But at least she was not poor Edward, having to actually give the party. Jane was not so naïve as to think he’d rather sit and talk to his fey-scarred governess, but still. She would hate to give parties for all those frighteningly perfect people, so she sympathized with him.
Jane went slowly up the stairs and sat on the bed in Dorie’s room. “Ready to wake up?”
Dorie roused, blinking sleepy eyes.
Jane gently untangled the golden curls, helped the girl from the bed. A shame, keeping her up past her bedtime. Jane lifted the rose-pink dress off the padded white hanger. “Are you awake enough to go?”
Dorie swallowed a yawn, nodded firmly, face lighting at the sight of the party frock. Jane smiled, glad a new dress could still catch Dorie’s interest. She helped the girl into the frock and was attempting to tie a decent-looking bow in the silk sash when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Jane, expecting Martha with their summons. And yet when she looked up it was Edward, staring down at Jane ministering to Dorie, an oddly soft look on his face.
“Father!” said Dorie, and she ran to him, leaving the sash to trail behind.
He set down the paper-wrapped parcel he held, scooped Dorie up in his arms, and swung her around till she giggled. Jane had never seen him do that, and she thought: He is happy, and look how she beams from it. How did he get that way, and can it happen more often?
Edward stopped spinning and came to a halt, still holding Dorie, and for a moment looking very boyish indeed. His hair had already gotten mussed, and one of the locks stood straight up. “You are going to be perfectly behaved tonight, I can tell,” he told Dorie, and she nodded.
Jane smiled faintly at the two of them, and did not say, “We hope so.”
He set Dorie down. “Your tail is trailing,” he told her solemnly, and she laughed again, beaming at them both, and for one ridiculous moment the three of them were lit with happiness, because of how normal it all was, could be. “Be good and let Jane tie it.”
Dorie let Jane catch her trailing sash, and Jane bent again to the task. Her fingers slipped on the silk, but at last she managed a creditable attempt at a bow, and she set Dorie free to spin around in front of the mirror, engrossed in the whirl of her skirt.
Edward cleared his throat.
“Yes?” said Jane, and she was surprised to see hesitancy in his face.
He picked up the lumpy brown parcel from the floor and handed it to Jane. It felt like cloth, folded and wrapped in butcher paper to keep it tidy. “The slippers from your sister, and a dress for you,” he said at last. “If it would please—if you like it.”
“Thank you,” said Jane, but he cut in:
“It’s nothing, just from the attic. Just washed and pressed is all.” He spread his hands. “Perhaps I should have picked you up something in town.…”
“That would not be necessary,” said Jane, meaning, that would not be appropriate, and she felt warm with embarrassment. “Thank you for this.”
“So you will come,” he said, and his usual assured cynicism seemed to flow back in, his mask settling back in place. “You will save me from being quite alone down there. Ah, Jane, I told you once of the tale of the beastly man, but do you know the famous tale of Tam Lin? Stolen away by the fey, and for his beloved to win him back, she had to hold him as he changed into a variety of loathsome beasts.”
“I have heard it,” said Jane. She wished they could return to the Edward who swung Dorie around, rather than the Edward who brooded on fey tales of misery and despair.
“I request that you not think badly of me as I change into that most loathsome of all beasts, the Gentleman,” he said.
“I would hardly think badly of you for being a good host to your guests, sir.”
“And yet I am certain that to once lose Jane’s good opinion is to lose it forever,” he said, and that bit of cowlick waved madly. “So I ply her in advance with dresses and words, hoping she will take pity on poor Tam Lin when he becomes an ogre.”
Jane did not know what to say to that.
He laughed, a laugh with dark in it. “Jane, if you could see your face. You are certain I have quite lost all remaining sanity. Well then, never mind me, but array yourself in my finery with all speed, and bring that little terror with you. Make haste, Jane.” And he was gone, even as Dorie still whirled in front of the mirror.
Jane clutched the package to her. “Wait for me,” she told Dorie, and she hastened to her room.
She tore open the butcher paper and the dress spilled out on her bed.
The golden dress from the attic.
Jane held it close, warmth flooding her face. He had picked this one for her. He had thought about the gowns and said, this one. Jane will look well in this one. Their tastes had coincided on the exact same dress.
Jane recalled herself with a sigh, and with a bump came back to reality. No, Martha had seen her mooning over it; she probably picked it herself.
She quickly washed her face, sponged down her arms, and changed into the gold dress. It fit beautifully—but the flowing pre-war styling meant it would fit many girls equally well. More surprising was that the dancing shoes from Helen fit perfectly—she must have gotten Jane’s measurements from the old cobbler, though the man who’d made her work boots had surely never made these beaded beauties.
Just as with the silver dress, Jane felt odd in her new attire, a different person—though in the silver dress she had felt like Jane-as-she-was-supposed-to-be, and in the gold she felt—like a fraud? Like a creature from another time, another place? This dress made her into a not-Jane, not any version of Jane. A lady in a different time, a wealthy girl in an estate like this, one of his houseguests from the city. Getting ready for an exciting night of dances and meaningful looks and stillnesses of wild heartbeats. She would never have been Blanche Ingel, with her perfectly chiseled face; she could not be Nina, with her rapier wit and striking demeanor. A friend of the Misses Davenport, perhaps—those two silly girls with their wide eyes and their fits of giggles. Girls, because they had not yet had a reason to grow up. Here before the Great War, in a world where the fey were estranged and practically forgotten, and there was nothing more pressing for any of the guests than to drink too much and to meet a charming stranger. Some tall mysterious man who stepped in behind her with a sardonic quip about the party, and as soon as she dared turn around, she would look up and see his face, see who it was.…
Jane ruthlessly pinned back a stray lock of hair, shoving down that silly flight of fantasy.
The iron mask was cold around her eye. She readjusted the mask on the bridge of her nose, nudged the dark leather straps higher behind her head, where they blended into her hair. So almost pretty, if only she turned her ironskin away, if she only saw her cheek of normal skin, pale against her dark hair, so almost, almost, almost.…
“Pretty ladies,” Dorie said from the stairs, breaking Jane’s spell. Jane hurried after her, concentrating hard on the almost-girl in the rose-pink dress. She picked the child up and swooped her down the last few stairs, and Dorie giggled, before standing upright and saying solemnly, “No, I am grown-up tonight.”
“I believe you are,” said Jane, and they looked at each other and Jane thought—maybe I have done some good, after all. She curtseyed and motioned Dorie to proceed her into the drawing room, and Dorie did, pink step by pink step, looking perfectly happy, intrepid, normal.
She was surprised to see that Mr. Rochart was not in the drawing room. There was a small knot of guests by the piano where the younger Miss Davenport was still playing and smiling up at one of the men. The elder Miss Davenport had her elbow on the piano, trying to steal attention from her sister.