"But my birthday's not till tomorrow." Nonetheless she was exceedingly delighted, stroking the large, crimson bow reverently.
"One might argue that you have every right to celebrate two birthdays this year, Emma."
"True," she conceded. Midsummer did not, after all, fall annually on the same day. And rarely at all on her date of birth. Without further ado, Emma pulled the riband free of the pretty fastening and lifted the top half of the box away from its partner. With a worshipful gasp she ran her fingers gently over the blond satin and deep carmine velvet within. "A gown!" she whispered, pulling it out to hold it against her bosom. "However did you afford such an exquisite piece?"
Thoroughly enjoying her sister's reverent awe, Milli beamed. "My aunt and uncle contributed very generously; I was left only to design and stitch it." Then, with a naughty wink, said, "And since there was a surplus of fabric to make myself a jacket, I took the liberty of doing so."
"My sister the mantua maker." She embraced Milli and kissed her affectionately on each cheek. "It is the most beautiful ball gown I have ever seen."
"And you will be the loveliest woman at the ball tonight." Her eyes instantly glazed over with whimsy. "Oh! Emma, wait till you see what has been done to transform the old keep. I am almost glad of your keeping upstairs this whole time, for there are such sights to be seen, and I am all expectation of bearing witness to the amazement on your face tonight when you first behold it." Milli then glanced at her watch and declared that it was high time they got themselves ready. "And Victoria mentioned, when I showed her your gown, that she has the perfect Venetian mask to go with your ensemble."
"Mask?"
"For the masquerade tonight, you goosecap." Milli clucked her tongue.
"Ah yes." Emma had clean forgot the Midsummer Ball was to be a bals masqués. Now why did that send a shiver down her nape.
If she thought she was to spend the rest of her afternoon in solitude, she much mistook the determined gleam in her sister's eye. 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. Emma who preferred simplicity and elegance to ostentatious headdresses and colorful confections.
"I hope you won't turn me into a some or other feathered beast?" she said shuddering at the thought of wild plumage, heavy frills, and fruity headdresses.
"No, silly! you're to be a sleek cat tonight. I wouldn't dream of having my sister look like an exotic mess of feathers and fruit. I want you to be the very belle of the ball."
"This is not a demmed 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 both gorgeous and elegant, if a bit more sumptuous than what ordinarily suited Emma's palate.
"Ah but it could very well be a fairytale," she persisted, ignoring Emma's demurrals. She would have her way, and would not be overruled. "And will you nill you, I have declared myself your fairy godmother."
"You know I cannot resist you when you quote Shakespeare."
"I know that literature is always apt to bend your will to mine," Milli said, looking pleased with herself.
Emma's mouth therewith pursed in feigned displeasure. "Unless of course you're implying that I'm the shrew to be tamed?"
"Not a bit of it!" At which point both sisters burst into laughter.
More wine was ordered directly, and Milli's gown was promptly fetched in from her chamber, so that the sisters could ready themselves in the company of the other. Surprisingly, Emma found herself becoming increasingly excited by the prospect of a dance and a ball, her sister's enthusiasm having clearly rubbed itself off on her, notwithstanding her own stubborn will to the contrary.
"Victoria said that there was to be waltzing tonight!" Milli squealed in delight. "Can you imagine! Me, waltzing. Oh, how all the ladies in Fairfield shall envy me when I tell them."
Goodness! Emma hadn't even thought about dancing the waltz. Could not even begin to imagine how the deduced thing was executed. Well, she'd just have to sit it out with the other wallflowers, that was all.
Whilst Milli speculated avidly on whether or not Nicholas Hawksmoor would be in attendance tonight, Emma mixed some of her hawthorn scent into her lotions and proceeded to lather her skin before pulling her silk stockings up to her knees. Then, over her chemise, went her corset, which Milli made short work of lacing.
"Lud," said she, shooting her sister a dubious glower, "but you needn't even wear the blasted thing. When last did you last eat, pray?"
"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," Milli replied, but she let the matter rest.
Once her stays were secured at the back, she slipped into the shimmering amber length of the satin under-dress before the heavy velvet of the pièce de résistance followed. Once Milli had fluffed the overdress a bit and made all the approving noises of a mother hen, 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 her sister's impatience than she ought. Finally, however, once Milli had had piled Emma's weighty locks atop her head, and sprinkled her fairy dust, she skipped excitedly to the mirror and waited eagerly for Emma to join her there. "What do you think?" said she. "Simple yet elegant, just as you like it."
"Oh my." Emma could hardly recognize herself. "Is this what you've been hiding in your trunk all this time?"
"No," said Milli with gleeful wink. "And you aren't to find out what I've been up to. Not yet at any rate."
But, for the nonce, Emma hardly cared one way or the other, so wickedly enchanted was she by her own reflection. Her hair looked almost like dark chestnut silk in the flame light, the cascade of curls woven assiduously through a gold circlet.
And the color of it contrasted vividly with that of her beautiful burgundy gown and its striking, gold banding of embroidered roses. It was an open dress, the velvet parting mid thigh, and designed to show off her yellow satin petticoat beneath. The two-part oversleeves, like the skirt, were also split down the middle, and folded over like crimson orchid petals to reveal the gold puff of satin beneath. The gathered bodice was simple yet graceful, and the neckline square cut, plunging as low in the back as it did in the front.
Emma blushed to see the daring swell of her chest as she sucked in an astonished breath to fill her lungs. "It is ... rather low cut," she remarked, loth to bruise her sister's feelings.
"Nonsense. It's perfectly à la mode, I assure you."
They were interrupted just at that moment by the rap of knuckles at the door. Without waiting for an invitation to enter, Victoria — gowned in a stunning emerald costume of silk and black lace — sailed in with a red mask in her hand. She stopped short at seeing Emma and after a startled pause, that Emma was sure bespoke admiration, however brief, she ruined the effect with a knowing smirk. And who but she and the devil himself knew what thoughts had sparked that queer grin.
"You both look ravishing, my dears." Then, turning to Milli, she said, "Would you like me to arrange your hair for you?"
Victoria's own beautiful arrangement was very elegantly put together and, knowing that Emma was hopeless at styling hair, and that they'd already shooed their sinister little abigail away, Milli replied in the affirmative.
"I shall attend you in my room, shall I, Milli dear?" asked Victoria, depositing on the bed the crimson mask, also velvet, that was clearly meant for Emma's use.
The two women shortly proceeded out the door, the swish of emerald and sapphire skirts whispering against the floor as they walked, leaving Emma alone to finish her claret in contemplative peace.
Although she too had been invited to join them, she required a moment to gather her unraveled nerves into order. But she durst not leave her sister with Victoria too long; the sibilance of the quickening dusk warned her against relaxing her guard too long, if at all.
Quite unexpectedly, however, and just as she'd resolved to march from her room and shadow her sister's footsteps, another tap was heard at the door. This time whoever was without awaited leave to enter, and when permission was accordingly granted, Mrs. Skinner appeared with an epistle in her skeletal hand.
"From the master," was all she said, in that lifeless voice of hers, ere she bobbed a stoic curtsy and disappeared.
Left to herself again, Emma broke the wafer with unsteady hands and seated herself on the bed, careful of wrinkling her gown. The tumultuous throb of her heart blared through the chamber like the wildest ruffling of jungle drums as she read the note:
Emma— Meet me in the library at dusk. I shall be awaiting your pleasure beside the wall of cannibals. Wear your mask.
M.
"Insufferable!" she muttered crossly. And why was he so determined to use her first name? "Presumptuous devil, ordering me into his library like a right despot." Even so she swallowed nervously, knowing, despite the defiance her spirit demanded of her, that she would comply.
For all her private bravado, she would meet him where he'd bade her to, if only because she was not suicidal enough to decry him for the vampyre he was, nor disregard any of his requisitions, however high handed she deemed them. And one did not — not for all the holy water in the Vatican — disappoint a vampyre in his own castle. Or did one? More importantly, did she dare to?
Casting a furtive glance towards the window, Emma perceived the sun to be half sunk on the horizon already, for the windows of her chamber looked out to the western sky. She drank off the rest of her claret — or liquid courage as she chose to see it — and donned her yellow, satin slippers and matching gloves. They were long, beautifully snug, and terminated elegantly just above her elbows. At her ears she hung delicate, gold chandelier earrings with lusters of rubies to match her necklace — a fine gold chain with a ruby cross pendant guarding her soul. As directed, she also tied her mask securely about her head, careful of her coiffure, and took one last bolstering peek at the looking glass. She was ready.
"Will I do?" she asked her reflection.
The leonine shape of the Venetian mask, the sequined velvet matching the color of her gown exactly, stared cooly back at her. This creature before her was nothing like the Emma of yore. And yet ... that was all for the better, she decided. For she was no longer the naive, bespectacled little noviciate that had first set off for London. She seemed a world away from that girl now.
What is it you want, Emma? The silent voice of the vinous red mask seemed to echo huskily in her breast like a shadow of her darker self.
"I want ... I want to know..." Her eyes dipped to her décolletage, the heaviness of the gown almost sensual where it clung and molded to her figure.
What do you want to know? There was a knowing feline quality to the question.
"Everything," she said with a decided nod, turning on her heel and sweeping from the room with a strange, secret smile dancing on her lips that was not all her own.
It was time to meet destiny headlong. And with the boldness the red dress, the red wine, and the red grimalkin mask had instilled in her, she felt somewhat armed.
After all, one ought never go into battle with the devil unarmed.
🌟I want to wear that red dress!!🌟
Okay, here are my questions:
1. Why do you think Winterly wants to see her in his library?
2. What do you think Emma's secret smile was all about as she left her room?
3. What are your thought about that riddle from the last chapter? Have you deciphered it yet? Let's hear your best guesses.