

Her hands, too, were rougher than they had been the last time she had touched these fine gowns and petticoats. The contrast was not lost on her, her hands work-reddened and rough. Lady Veronica had been ordering her to soak her hands every evening in buttermilk with rosewater, but it was all for naught: Though they had taken on an additional maid temporarily to help get the Cluett townhouse into shape, it was still necessary for Kitty to get her own hands dirty more often than not.

She had also been given a small stipend to purchase the almond cream and lavender powder that she had eschewed during her time with Lady Veronica. They lined her dressing table now, strange and foreign, but something to be treasured in a way that Kitty never had before. She could not begin to describe the simple luxury of powdering her hands so that they slipped easily into gloves, or going to bed with her face soft from the almond cream. She chided herself for simply taking it for granted for so many years.

So here she was, the night before this all-important dinner, and Kitty Johnson, once one of the most fashionable young women in London, was in great danger of being completely undone by a dress . No, that is not quite right; it was not simply a dress, but the prospect of so many of them. She could scarcely imagine what she did with so many of them, now that her choice these days was between her grey day dress and…her grey day dress. The colour, the cut, the fabric, there was so much to choose from, and this was even before she chose what accessories to complete her ensemble.

Still, it was nice to feel a little like her old self, to have some sense of who she used to be. Kitty smiled wistfully, then reached in for a particular favourite of hers. It was a fine muslin, with a pattern of little pink blossoms embroidered on it. The lining was a light green, so it gave the impression of spring flowers blooming across a field.

Carefully, Kitty pulled the dress from the wardrobe, laying it out across the chair in the dressing room. It needed to air, and she wished to inspect it for any tears or damage. The hem at the bottom was a cartridge-pleated ruffle, which was in need of fluffing and starching tomorrow morning.

Kitty gave one last wistful look to the dress as it was draped over the chair, waiting for her. She couldn't resist running her hand over it one last time, but quickly pulled back; her hand did not match the delicacy of the dress anymore. Kitty's cheeks grew warm, a little ashamed, as she wondered if Seth would even know her anymore. She did not think he would turn her aside because her hands were a little rougher, her cheeks a little thinner, but the point was that she wanted to be everything she had been for him.

With a last sigh, Kitty blew out one taper, and carried the other to her bedroom. As quickly as possible, she shed her day dress, petticoat, and chemise. With a sigh, she untied her jumps and slid out of them, exhaling a little as she lost their support. She did not have time to linger, however, and quickly wriggled into her nightrail before she could freeze.

Thankfully, she'd had the foresight to put a warming pan into her bed before she went into the dressing room, and she quickly reached under the heavy quilt for the wooden handle. Her teeth beginning to chatter a little, clacking away inside her mouth, she withdrew the brass warming pan, and carefully emptied the embers back into the hearth.

As was her habit, no matter how tired she was, Kitty always skipped the last step or so before her bed, leaping gamely into it. Shivering, teeth still chattering, she stuffed her feet beneath the quilt, sighing with pleasure when they found the place where the warming pan had been. Meticulously, Kitty wrapped herself tightly as if she were a Frenchman's crepe, withdrawing only one arm to unpin her braid, and then to smear the almond cream on her face.

It was such a series of contradictions that it made Kitty smile a little wryly: She shed her servant-like dress, and was tucked into a warm bed in the family part of the house; she put face cream on to improve her complexion and coax along her rosy cheeks, but applied it with hands that had callouses.

"Am I the world's most spoiled servant, or the most wretched of society girls?" she wondered out loud.

The night had no answer, only a strange, nervous rolling sensation in her stomach. Twisting a little, she blew out her remaining candle, the smoke curling in the cold air and tickling her nose. She hoped that she remembered her old self properly, the way to flutter a fan, how to pour tea so that a flattering glimpse of her wrist peeked out of her sleeve. It was foolish that so much rode on one dinner, but then, her life was all absurdity these days.

Kitty's room boasted a window with white lace curtains, which while fashionable and feminine, did little to help insulate against cold draughts that were always leaking in from around the window frame. It was through these curtains that Kitty could glimpse the sky as she lay in bed if she turned her head to the right.

Her world was small, far smaller than it had been before she had come to live with Lady Veronica. There was little that tangibly existed for her outside of the walls of this home, her days (and many of her nights, too) defined by the work that she did within them. It had been a daunting task before she came here to contemplate the reality of Seth going across an entire ocean, to a land that Kitty had only heard the name of. Now, it was something completely beyond her realm of understanding.

The sky, clear save for a few whisps of airy clouds that drifted lazily across the sliver of moon, showed the stars to good advantage. If she tilted her head a bit so that she could gaze between two stone chimneys of a house just across the back garden, she could see the Northern Star. It blinked and twinkled, constant but never the same.

It seemed strange that a light so far away, farther than her mind could comprehend, shone down on both herself and Seth. He, too, was likewise far away, unreachable. Still, like the sailors who relied on it for navigation, Kitty could feel her love and devotion guiding her like the Northern Star.

She stared at the star until her eyelids grew heavy. When she slept, it was to dream of being lifted from her bed by a mighty, unseen force. Higher and higher she was taken, until all of London was spread out beneath her like a quilt of lights that blinked out, one by one. A strange weightlessness infused her whole body. Kitty looked down at herself, holding her hands out, and saw them shining so brightly she had to close her eyes.

* * *

The way the light sateen lining and muslin whispered over Kitty's skin was almost enough to intoxicate her. It had been so long since she'd worn anything so light and delicate that she shivered a little as she put her arms into the sleeves, the skirt whispering around her legs. In fact, she had twisted herself into all sorts of unflattering postures so that she could see the movement of the light fabrics as she walked, earning a sigh from Elsa O'Toole, Lady Veronica's maid.

She had helped her ladyship dress quickly, and then been sent to Kitty. It was a rare, strange luxury to have such assistance again; they had gotten into a pattern of Elsa simply darting into Kitty's room or stopping her in the hallway to help with buttons hurriedly. Once Kitty was fully dressed, silk and wool blended stockings tied below her knees with new, blush-pink ribbons and dress in place, she sat before her dressing table and for the first time in a year, let someone else's hands tend to her hair.

Since Kitty was blessed with locks that curled naturally, it was simply a matter of dampening her hair and working a setting lotion through. After a brief conference, they both decided that the most successful means of styling her hair would be to pile it up near the back of her head, letting some curls fall loose over her shoulder. It was not especially modish, and on any other occasion, likely to earn Lady Veronica's ire, but it spoke to a certain wild femininity, as if it might all come tumbling down at any moment. Elsa added a wide silk organza ribbon about Kitty's head, pink and shot through with gold thread.

Carefully, Elsa added a hint of colour to Kitty's cheeks with a cream rouge, swiping it on with her fingers over her cheekbones. It was not enough to be blatantly obvious, adding more of a healthy glow to Kitty's face. Likewise, Kitty dipped a finger in and spread it over her lips, the cochineal and berries adding flavour as well as colour.

When they were done, Kitty simply stared for a moment at the mirror on her dressing table. Her face felt like a stranger's, but also her own. It was like looking at a portrait of one's self: The features were familiar, but there was an unnatural aspect to it, a sort of highlighting and blurring of the face.

"Come miss," Elsa said, chivvying her along. "We've not the time for idleness."

Kitty shook herself a little, trying to shed the strange feeling that coursed all along her skin now. Something was most assuredly Not Right, but she couldn't begin to explain what it was.

It's all down to this flimsy dress and this cold house, she tried to reassure herself as Elsa held out stylish pink leather shoes for her to slip her feet into. They were cut low so that the clocking on her stockings might be glimpsed as she walked.

With a last glance at her reflection, Kitty swept from her dressing room, snatching up a light shawl as she went. She was draping it loosely about her shoulders as she approached the stairs, hesitating. Lady Veronica had given her very clear instructions, and there was a plan that Kitty must adhere to.

At precisely the right moment, there came a knock at the front door, which was answered by a butler hired temporarily from a London agency. When the door swung open, a distinguished gentleman in a slate-grey greatcoat and dark blue top hat was admitted, along with a gust of cold air.

"Why, Sir Wright, what a pleasure to see you," Lady Veronica said, stepping forward from where she had been loitering in the doorway of the sitting room. "It is so good of you to call on us."

"Yes, well, I shudder to think of the day a gentleman wouldn't feel compelled to respond to your invitation," he replied, dusting fresh snow from his shoulders.

"We are in the sitting room, just here," Lady Veronica said, her voice raised slightly.

That was Kitty's cue. With a deep breath, she turned the corner in the hall to the stairway, and slowly, deliberately, began to descend.

"Ah, there you are, Catherine dear," Lady Veronica said, smiling up the stairs. Sir Wright turned to follow her gaze, and there was no mistaking the way that his eyes widened appreciatively when he saw Kitty coming downstairs. She gritted her teeth behind her demure smile, especially as his eyes slid down to where her ankles flashed into view from beneath her hem as she walked.

Kitty could feel his gaze on her from that moment on, oily and slick as his hair. When they entered the sitting room, as they found their seats, Lady Veronica engaged him in conversation–always it was with Sir Wright staring sidelong at Kitty. For her part, Kitty did her best to tolerate him, making the requisite curtsy and conversation after their introductions.

It isn't forever, Kitty consoled herself, laughing at one of Sir Wright's clumsy attempts at flirtation. Just get through this luncheon; charm the rake to save Seth's home.

Kitty was busy attempting to look interested as Sir Wright regaled them with another anecdote about his time in the Regent's service when the butler opened the sitting room door again.

Lady Veronica stood, clasping her hands high at her waist. "Is that dinner, Stowe?" she asked, looking expectantly at the butler.

"No, my Lady," he said, and then stood aside.

From behind the butler, another gentleman entered the drawing room. Unlike Sir Wright, he was tall and broad rather than lanky, his chin badly in need of a shave. He moved easily, rather than mincing along, quite at ease. His brown eyes were level and calm.

Though he was tanned and sporting longer hair and more of a beard than when she had last seen him, Kitty would have known him anywhere. She felt her heart leap into her throat and her stomach plummet simultaneously. She might have gotten up and run to him were she not rooted firmly to the spot. All she could do was listen to her own ragged breathing, her eyes burning with tears that threatened to overwhelm.

In the end, it was Lady Veronica who rushed forward, crying, "Seth!"