“You think?” I asked, not at all impressed by Kell.
“Oh, definitely. Roger told us he made all sorts of demands about guaranteed amount of time on camera, saying he was bringing his sizable audience to the show.”
“So he’s a real celebrity, not just one of those reality people who like to post pictures of their asses on social media and believe their every move is of vital interest to the world?”
“On the contrary, he’s exactly like that. He was thrown off of theThree Menshow after the fourth week, and likewise only lasted a few weeks on the dance show. Roger said it was because he kept having meltdowns over the costumes.”
“Ugh.”
“Exactly. I feel for Dixon and his brother having to ride with him.”
We both turned to look at Dixon, who did a double take at the sudden attention, and in response looked moderately startled.
“Now we have a couple that I’m sure I need not introduce to anyone—Team Ducal Daimler with our former duke Max Edgerton, his lovely wife, Tessa, and Abbie Teller, who played Alice the maid on the award-winningA Month in the Life of a Victorian Duke.”
Tessa and Max stood to genuinely enthusiastic applause. Across the room, another woman rose and waved before sitting down.
“How do you feel being back on camera again?” I asked Tessa quietly.
“So long as I don’t have to wear the Victorian corsets,I’m fine with it. The wardrobe group did an astonishing job the last time, and I’m sure the Edwardian clothes will be just as gorgeous but a lot comfier to wear.”
“Our French cousins are amply represented by the Gallivanting Gourmets, who are Armand, Etienne, and Yves.” Three men who were at one of the beverage tables clearly flirting with the women waitstaff turned and waved, then resumed their previous activities.
“And last but certainly not least, we have Team Sufferin’ Suffragettes, with Melody Edgerton—whom I’m sure you all remember fromLife of a Victorian Duke—Paulina Lewes, and my own daughter, Louise d’Espry.”
Louise shot up from her seat at the table and smirked, waving and doing a 360-degree survey of the room, blowing kisses to all and sundry, and generally eating up all the attention. Across the room next to the woman named Abbie, a dark-haired girl rose and gave a cursory wave. I could see she had a port-wine stain on one side of her face and a serious mien that warned she was not at all in the same attention-seeking class as Louise.
“Well, that, at least, is reassuring,” I said under my breath.
Dixon must have had very quick ears, because he glanced at me, but the second our gazes met, his dropped, leaving me feeling like I’d been punched in the gut.
And how ridiculous is that? I thought to myself an hour later when I stood in nothing but my underwear and bra in a room filled with racks of partially finished clothes, stacks of shoes and boots, and boxes and boxes filled with large-brimmed hats. I held my arms out obediently while two different women took my measurements. I felt more than a little self-conscious, but mostly distracted by how upset I was over Dixon’s reaction to me.
“It’s not like I really do have cooties,” I said to myself.
“No, of course you don’t,” one of the wardrobe ladies said absently, jotting down a note about the length of my upper arm. “Right. Let’s have you without your bra. We’ll need to make sure the corset fits right.”
“Ugh. The corset. Tessa warned me about it.”
“I don’t doubt it. She really hated wearing it during theVictorian Dukeshow.” The woman handed me a kind of linen undershirt, which I slipped on after peeling off my sports bra. She then held up a corset that wasn’t yet finished and consulted with another woman while they held it on my torso. One of them said, “Well, let’s see if Tessa’s old corset will fit.”
“It’s the wrong shape, though,” the second woman objected.
“I know, but at this point a corset is a corset is a corset.”
“Huh?” I asked as they fished a pretty pink brocade corset out of a wicker basket and deftly wrapped it around my torso. It wasn’t bad until they started tightening the laces at the back, and then all of a sudden I felt as if a piece of steel had me in its grip, crushing my ribs, squeezing my guts together, and pushing my boobs higher than they’d ever been. “Dear god. Are those my boobs?”
“A good corset does wonders for the girls,” the main wardrobe lady (who I later found out was named Joan) said, grunting a little when she hauled on the corset laces. “Right. I think that’s as good as we’re going to get. What do you think, Maeve?”
Maeve, a young woman with red hair and a plethora of freckles, tipped her head to the side and considered me. “I think we should be able to get her into the premades without too much trouble.”
“Premades?” I asked, wanting desperately to take abreath but knowing without a doubt that I’d never get actual air into my lungs while wearing the corset.
“The frocks,” Joan said, waving toward the racks of clothing. “We make them roughly to your size and finish them up once we have you try them on. Right. Let’s start with the main driving dress.”
Maeve went to fetch a dress. I stood in my underwear and corset and eyed myself in the full-length mirror that was propped up against a wall. Behind me, the door opened and a man walked into the room, a piece of paper in his hand.
“I believe I’m supposed to be—” He stopped when he saw me, his eyes widening.
