Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 65
“Another birthday gift!” cried Milli, the book momentarily forgotten.
Emma thanked the maid and carried the box to the bed. “But it isn’t my birthday just yet.”
“One might argue that you have every right to celebrate two birthdays this year, Emma.”
“True.” Midsummer did not, after all, fall annually on the same day.
Without further ado, Emma pulled the riband free and lifted the top half of the box away from its partner. With a worshipful gasp she ran her fingers gently over the dark satin and deep carmine velvet within. “A gown!” And what looked to be an exquisite one. She pulled it out and held it against her bosom.
Milli was grinning like a simpleton. “From your lover, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“There’s no card, it might just as well be from—”
“It’s from him,” said Milli, emphatic.
“But I have a gown.”
“Nothing to rival that one. I defy you shall wear anything else tonight, Emma, it’s perfect! You will be the loveliest woman at the ball tonight.” Milli then glanced at her watch and declared that it was high time they got themselves ready.
Emma was much mistook if she thought she would have a leisurely nap before the ball. Milli was of the opinion that there was not enough time between now and dusk to do all that she wished to do to improve her sister’s toilette. And she was entrusting none of it to Emma, who preferred simplicity and elegance to ostentatious headdresses and colorful confections.
“I hope you won’t turn me into some or other feathered beast?” said Emma, shuddering at the thought of wild plumage, heavy frills, and fruity headdresses.
“Horsefeathers!”
“None of those either,” said Emma.
“No, you goosecap, you’re to be a sleek beauty tonight. I wouldn’t dream of having my sister looking like an exotic mess of feathers and fruit. I want you to be the belle of the ball.”
“This is not a deuced fairytale, Milli.” But she was pleased that her sister would adhere to her partialities, bland as she likely found them. And the dress did look elegant, if a bit more sumptuous than what ordinarily suited Emma’s simple palate.
“Ah, but it could very well be a fairytale ending,” Milli persisted, ignoring Emma’s demurrals. The chit would have her way, and would not be overruled. “And I have declared myself your fairy godmother.”
“Then do your worst…only don’t make me use Doctor Pinnock’s Arsenic Complexion Wafers,” said Emma. They both snickered, for their aunt had quite the collection of odd beautifiers and salves that she incorporated in her daily toilette, though none of them seemed to have cured the old dear of her sallow complexion. Only Boudicca, curled atop the armchair by the fire, seemed unamused and gave a sharp-toothed little yawn.
More wine was ordered directly, and Milli’s gown was promptly fetched in from her chamber so that the business of beautifying Emma became a social affair.
“Victoria said that there was to be waltzing tonight!” said Milli. “And no uncle to forbid my waltzing with Nicholas.”
Emma hemmed and shot her sister a stern look. “Not that you ever minded his wishes before. And don’t you mean, Mr. Valko?”
Milli ignored the scold. “Oh, how all the ladies in Little Snoring shall envy me when I tell them, especially Poppy!”
Emma hadn’t even thought about dancing the waltz, could not even begin to imagine how the deuced thing was executed. Well, she’d just have to sit it out and beguile the night by spectating instead.
Meanwhile, Milli was speculating avidly on whether or not Nicholas—she perversely insisted on using his Christian name—would fill her dance card. Emma listened without comment, mixing a few drops of Devil’s Bane into her lotions before proceeding to lather her skin. That done, she donned her silk stockings. Over her chemise went her corset, which Milli was obliging enough to lace for her.
“Good Gracious,” said her sister, eyeing Emma’s waist, “but you needn’t even wear the blasted thing. When last did you eat?”
“I had a tiffin earlier,” Emma replied, feeling the effect of the wine loosening her muscles and warming her blood. “Do stop mothering me.”
“Humph, ’tis the prerogative of a fairy godmother to mother.”
“Besides,” said Emma, “one might ask you the same thing, pot—you’re as pale as a sheet.”
“That is because you can’t see properly without your spectacles. I am perfectly well.”
When Emma’s stays were secured, she slipped into the shimmering length of the satin under-dress before the heavy velvet of the pièce de résistance followed.
Milli fluffed the overdress a bit and made all the approving noises of a mother hen, although she still did not allow Emma to peek into the looking glass. “Not till I have dressed your hair,” she said, taking far more pleasure in Emma’s impatience than she ought. Finally, however, once Milli had piled Emma’s weighty locks atop her head, and sprinkled her fairy dust (which turned out to be borrowed jewels from Victoria), she skipped excitedly to the mirror and waited eagerly for Emma to join her there with Aunt Sophie’s quizzing glass. “What do you think? Simple yet elegant, just as you like it.”
Emma hardly recognized the lady in the mirror. Her hair looked like dark chestnut silk in the flame light, the cascade of curls woven assiduously through a circlet of black pearls that matched the earrings. The dark colors contrasted vividly with that of her beautiful crimson gown. It was an open dress, the thick velvet parting mid thigh, designed to show off the cascade of gleaming black petticoats and lace beneath. The two-part oversleeves, like the skirt, were also split down the middle, and folded over like delicate petals floating over rippling satin. The bodice