Dressed to Kiss

by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens

  Not that she was counting on Mr. Dawkins to remedy her lonely situation; they had only kissed once, and she wasn’t given to the same flights of fancy other young ladies were. For one thing, she couldn’t afford them, either in terms of her peace of mind or in actual fact. Flights of fancy, when it came to romance, were for ladies who didn’t have to worry about where they would be living or if they would have enough to eat.

  It did not escape Katherine’s notice, however, that it was Euphemia’s own flight of fancy regarding Mr. Dawkins that had allowed Katherine to meet him.

  “Just as before, Katherine, you can play while Hen—Mr. Dawkins and I dance,” Effie said in her usual peremptory tone. Mr. Dawkins looked pained for a moment, and Katherine had to repress a grin at just how uncomfortable he seemed to be.

  She pushed that aside, stepping to the piano, which had now seen more use in the past week than it had during the entire time she’d been here. Effie scorned doing anything that didn’t involve seeing and being seen, and it was Katherine’s job to accompany her. And not on the piano.

  She searched her mind for what she could play; she hadn’t thought that music would be one of her duties in the Kilchesters’ household, so she hadn’t brought her music with her. Not that there was much music to be had in the first place. Her parents’ house, once they were gone, had been handed to her father’s heir, a distant cousin whose youth and general foolish exuberance gave Katherine pause. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for her to live with him—not that he’d offered. He’d been too delighted at the prospect of setting up house in London to worry about where his newly-discovered cousin was going to live.

  She could have stayed with him, she supposed, but it would have been awkward. And not in the deliciously adorable way Mr. Dawkins was awkward, but truly awkward—in the week or so before she quit the house, her cousin had already brought home two women with suspect professions and a half dozen inebriated men from his club, a few of whom had regarded Katherine with that look that made her skin prickle unpleasantly.

  Thinking of that week, however, reminded her of a song that one of the women had sung to entertain her cousin and his friends—a simple tune that she had played for practice. She placed her fingers on the keyboard and began to play, casting a few surreptitious glances at Mr. Dawkins as he and Effie danced.

  He really was terrible. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been obvious—painfully obvious—that he was absolutely uncomfortable with his size, and that he might crush a random passerby if he stumbled.

  But he wouldn’t crush her, would he? She was—quite literally—made of stronger stuff. And the thought of having him pressing on her, all that muscle pushing against her, was enough to make her—

  “Miss Grant!” Effie’s tone interrupted her thoughts just as they were taking a very dangerous turn. She jumped, banging out an unpleasant-sounding chord.

  “Pardon?” Katherine turned to look at Mr. Dawkins and Effie, both of whom had stopped moving (in his case she couldn’t precisely call it dancing) and were looking at her.

  “Your playing. It is nearly as bad as Henry’s dancing,” Effie said, sniffing disdainfully to emphasize her point.

  “It is definitely not as bad as all that,” Henry added, a rueful grin on his face.

  “I think you should practice a bit. Both of you,” Effie said, gesturing to the two of them. “Katherine, you can work on your scales and Henry, you can practice the waltz. I have to go look in on my mother to see if she needs anything.” She ran out of the room, leaving them alone.

  And this was where Mr. Dawkins would know that Effie was up to something, if he really knew Euphemia. She hoped he didn’t know her that well. Although if he did, that would guarantee he would never fall in love with her—not that Katherine didn’t want him to fall in love with her, only—oh, hush, Katherine. You don’t want him to fall in love with her. For so many reasons.

  “Do you suppose Effie is up to something?”

  Well, he might have been awkward, but he was definitely not unobservant. And he did know Effie fairly well after all.

  Katherine rose from the piano stool and smoothed her skirts. She had no desire to practice her scales, of all things, just because she’d been distracted by thoughts of Mr. Dawkins. Besides which, he was still here, which meant he would only distract her further.

  It was best to face the source of her distraction, never mind that facing it—facing him—was far more pleasant than playing piano. Or eating ice cream on a hot summer day. Or doing anything that wasn’t speaking with him, or looking at him, or anything to do with him.

  Pythagoras, I’m doing it again!

  She started to giggle at the thought, and his lips curved in an answering smile.

  “What is amusing you?” he asked in that low tone. The one that made her get all shivery.

  She waved her hand. “Nothing, really.”

  “Is it really nothing?” He spoke in a tone that blended hesitancy with confidence. As though he knew the effect he had on her, but didn’t want to presume he knew.

  She shook her head as she stepped toward him, walking into the circle of his arms. “Not entirely,” she murmured, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Not at all, in fact.” She felt herself start to blush and thought she probably ought to change the subject before she blurted out everything she was thinking. “I think we should start slowly. Perhaps practice preparing to dance rather than actually do it.”

  One eyebrow rose up over his spectacles. “You mean to pose in a sort of pre-dancing position? Like this?” He put one hand—his large, strong hand—on her waist and took her hand with the other.

  She was grateful for his relatively low occupation, since it meant he wasn’t required to wear gloves, and she wasn’t able to because of her piano-playing. So their hands touched, bare skin touching bare skin, and the contact made her Parts—those Parts she shouldn’t even be thinking about—spark up, as though he were actually touching her there.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in a concerned tone of voice. Apparently her thinking about her Parts made her face go all odd and her knees buckle.

  “Fine,” she said, taking a deep breath. “How does this feel?”

  She meant the pre-dancing position, but she knew right away that it was ambiguous enough to possibly mean something else, something she shouldn’t be saying to him.

  Now who was the awkward one? She felt her cheeks flush, and hoped she was not quite as red as she felt.

  “It feels marvelous,” he replied, his eyes focused on hers with a meaningful gaze.

  “Oh.”

  “How did it go? Did he speak of me?” Euphemia had popped out from wherever she’d been hiding as soon as the door closed behind him.

  They’d spent another twenty minutes in the room with Mr. Dawkins perfecting his pre-dancing position, although both of them knew it was just an excuse to touch one another in a nearly acceptable way.

  He’d left at a quarter to four since he had an appointment. Otherwise they might still have been in the ballroom standing together and holding hands.

  Why weren’t they still together in the ballroom holding hands?

  “Uh—well, no, but he didn’t speak at all, actually.” And Katherine willed herself not to turn red again, since that was the truth, but the additional truth—if there could be truth on top of truth—was that they’d just spent the time looking at one another, moving occasionally, both of them silent except for when they laughed.

  It felt marvelous, and Katherine knew he wasn’t silent because he was concerned about saying something awkward, but the opposite—because they were so comfortable with one another.

  How could two people be so comfortable with one another after only a few days’ acquaintance?

  “Oh.” Effie looked disappointed, but still adorable. Her expression quickly changed, however, as did her focus. “I was going through the most recent invitations with Mother, and there is a benefit performance at the theater, I hav
e no idea what they will be performing.” Hadn’t she just been thinking about going to the theater? Perhaps another of her dreams would also come true. “And then we began discussing what we would wear,” Euphemia continued. “I cannot be seen in the same gown more than once.” Her lips curved into a sly smile. “Which means we will go to Felicity’s shop to order some items.” She glanced at Katherine, one perfect eyebrow lifted in appraisal. “And you will accompany me, of course, so we will order a gown for you, I believe.”

  All of Katherine’s other thoughts—including her memories of The Kissing Day—fell away at those words. A gown for you. Something that would fit her, that might suit her, that wouldn’t be brown or scratchy, something she could wear that would make his eyes light up as he saw her. Not that they didn’t seem to light up already; she trusted that he did find her attractive, but in a new gown—a gown designed by his sister—he might find her breathtaking.

  And then he would do things that would leave her breathless. A fair trade. Something that would right the accounts. She nearly snorted at her thinking in terms of his profession, but had to stifle herself, aware that now Lady Euphemia was regarding her with a quizzical expression on her face.

  “Uh—yes, that would be lovely, but I cannot afford it,” Katherine replied, quashing any hopes of breathtaking or breathgiving or any kind of breathing at all.

  “Pish,” Effie said, waving her hand in dismissal. “It won’t do to have you garbed less than perfectly.” She raised her chin. “After all, you are my companion; if you do not look your best, I might not look my best.”

  Katherine wanted to laugh at how aghast Euphemia sounded at that prospect—unlikely though it was—but didn’t, merely going over to embrace the younger woman, who seemed uncomfortable at the gesture.

  It was far, far better than another miniature horse.

  “You are too generous, Lady Euphemia,” Katherine said, knowing that there was a kind person buried somewhere inside the narcissistic young girl.

  “Yes, well, I want to look my best,” Euphemia replied. “Which means you should, too.”

  “Oh goodness.” Had she thought about being breathless with him? Because he was most definitely not here, and she wasn’t certain she would ever catch her breath again.

  She stood on the small platform in Follette’s dressing area, directly in front of strategically placed mirrors. Lady Euphemia was seated on a chair just behind her, while Miss Felicity fussed with the hem of the gown.

  “You like it.” Felicity said as she shook out a piece of the crimson fabric.

  “Oh goodness,” Katherine said again. Would she ever be able to say anything else? But truly, the gown was outstanding. An evening gown, it had tiny puffed sleeves that hung just barely on her shoulders. It was cut daringly low—at least in Katherine’s eyes—in the front, allowing the swells of her breasts to show. The fabric encased her like a thoughtful glove; not too tight, so as to make things look pinched in and unpleasant, but not so loose as to be sacklike. The gown had the high waistline currently in fashion, which often made Katherine look shapeless, since her bust and hips were so curved. But in Miss Felicity’s hands, her figure was stunning. Almost too much to look at, with every curve hinted at, but not exploited.

  She looked beautiful, she could admit that. If only to herself.

  “You look lovely.” Apparently Miss Felicity could admit it as well.

  “Thanks to you,” Katherine said, unable to take her eyes off her reflection.

  “And it complements my gown so well,” Effie said in a satisfied tone of voice. Her gown was a light pink trimmed with darker pink ribbons, and it would indeed look good next to Katherine.

  Katherine was grateful that Effie was so confident, in fact, that the thought of her companion outshining her would never cross her mind. There was a lot to be said for the kind of person Effie was; she was not petty or jealous. She demanded her due attention, of course, but she didn’t begrudge others getting theirs. Which was why she was so insistent that Katherine have new clothing, even though she had perfectly adequate garments for whatever event she was required to accompany Effie to.

  “I’ll just need to make a few minor adjustments,” Miss Felicity said, crossing her arms over her chest and scrutinizing Katherine.

  Katherine resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest as well; experience had taught her that her arms were just not large enough to obscure everything, and besides, Miss Felicity would likely be annoyed that Katherine was wrinkling the fabric.

  “You’ll have the gown to us by Friday, though?” Euphemia asked. Her tone made it clear that she wasn’t asking a question.

  “Friday, yes,” Felicity replied. “Are you attending the benefit? My client Lady Marjoribanks has generously offered the use of her box that evening, so my brother and I will be in attendance as well.”

  But now it did feel as though the gown was tight, too tight, since she couldn’t seem to breathe again. And after she had regained it so well just a few moments before.

  Her brother. What would Henry say—more importantly, what would he do?—when he saw her?

  She must have made a sound, since Miss Felicity was looking at her with a concerned expression on her face. “Did I poke you with a pin?”

  “No, no, it’s”—it’s just that the thought of your brother seeing me in this gown is making me light-headed—“it’s nothing to be concerned about. Merely something catching in my throat.”

  Felicity frowned in confusion, since Katherine hadn’t eaten anything since arriving at the shop, but thankfully Effie had a question about feathers for her hair or something, and Katherine’s inability to breathe was forgotten.

  Chapter Eight

  “You look splendid. Stop fidgeting.”

  Henry tried to be still, but his sister was smoothing fabric, and fussing with his cravat, and assessing him with her dressmaker’s eye. Something he usually avoided—in the first place, she did not make gentlemen’s clothing, and in the second place, he wasn’t actually a gentleman, so he had no need to dress like one.

  But tonight he was in the guise of one, since Felicity had requested that he escort her to some sort of performance at the theater.

  He did not generally like the theater. He preferred facts and figures, and the theater was basically an excuse for people to stand in front of other people lying.

  “Why do I have to be there anyway?” he asked, perhaps for the hundredth time.

  His sister curled her hand up into a fist and punched him. And then smoothed out the wrinkles she just put in his coat with a brisk yank. “Because you said you would go with me.” He couldn’t argue with that. He had. “And besides, Lady Euphemia told me Miss Grant will be there tonight,” his sister added, making him start, which made her face twist up into an almost smile.

  “Oh?” He tried to sound as though he didn’t care.

  “As though you aren’t intrigued by her.” Part of his sister’s success was her ability to read people, to gauge the effect her gowns had on the ladies she dressed. Unfortunately, she’d gotten her first experience at reading people with him, and she hadn’t stopped, so he wasn’t able to fool her, not for a moment.

  “I suppose I am.” He might as well admit it, she wouldn’t believe his denials anyway. “But she is a lady, and I am not.”

  She snorted. “Of course you’re not.”

  He glowered at her. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

  She sighed, blowing a few pieces of hair up around her face. “I know, but you are from a good family, and she is a lady, but an impoverished one.”

  “Which just means she is not for me, Felicity.” Left unspoken was his responsibility in case Felicity wasn’t able to make a go of the shop. Not to mention that a visitor to the shop had just pointed out some water damage to the front room’s ceiling, so there was another expense they had to account for. Felicity might argue the point, but Henry didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to their mother if neither one
of them could provide for her.

  “Things can change, Henry,” she said, but he just shook his head, knowing he couldn’t entertain the idea of it. The list he’d made mocked him still; it lay on his table, the few words written on it a reminder of everything he wanted—and everything he could lose.

  “You should enjoy yourself tonight is all that I am saying.” Felicity gave his jacket one last pat, then nodded in satisfaction. “Thank you for going with me.”

  He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled at her. “It is not as though I had a choice. But I will do whatever I can to help you,” he added. Because if she did succeed in her business venture and he no longer had to worry about her, or his mother—well, then perhaps he could worry about himself. Do something for himself that wasn’t making fruitless lists or imagining what it would be like if he didn’t have responsibility.

  “I know, Henry.” His sister’s tone held an honest resonance that let him know she was well aware of what thoughts were going through his head.

  It wasn’t very long before the hackney they were in pulled up to the street the theater was on. Felicity looked splendid herself, as usual, and Henry hoped that her appearance would bring in a few more clients. The shop was regaining its earlier prestige, but it wasn’t yet certain that they were out of the financial woods. Henry knew, from his other clients, how quickly things could get upended, and he also knew that a dressmaker’s reputation could be won or lost in a moment—there had been a few mentions of the shop’s designs in the fashion columns, not all of them favorable, and that had caused him no small amount of distress.

  But a business’s reputation could be made as well, and that was why it was imperative that Felicity’s designs be displayed to their best advantage. Which meant, Henry thought with a sense of doom, that he needed to play out whatever it was Euphemia was planning.