Most of her things were still from her life as a student and a governess, starched and prim. Teddy had offered to have a few new dresses made for her around the time she had returned to London, and she had agreed, at least, to have something to wear to his wedding, but those wouldn’t do for tonight either.
They had been made in winter, and though spring was still only halfway through its turn, it was too warm for either of them.
She sighed and withdrew the best option she saw, a lilac piece with light blue netting on the bodice, and held it against her body thoughtfully.
Mrs. Tolliver had wanted her to wear black at all times, insisting that it would befit her station as a governess. The lilac had been a compromise, a sort of half mourning for the state of Vix’s dignity as she navigated a life in service. It might have been acceptable if shades of purple hadn’t flattered her olive skin tone so well.
Once the lilac work dresses had arrived, Mrs. Tolliver had found much to complain about in their presentation, no matter how high the necks and stiff the pleats. She grumbled endlessly that she should have insisted on black, after all.
Vix gave a little twist of her lips as she tossed the dress onto her bed and moved to choose jewelry to go with it.
She had always insisted on lower waists than what was strictly fashionable. She had no care to appear as though the width of her bust was the consistent shape of her entire torso. When she’d expressed this to Teddy’s tailor, Teddy himself had turned red as a plum.
“They’re just breasts, Teddy,” she’d said to him afterward. “Grow up.”
Honestly, if she hadn’t lived through their childhood together, she’d struggle to pair the dainty sensibilities of that very large, very well-dressed man with the brawling street urchin from her memories.
She smiled to herself, glancing in the mirror at her own unlikely metamorphosis as she withdrew a strand of black pearls from her jewelry box.
They had both done well. Very well, in the end.
“Aster,” she said to herself as she began to dress, wracking her brain for all she could remember about the duke and his family line. “Aster, Aster, Aster.”
She glanced, just once, with a frown at the mummified mistletoe that hung off the still-sealed envelope on her chest of drawers, and then went back to her toilette.
House Aster’s ducal seat was in Canterbury, of course. Everyone knew that. It was a large family, with three or four sons and at least two daughters. The duchess was a Swedish noble herself and considered ethereally beautiful, though Vix had never set eyes on her personally.
She had seen the duke once, though. That Christmas she’d spent in Canterbury on school break with her one-time friend.
She made an impatient click of her tongue and stood up, throwing the stack of letters into the top drawer to put them out of her line of sight and slamming it shut, ignoring the little flecks of dried mistletoe that scattered from the force of the motion.
There was no time to get caught up in unfortunate bouts of memory tonight. She had an important task to attend to, after all.
She frowned, unscrewing the top of her rouge, and blinked away the memories of yule logs and cinnamon sticks from half a lifetime ago, though the residual ache in her chest did not dissipate quite so quickly.
She wondered if mail was always going to be such a violent event, now that she’d reached adulthood.
Mercifully, a street performer with a violin began striking up some nonsense shortly thereafter, playing through the chords of sunset while Vix dabbed and brushed and laced and coiled herself into order for the dinner that might determine her very future.
Hannah tapped on her door shortly before she would have emerged anyway, her big blue eyes blinking in what appeared to be entirely earnest hope for the evening ahead when the door swung open.
“You look lovely,” she said immediately, clasping her gloved hands together over her heart. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Take a breath, sister mine,” Vix said with a smirk, stepping aside so Hannah could enter. “I look well enough.”
Hannah herself looked resplendent, exactly the way Vix wished she could tonight. She was wearing feather-light mint green, her copper red hair swept into a simple pearl comb over her ear. Her skin was perfectly pale, glowing in the dusky light, and her petite, pixie-like frame moved easily through the room, perching itself on the foot of Vix’s bed.
“I need new dresses,” Vix said with a little sigh. “Badly.”
“Oh,” said Hannah. “Has Thaddeus not taken you to a modiste? I would be happy to take you to mine if you don’t mind traveling to Clerkenwell.”
“He took me to his tailor, back in December,” Vix said, leaning back against the door with a little half smile. “The man is a genius with fabric, but did not seem accustomed to skirts and bodices. Teddy does his best.”
Hannah gave a fluttering little sigh, her mouth softening into a smile. “He does,” she said, as though it were the most romantic accolade possible. “Doesn’t he?”
Vix blinked. “You are both repulsive.”
It made Hannah laugh. She shook her head and giggled to her heart’s content and then sighed, adjusting the fit of her gloves. “I only came in case you had questions about Mr. Aster before we go to meet him. I know I would, in your place.”
