ChapterForty
On the night of the ball, Genevieve woke up calm and quiet, knowing that she had done all she could to ready the house and the servers for the event. She went downstairs to make sure the last preparations had been taken care of and greeted Sally and the children in the kitchen.
“But everyone will look so beautiful,” Hannah said wistfully over her supper. “Can’t we stay up to see the dresses, Mrs. Stewart?”
“I’m afraid not, Hannah,” Genevieve said kindly but firmly. “This is a new venture, you know, and I think it will be best if all the human occupants of the house are well away from the ballroom by the time guests start arriving. Not that you will be unsafe, dear,” she said, her eyes darting up to meet Sally’s. “But to make sure everyone behaves. Perhaps, if you get ready for bed promptly, Elspeth and I will come and show you our finery before we go down to play hostess.”
Hannah’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Really?”
“Yes, really.” Genevieve laughed.
“What d’you say, love?” Sally prompted.
“Thank you,” Hannah said, smiling.
“Perhaps Ophelia too, if she is ready in time. I will ask her when I fetch her tray.”
“You don’t have to fetch it, ma’am,” Sally protested. “Me or one of the girls can do it.”
“Nonsense. It will be on my way, and you have been on your feet all day. Thank you for all the work you have put in,” she added, raising her voice to address the table. “We appreciate it very much.”
“Wish you were having a fencing match instead of a ball,” Fletcher mumbled. “That would be more fun by half.”
Genevieve smiled. “What a good idea, Fletcher! An exhibition of all manner of skills! How interesting and educational. I shall mention it to Kendrick.”
“Educational,” Fletcher muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He was quick and sharp with his letters and numbers, but the chore of sitting still at a table in front of a book wore on him.
“Wouldn’t you like to learn smithing or navigation in addition to fighting techniques? I think there might be a wealth of hidden talents among our people.”
Fletcher squinted up at her. “Smithing? Like a blacksmith?”
“Yes, like a blacksmith, but smith-craft is also used to make coins and rings and jewelry.”
“Like how the guv made your ring.”
“Exactly so.”
Fletcher considered. “I might like that,” he conceded before chewing his bread roll with an open mouth.
Genevieve made a mental note for a lesson in table manners at another time.
Later, surveying her fancy gown, Genevieve realized she had a problem. The sumptuous dress, made of amethyst watered silk, required several petticoats over the bustle, and then an underskirt, an overskirt, and the bodice. She had gotten her corset and bustle on over her chemise without issue, having become used to the updated underpinnings of this decade. But now she surveyed the petticoats and skirt with trepidation.
“This is why ladies engage lady’s maids,” she said aloud. The human staff would be finishing preparations for the ball or taking their rest. And everyone else would be busy dressing themselves.
There was no help for it. Genevieve struggled into the two petticoats and tied them on, fluffing and jumping up and down a little to get them to lay correctly. Then on went the underskirt, with the same problem. The overskirt was a bit easier, attaching with tapes and hooks and settling over her hips easily. But then came the bodice.
Genevieve muttered under her breath, attempting to fix the tiny hooks up and down her spine when she couldn’t see them. The bodice, off the shoulder and very tight fitting, was not accommodating.
“Do you need help?” Kendrick rumbled from the other side of the screen.
She peered over the top. He was inserting the cufflinks into his cuffs and buttoning his waistcoat. “Are you volunteering?”
“What do you need?”
“I can’t fasten this,” she said, frustrated. “Please don’t let me walk out of here with my hooks done up wrong.”
“Of course, my love.” Kendrick walked around the screen. His eyes widened as he spied her. “You look beautiful.”
