Corset Diaries

by Katie MacAlister

  I raised my hand. “Can I pick? I liked the kissing better.”

  He kissed me again, much gentler this time, not that I had any complaints about his previous plundering. But this kiss was a kiss of sweetness, a kiss of gentleness that made me feel almost frail and delicate.

  “Did Melody tell you what happened?” I asked once I had my breath back.

  “Yes.” He turned and kept a hand on my back as I crutched slowly down the hallway.

  I slid a quick assessing glance his way. It didn’t tell me much; his face was set in hard lines, his mouth grim. “It wasn’t her fault, Max. I should have warned her ahead of time that it wasn’t a good idea to give Penny her head when she was hungry and wanted to get back to the stables.”

  “It was her fault. It was also my fault,” Max said, his voice low and harsh.

  I heaved a mental sigh. Here it came, Max’s diatribe on how dangerous it was for Melody to ride. I’d have to start all over again to show him that although life sometimes seemed cruel, it was better to get a little banged up living than be cocooned away in unhappy isolation.

  “I should have made sure she understood that she’s never to run a horse to its stable. You may rest assured she will never do it again.”

  “What, ride?” I asked, miserable with the knowledge of everything that had been destroyed between us.

  “No, run her horse back to the stable.”

  Well, poop, that called for a little confused blinking. I indulged. “You mean you’re not going to ban her from riding again?”

  “No, I’m not. Is that what you were worried about?”

  I stopped, pulling his sleeve until he turned to face me. “Are you telling me that even though I was hurt because Melody lost control of her horse, a situation that could have ended up with her hurt, you’re still not going to stop her from riding again?”

  His frown deepened. “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re going to let her get hurt?”

  “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  “I know you don’t—neither do I—but you’re going to let her do something even though there’s a risk of her getting hurt doing it?”

  One eyebrow rose. “She could get hurt taking a bath; I can’t keep her from living, now, can I?”

  I looked at him, looked into his beautiful, frowning blue eyes, as pure and as blue as the sky outside the window, and I knew that once again, I had been blessed. Love swelled within me until I thought I was going to burst into a Disney song.

  “Twice in one lifetime,” I said as I threw my crutches down and lunged into his arms. He rocked back on his heels but didn’t fall, just hugged me tight. “Three times if you count Melody, and I do count her, so that’s three times I’ve been blessed. Who would have thought? Max Edgerton—what’s your middle name?”

  Max chuckled as I stopped kissing his face to answer my question. “Anthony.”

  “Maximillian Anthony Edgerton, are you telling me that you still love me, and you trust me, and that you’ve seen the light about letting Melody live like a normal kid?”

  He kissed the corner of my mouth, his lips brushing mine as he spoke. “Yes, Tessa—what’s your second name?”

  “See.”

  “See?”

  “See.”

  “Yes, Tessa See Riordan, soon to be Edgerton, I do love you and trust you, and I’ve realized that about Melody, you are absolutely correct.”

  I captured his lower lip with mine and sucked it into my mouth. “I love you, Max,” I whispered into his mouth.

  “Not as much as I love you,” he whispered back, then turned his attention to properly kissing me.

  “Hell,” a voice snorted, breaking into the wonderful miasma of passion that Max wove around us.

  I retrieved my tongue from Max’s mouth and turned my head to see who had the rudeness to interrupt us. Tabby stood grinning, filming us with one hand, the other outstretched as Matthew counted out pound notes into it.

  “Tsk,” I said to him, accepting the crutches that Max handed me. “Gamblers never prosper, Matthew. I hope you remember that in the future.”

  An hour later we sat down to tea, supplemented with meat pasties and a couple of cold salads, intended to stave off hunger until the masquerade ball, when the tables would groan with fish, fowl, meat, salads, savories, and desserts that Cook had been working on for the last three days.

  By the time I hobbled upstairs to my bedroom to change for the ball, I was exhausted, and there were still seven hours to go.

  “Calgon, take me away,” I sighed as I collapsed onto the fainting couch, my crutches falling to the ground next to me.

  Ellis shook out my costume and made a moue of distaste as she looked over at me. “I heard you’d gone and hurt yourself. Are you in pain?”

  “Oh, yes. I don’t suppose you have any drugs that would make me feel better?”

  “I can prepare a willow bark draught, if you like.”

  I wrinkled my nose and waved the thought away. “No, thanks. I assume you want me to stand up?”

  “It would make it easier to remove your gown and corset.”

  I sighed and heaved myself to my feet, taking most of the weight onto my good leg. “Oh, I see the costume got here. Good. I’d forgotten all about it.”

  “So I gathered. Lady Barbara had it, hence the delay. It seems it was sent to her by mistake.”

  “Ah. So how does it look?”

  “Very pretty. You should look quite well in it.”

  I turned and pointed my finger at her. “Oh, no, not you, too! I’ve had enough emotional scenes today, don’t you dare start being nice to me! I’ll just cry, and honestly, Ellis, I don’t think I could take that.”

  I saw the corner of her mouth twitch before she bowed her head over the knot on my corset strings. She loosened the blasted thing, taking it from me when I unhooked the front. “I will endeavor not to say anything that might be construed as pleasant.”

  “Good. You just be as surly as you can because otherwise I’m going to . . . oh, no, now I am! Ellis!”

  I took one hop toward her and hugged her, corset and all. “I’m not going to see you again after tomorrow! Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for being my lady’s maid. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “I’ve never doubted that you would fill the role of duchess quite well,” she said, giving me a quick squeeze before she stepped back and held out a pair of lacy drawers.

  I gaped at her. “You did too doubt it!”

  She had the grace to look a teensy bit embarrassed. “I haven’t doubted it for quite some time now.”

  “Just last week you said that if you were in charge you’d strip me of my title and banish me to the scullery.”

  “You dribbled spiced plums down the bodice of your gown.”

  “But I apologized! You said an armless baboon could feed itself neater than I could, and that I needed to wear a bib.”

  “It was a white gauze gown. I believe I am allowed a modicum of exasperation when you present me with a white gauze gown stained red and purple.”

  “You said I wasn’t worthy of the position. You said I should be replaced with the armless baboon.”

  “I was wrong!” Ellis yelled, then looked utterly shocked that she’d raised her voice.

  “Oh, Ellis,” I said, puddling up again.

  “No,” she said, holding out a hand as I hopped toward her. “One hug is enough. I do not intend to indulge in useless emotional demonstrations. . . . Oh, very well, just one more.”

  She patted me on my back while I sniffled and gave her another hug. “I’m sorry. I’m just a huggy kind of person. I’ll stop now.”

  It took me a few minutes to dry up the waterworks, and another few to get out of my combinations and into the chemise and drawers that were worn under my costume. She tsked over the brace on my knee.

  “I’m sorry, I know it’s not period, but I can’t take it off.”

  “You shouldn’t be on your feet.�
��

  She held out a smaller, evening corset. I hoisted up my boobs and let her strap me into it. “Yeah, that’s what the doctor said, but I can stay off it tomorrow. Tonight I have to be gracious and charming and all that. Besides, I want to dance with Max. This is my only chance to waltz with him. I’ve been practicing.”

  “How on earth do you expect to waltz with an injured knee?”

  I whisked my secret stash of ibuprofen out of the dressing table drawer. “Modern drugs. Please don’t tell on me, Ellis. This is important. I want to open the ball with Max. I want to waltz with him. I want to be his duchess, if only for tonight.”

  Her lips thinned as she looked at the bottle in my hand, then she spun around. “I can’t complain about something I don’t see.”

  “Oh! You’re right. OK. Um. Sec. Just having a little trouble with the cap . . . oh, crap. I dropped the bottle. Ellis, could you help me down to the floor? Without looking, that is.”

  Poor Ellis. She helped me down to the carpet, looking the other way while I picked up all the little brown pills, assisted me back to the fainting couch, and fetched me a glass of water when one of the pills got stuck in my throat as I tried to swallow them dry. By the time she started helping me into the costume, her martyred expression was set like stone.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked as she went around back to hook the skirt part of the costume together.

  “There’s . . . I don’t quite . . . I’m afraid . . .”

  “What?” I asked, trying to look over my shoulder. The skirt sagged over my belly as she let go of it.

  “It won’t fit.”

  “What?” I asked, clutching the bed frame so I could turn to look at her. “What do you mean it won’t fit?”

  “It’s too small. Much too small. It’s not a matter of lacing your corset tighter; this garment was made for a much smaller person.”

  I stared at the material in her hands. The costume was supposed to be that of Scheherazade, with peacock gauze skirts; deep blues, greens, and purples edged in gold; a gold bodice with matching green, blue, and purple sashes. Armlets and bracelets gave a slave touch to the costume, and the gold cap had a purple veil that could be attached or left hanging down my back. It was an absolutely scrumptious costume, one that I positively salivated over when the wardrobe people described it.

  Now I knew why. “This is Cynthia’s costume,” I said, fingering the material.

  “Cynthia? Oh, the first duchess.” Ellis looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, that could be it. Her costume must have gotten mixed up with yours.”

  “Mixed up my Aunt Fanny,” I snarled, hopping to the door. “This is Barbara’s doing. I thought she was being too nice to me lately. Now I know why.”

  “Your Grace,” Ellis called after me as I threw open the door, prepared to hop my way down to Barbara’s room and let her have it. “Tessa!”

  That stopped me. I looked back.

  “You’re in your underthings.”

  I looked down. “Oh. Yeah.”

  She waved me to the bed. “I will go see if Lady Barbara knows what happened and where Cynthia is staying. She might have received your costume by mistake, as well.”

  I didn’t hold out any hope of that, so certain was I that Barbara and Cynthia had cooked up this plot to keep me from doing the duchess thing. Ha! They had underestimated how badly I wanted the evening to go well.

  “Tessa?” Max popped his head in. He frowned when he saw me standing in front of the wardrobe, trying to find something from which I could make a costume. “Why are you standing up without your crutches? Where’s Ellis? Why aren’t you dressed?”

  It took me only a fraction of a second to decide not to tell him what had happened. I’d pushed him pretty far that day, I didn’t think he needed to have his newfound tolerance stressed to the limits. “She went to fetch something from Barbara. It always takes women longer to get dressed than men. Are you ready?”

  He stepped into the room, forcing a gasp from me as I ate him up with my eyes. He was dressed in the Victorian’s version of an English knight, with black leggings and boots, scarlet cross garters that matched the scarlet-and-gold surcoat, a black shirt that set off the light blue of his eyes, and a sword in a golden scabbard slung low on his waist.

  “Holy cow, Max, you look positively drool-worthy! Oh, baby! I get to undress you when it’s time to go to bed!”

  He grinned and came into the room, sliding his arms low around my hips, moving so that he was pressed up against me. “Why, don’t you like the costume?”

  I bit his ear. “No, I just want to touch it on you, then touch it off you, then touch you.”

  “That sounds like an entirely workable plan.”

  “I thought you’d see it my way. Hey, no fair—you’re not allowed to slobber on me. Ellis just got me cleaned up and ready for my costume.”

  Max looked up from where he was nuzzling his face in my cleavage. “All right, but I get to undress you tonight, as well.”

  “Deal,” I said, then shooed him out of the room by telling him I had girl things to do. I didn’t really want to get rid of him, but I didn’t want him around when Ellis returned.

  “Barbara doesn’t seem to know—what are you doing with that nightgown and peignoir?”

  “She doesn’t know what?”

  Ellis frowned at the filmy nightie in my hands. “She doesn’t know what could have happened to your costume. That’s what she said, however, I suspect that she might know more than she’s telling.”

  “Uh huh. No surprise there. I just bet you she and that swivel-hipped Cynthia hatched this plan to make me look like a boob in front of everyone. We’ll, it’s not going to work. Here, hold the peignoir while I get into the nightie.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t go as Scheherazade, so I have to have another costume.”

  “Your costume is your nightgown?”

  I slipped into the peignoir, buttoning the five pearl buttons, then hopped over to the dressing table, yanking hairpins out of my hair as I went.

  “Come on. Max has already gone down; we have to hurry. I’m going as a ghost. I got the idea a couple of weeks ago when I saw my reflection in the window. Where’s that kohl you got? You brush out my hair, and I’ll give myself haunted-looking eyes. Do you think I should have blood dribbling from a fatal wound somewhere?”

  Twenty minutes later I hobbled out of my bedroom, looking as wraithlike as I could in a filmy white peignoir set, with a heavily powdered face, black-ringed, hollow eyes, and my hair streaming down my back in a suitably Gothic manner. I had also managed to swallow another handful of ibuprofen without Ellis seeing, hoping that would hold me long enough so I could waltz with Max.

  “Tessa, dear! I’m surprised to see you . . . and in your nightgown? I had understood from Crighton that there was some difficulty with your costume?”

  I stopped at the top of the stairs, clutching the banister and willing my leg to hold up.

  Barbara stopped next to me, dressed as Queen Elizabeth, complete with red wig, long ropes of pearls, and starchy ruff.

  I smiled at her. “Barbara, I feel it only right that you should be among the first to hear—Max and I are going to be married.”

  “Married?” she gasped, all horrified-like, as if she hadn’t known it was in the wind. I couldn’t imagine that she didn’t know; everyone else seemed to. “But surely you’re in your forties! Max is just a young man, in his prime, far too young for you. He will want to have more children.”

  “I’m only thirty-nine, Max knows what he’s doing, I’m still young enough to have children if I wish to—not that I’m going to, but I could if I wanted to—and don’t call me Shirley.”

  She missed the joke entirely.

  “You are—”

  “Look,” I said, holding up my hand to stop her. “Nothing you or Cynthia can do is going to change the fact that Max and I are getting married. He loves me. I love him. We love each other. I even love Melody,
and you’ve got to know what a miracle that is. So you might just as well give in gracefully and leave Max thinking he has a loving, supportive sister rather than a shrewish bitch who tried everything within her power to destroy his life.”

  “Shrewish bitch!” she shrieked. “And to think I believed you would have the decency to put your own selfish desires aside for the good of Max. I can see I was wrong.”

  “If you’re talking about him and Cynthia, you got it.”

  “She loves him! They were engaged!”

  “Were they?” I shrugged and started down the stairs, carefully holding on to the banister, not only to support my throbbing knee but also in case Barbara got the urge to send me tumbling down the steps. “Maybe they were at some point, but Max says they broke up months ago. Given the fact that he asked me to marry him, it doesn’t sound like he’s got a whole lot of affection for her, now, does it?”

  She snarled something rude and pushed past me as I hobbled slowly down the stairs, her ruff bobbing indignantly as she stomped down the hallway toward Max’s office.

  “How’s it going out here?” I asked Teddy, who was manning the door. Bret and Palmer, who had donned his bloody head bandage in honor of the party, carried platters of food to the gold drawing room, arranged as the buffet room. “Everything OK? No problems?”

  Before he could speak, Mrs. Peters burst through the green baize door, her hair frizzed out wilder than normal. She struck a dramatic pose near the metal cranes and pointed a finger at me. “They’ve come! The spirits of Worston Hall have come! May the good Lord have mercy on your soul, because the spirits certainly won’t!”

  A man’s shout and a number of tinkly crashes, as if many glass objects shattered upon meeting a parquet wood floor, echoed down the side hallway. Bret ran down the hallway toward us, swerved around Mrs. Peters, and dashed through the green baize door, Palmer hot on his tail, yelling something about throttling Bret when he got his hands on him.

  “Tessa, I don’t feel very good,” Melody said, appearing at the top of the stairs. She held her stomach and swallowed hard, a distinct green cast to her face.

  Behind her, Mademoiselle swayed into sight, clutching the banister. “Poison! I have been poisoned!” she gasped, then fell to the floor in a dead faint.