Mistletoe & Matrimony

Thursday, December 17 {Archibald}

The room at the back of the theater, lit by a wall of towering windows, was in an even further state of chaos than the actual stage. Towering shelves, spilling bolts of fabric in every texture and color, occupied the wall opposite the windows. Scraps of paper and muslin patterns littered the floor, and Harry De Rosier sat in the middle of it, hunched over a tiny sewing table built for a person a foot shorter than him.

"Oh my," was all Archibald managed to say as he worked his way across the room. With no tailoring or dressmaking skills to speak of, he navigated the carnage without stepping on anything lest it might be part of a costume. It all could have been scrap, but he had no way of knowing better. He took extra care to avoid a large, wire contraption at the center of the room that could have been the start to some panniers, but also could have been a pair of wings.

"Good morning, Harry," Archibald said over the whir of the sewing machine. He peered around the corsterier's shoulder to inspect his work and the movement made Harry jump.

With a good-natured laugh, Harry took his foot off the pedal, and the machine slowed to a stop. "My word! I didn't even hear you come in."

"It seems you still have a lot of work ahead of you," Archibald said with a sweep of his hand over the chaotic scene.

Harry shoved his palms into his eyes and rubbed. "Yes, yes," he mumbled into his sleeves.

"Did you sleep?" Archibald noted the sag in De Rosier's shoulders.

"No, but that's a luxury I can't afford thanks to your sister," Harry said as he scrubbed his fingers through his hair to push it back into place.

Archibald's stomach dropped as he was filled with shame at Olivia's behavior. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am," he began. "She told me all of what she said and I know she regrets it. I made her promise to apologize—"

"That's not necessary. And I'm talking about the costumes — that really was all her idea and it's brilliant. I just wish I would have thought of it sooner." He laughed.

"Yes, well. I'm still sorry about her. She's having a tough time adjusting to the change."

Harry pulled the panels of fabric from the machine and sheepishly tested the needlework. His teeth worried his lower lip before he said, "Is that really all that's the matter?"

Archibald's brow knit together as he tried to figure Harry's meaning. "I'm not sure. I don't think there's anything—"

"I didn't say anything to offend her? Or maybe did something I—" Harry's long fingers fretted the seam on the translucent silk. "I don't know what I'm saying," he said with a tired chuckle.

"Forget Olivia. Get some sleep," Archibald said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulders to steer him away from the pile of half-finished costumes.

Harry mumbled something under his breath that sounded close to, "—snot quite as easy as it sounds."

Archibald wasn't sure if he meant his sister, or sleep, but he didn't get a chance to beg for clarification before Mr. Turner burst into the room. "I'm not one for dramatics," he said. His teal satin cravat was askew and he had a wild and dangerous sort of look in his eyes. "But we are ruined."

"Ruined?" Archibald asked at the same time Harry said, "I'm going to bed."

Mr. Turner drew a trembling hand to his wrinkled brow. "The Society of Music just announced a new Gilbert & Sullivan they'll be premiering the same night as ours."

"Which Gilbert & Sullivan?" Harry asked, his head perked.

"Something with Pirates, but that's not all. Our pianist slipped on an icy walk on his way in today. He's been hospitalized with a broken arm, and Miss Vanderberg's carriage just pulled up to the theater. Unless she can sing A Capella, she won't be able to audition."