My lessons the next day were another disaster. I set fires when I was meant to form ice and drowned flames under torrents of water. I tried the breathing exercises to clear my mind, but they only made me more anxious. Magnus encouraged my skills, while Blackwood silently judged the lack of them. Afterward, while we were filing out of the room, he approached me. I tried to excuse myself before he could tell me what a failure I was, but he surprised me by saying, “It would be my privilege to escort you to Madame Voltiana’s. She is my sister’s favorite dressmaker, and would be happy to service you with compliments of my family.” He stood with his hands behind his back and spoke as though conducting a business transaction. It took a moment for me to understand that he wanted to pay for my new clothes.
“Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly. It’s too generous.” And I really didn’t want to be in any special debt to Blackwood.
“Nonsense. You must be suitably dressed for the queen’s commendation in June.”
“I couldn’t repay you. Besides, I have clothes—”
“Miss Howel,” he whispered, “you haven’t considered Master Agrippa. I know he meant his daughter’s wardrobe for you, but I’ve seen his face these last few days. Perhaps a change would do him good.”
How stupid could I be? I would do anything to save Agrippa pain. “In that case, my lord, I accept your offer. You’re very kind.”
“It’s merely a responsibility. Someone must think of these things,” he said with a wave of his hand, as though he were going over the monthly accounts. Only Blackwood could make someone feel like an oaf for thanking him.
Madame Voltiana’s was a fashionable establishment on a bustling street in Mayfair, with gold lettering over the door. I’d never been in a dress shop before, and I gazed around in wonder. Swatches of expensive silk and satin lay in folds; gowns of frothy lace sat on dressmaker dummies. Women in white caps sewed, barely looking up from their work. A young lady, too richly dressed to be employed in a shop, sat on a sofa with a cup of tea. When she saw us, she rushed over.
“George, you’re late. Mamma wasn’t about to let me go without a chaperone, but I convinced her.” The girl kissed Blackwood’s cheek. I assumed this had to be his sister. Otherwise, she was very forward.
“You had better do as you’re told in the future,” he said, but there was no harshness in his tone. He actually smiled.
“How dull life would be if I only did that.” She was bold; I found I rather liked her. Blackwood turned her to me.
“May I present my sister, Lady Elizabeth Blackwood.”
“You must never call me Elizabeth, as it sounds practically ancient. Eliza will do,” she said, beaming. Eliza had the same coloring as her brother, the pale skin and black hair and green eyes, but that was the extent of the similarity. Her whole person vibrated with energy. She wore a deep purple day gown, one that beautifully set off her hair and eyes, but was too extravagant for a simple outing. She kissed my cheek before I could say hello.
“We’re going to be friends,” she announced. “George wrote and said you seemed clever, which is a sight more than other girls in my circle. I daresay they’ve taken to staying quiet so as to better catch a husband. I don’t need to be modest, of course—who wouldn’t want a Blackwood? Arrogant, perhaps, but true.”
At that moment, Madame Voltiana swept through a pair of gold curtains. She was a faerie, half a head taller than Blackwood and thin as a reed, with purple skin and a snarl of moss-green hair.
“My lord, you do me too much honor.” She took his hands, to his embarrassment. “And Lady Eliza, always your servant.” She curtsied to the girl. “My lady, are you in need of anything in particular?” Madame Voltiana smiled, revealing a mouth filled with sharp black teeth.
Eliza pushed me forward. “This is my dear friend Henrietta Howel, and she must be properly equipped.”
Voltiana stood back, clapping her hands as she studied me. She wore a great gold monstrosity of a gown, with enough frills and flounces to drown a normal woman. I was growing more and more nervous at the thought of being dressed by this faerie.
“I see.” With that, Madame Voltiana burst into violent tears, turned, and fled through the curtains. Blackwood and Eliza looked at each other, clearly surprised.
“I’m sure she’ll be back,” Eliza said, attempting a smile.
Sure enough, after a stunned moment, Voltiana returned, composed.
“Forgive me,” she said, flicking away a tear from her thin cheek, “the challenge was almost too great. But I shall triumph.” She pointed at me and nodded. “Yes, girl. You will be my masterpiece.”
Perhaps I should run.
It took her fifteen seconds to pop me up on a stool in front of three mirrors. While she grunted and sighed and measured and pinched me, turning me this way and that, Eliza chattered, discussing different cuts and colors. Almost as soon as I was up on the stool, I was dragged down again and seated on a sofa. Eliza sat beside me, explaining certain fashions with the air of an expert. Lovely shopgirls in different-colored frocks and gowns paraded choices before me, in and out of the curtains so fast I hardly had time to see what the faerie had in mind.
I looked around for Blackwood and found him talking with one of the seamstresses, a pretty blond girl. He smiled at her, obviously enjoying their conversation. She laughed at something he said. Interesting.
Perhaps my wardrobe wasn’t the only reason for this visit.
“You’ll need red,” Eliza said, snapping her fingers at a shop girl. “Your complexion is positively designed for red, as you’re so dark. No pinks. Pink will be the death of you, and green will turn you sallow. Yellow might work, but only the right shade. Ivory! It’s the only thing. What do you think?”
I had no idea what to say, so Eliza started another conversation.
“Julian Magnus is one of your fellow Incumbents, isn’t he? To be frank, I rather hoped he’d come with you today.” She turned toward the doorway as if to check whether he’d appeared. “Mamma would be horrified at my saying so, but he’s so good-looking it could drive anyone to distraction. And he makes me laugh. Of course, he hasn’t a penny. Therefore he’s totally unsuitable.”
“Oh?” It was all I could think to say. I liked Eliza’s spirit, but I didn’t like her being so mercenary about Magnus. If a man talked about a woman that way, I’d have called him a cad.
“He’s not the Magnus seal bearer; his cousin is. And his cousin is fat and married. Shame.” She sighed. “One never thinks of handsome boys as being without wealth. Beautiful women who live in poverty are an everyday tale.” Eliza clapped her hands, and the shopgirls departed. “You’ll have three day dresses and three for the evening, along with gloves and accessories and such. Not your commendation gown, though; I’m going to dream up something special.”
It occurred to me that Eliza was used to having her way over every living creature.
“Perhaps we might discuss it together,” I said.
“Nonsense. My taste is bound to be better than yours,” she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss me.
The remark stung. “There’s no need to be rude.”
Eliza gasped, putting a gloved hand to her cheek. “You’re cross with me.”
“No, I’m not,” I said, but to my surprise she shrieked with glee.
“No one’s ever cross with me! No one ever calls me rude! Listen, that settles it. I know it’s almost two months off, but you simply must be our special guest for the Court Players’ annual Dream.”
I had no idea what any of that meant. “Pardon?”