By evening the guests were all in. All dined, already bored and ready for the amusement of repairing to the drawing room with drinks and painted chocolates. One of the younger girls sat down at the rosewood piano—to show off, but she was good, and the latest waltzes sang from the freshly tuned keys. The women laughed and flashed rings and angled their hips to display their dressmakers’ concoctions of slim silk and beaded net.
And yet. Now that Jane knew Edward’s true occupation, she saw the women with a different eye. Not art patrons, but women wealthy enough to buy themselves new noses and cheekbones. Not content with the normal faces she’d give anything to have. For an instant she viewed them with disdain, sad creatures focused on appearance. And in the next moment that superiority washed away in shame as she reminded herself that she was focused on her own looks, whatever justification she felt she might have.
Jane ducked out of the shadow of the doorway as one of the new hires hurried through, intent on not spilling her tray. The woman’s pinched, set mouth implied it had been a long day for her already, trying to properly navigate her new employment. Jane wondered if it would be better or worse to carry a tray rather than mind a child. More boring, certainly—but perhaps easier during times like this.
But at least she was not poor Edward, having to actually give the party. Jane was not so na?ve as to think he’d rather sit and talk to his fey-scarred governess, but still. She would hate to give parties for all those frighteningly perfect people, so she sympathized with him.
Jane went slowly up the stairs and sat on the bed in Dorie’s room. “Ready to wake up?”
Dorie roused, blinking sleepy eyes.
Jane gently untangled the golden curls, helped the girl from the bed. A shame, keeping her up past her bedtime. Jane lifted the rose-pink dress off the padded white hanger. “Are you awake enough to go?”
Dorie swallowed a yawn, nodded firmly, face lighting at the sight of the party frock. Jane smiled, glad a new dress could still catch Dorie’s interest. She helped the girl into the frock and was attempting to tie a decent-looking bow in the silk sash when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Jane, expecting Martha with their summons. And yet when she looked up it was Edward, staring down at Jane ministering to Dorie, an oddly soft look on his face.
“Father!” said Dorie, and she ran to him, leaving the sash to trail behind.
He set down the paper-wrapped parcel he held, scooped Dorie up in his arms, and swung her around till she giggled. Jane had never seen him do that, and she thought: He is happy, and look how she beams from it. How did he get that way, and can it happen more often?
Edward stopped spinning and came to a halt, still holding Dorie, and for a moment looking very boyish indeed. His hair had already gotten mussed, and one of the locks stood straight up. “You are going to be perfectly behaved tonight, I can tell,” he told Dorie, and she nodded.
Jane smiled faintly at the two of them, and did not say, “We hope so.”
He set Dorie down. “Your tail is trailing,” he told her solemnly, and she laughed again, beaming at them both, and for one ridiculous moment the three of them were lit with happiness, because of how normal it all was, could be. “Be good and let Jane tie it.”
Dorie let Jane catch her trailing sash, and Jane bent again to the task. Her fingers slipped on the silk, but at last she managed a creditable attempt at a bow, and she set Dorie free to spin around in front of the mirror, engrossed in the whirl of her skirt.
Edward cleared his throat.
“Yes?” said Jane, and she was surprised to see hesitancy in his face.
He picked up the lumpy brown parcel from the floor and handed it to Jane. It felt like cloth, folded and wrapped in butcher paper to keep it tidy. “The slippers from your sister, and a dress for you,” he said at last. “If it would please—if you like it.”
“Thank you,” said Jane, but he cut in:
“It’s nothing, just from the attic. Just washed and pressed is all.” He spread his hands. “Perhaps I should have picked you up something in town.…”
“That would not be necessary,” said Jane, meaning, that would not be appropriate, and she felt warm with embarrassment. “Thank you for this.”
“So you will come,” he said, and his usual assured cynicism seemed to flow back in, his mask settling back in place. “You will save me from being quite alone down there. Ah, Jane, I told you once of the tale of the beastly man, but do you know the famous tale of Tam Lin? Stolen away by the fey, and for his beloved to win him back, she had to hold him as he changed into a variety of loathsome beasts.”
“I have heard it,” said Jane. She wished they could return to the Edward who swung Dorie around, rather than the Edward who brooded on fey tales of misery and despair.
“I request that you not think badly of me as I change into that most loathsome of all beasts, the Gentleman,” he said.
“I would hardly think badly of you for being a good host to your guests, sir.”
“And yet I am certain that to once lose Jane’s good opinion is to lose it forever,” he said, and that bit of cowlick waved madly. “So I ply her in advance with dresses and words, hoping she will take pity on poor Tam Lin when he becomes an ogre.”