Stella laughed and completed her sentence. ‘That I’d freak out, exactly like I did?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose …’
Stella’s hand squeezed hers. ‘I don’t know if I fully get the whole Regency thing, but it explains a lot. And it gave me a great idea for our videos, if you’re up for it?’
They’d been planning to riff off Hetty’s diaries, but Stella had noticed a fascinating online trend for reading – and reacting – to online horror stories of relationships and situations gone wrong. The idea of staid old Hetty reading the very worst of Reddit while dressed in her fancy shot silk gown in the middle of the aunts’ eclectic sitting room clearly spoke to Stella’s sense of the ridiculous. Hetty had to agree, having spent twenty horrified minutes browsing Reddit the night before.
As Stella had rightfully pointed out, though, Hetty couldn’t spend the rest of her life veering between Regency ballgowns and the full-length dresses her aunts had picked out for her. They’d served her well while she’d adjusted to her new surroundings, but it had only taken one session ofpeople-watching in a café for Hetty to realise she was dressed very conservatively indeed compared to her modern peers.
But it was one thing seeing other people wearing short skirts and showing their middles. Though Hetty was not at all averse to seeing anyone’s middle, it was another thing completely to wear a crop top herself – especially as the winter chill set in.
Hetty stood in the brightly lit changing room staring at herself. Stella had given her a heavy armful of clothing to hang in the changing room and was now sitting on a chair outside the curtained cubicles waiting for her patiently. The pile had contained a variety of dresses – they’d decided to stick to dresses for now – and Hetty’s eye had immediately been drawn to a tiny, stretchy, silver one.
It was completely unlike anything Hetty had ever seen or imagined. She’d wrestled it on and then stood wrapped in awe at her own body for several minutes. She could hardly believe such a thing could be considered clothing.
‘You okay in there?’ came Stella’s worried voice.
Hetty paused. ‘I’m trying the glittering silver one. I’m – I’m not sure I’ve got it on correctly, frankly.’
‘Are you decent? Come show me.’
Hetty might as well have been naked, she thought, as she bravely stepped out from behind the curtain. Her arms and torso were covered – the dress had a high, wide neck and long sleeves – but the vast majority of her long, strong legs were completely on display. Nobody but Bessie and Mrs Cummings had seen this much of her body before.
Hetty felt air on her legs and struggled not to cover herself with the curtain, but then dared to look up from the floor and saw Stella’s face.
Stella was looking at her as though … well, as though she were the brightly shining moon, dazzling in the night sky, clothed in glittering stars. Which fitted, since Stella was still – would always be – the sun. They gazed at one another for a few long seconds before Stella finally spoke.
‘That’s it. You’re definitely coming out with me and the boys for New Year’s Eve.’
‘But I already came out, surely?’
Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Out-out.’
‘Oh.’ Hetty nodded knowingly, knowing nothing at all. ‘Out Out. I see.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Stella laughed. ‘But you will.’
Chapter 38
1817
Max was, as so often the case when he travelled in this direction, ‘on the lam’ as Etta’s dear deceased father would have put it. According to Charlie, Max’s own father had nearly exploded over Christmas lunch when Max had once again rebuffed his recommendation of a bride for him: the beautiful but highly toxic Miss Marley. The story was, Lord Kent had tried a different approach: an apoplexy.
Etta had always wondered what an apoplexy was, and after questioning Charlie closely it turned out it meant Lord Kent was having one of his infamous tantrums. The Marquess was perfectly fine: apparently he knew it, and Max knew it – even the butler knew it. Lord Kent had apparently kept peeking at him under his eyelids as he moaned and groaned and clutched his chest. Consequently, Max had been able to slip off to Lady Bainbridge’s New Year’s Eve soirée in his waiting carriage as planned.
Yes, her note had said. JustYes.
The truth was, she had made her decision the same night she’d asked him to give her more time. Maybe before that,even. Long, long before that. She couldn’t quite honestly say she’d fallen in love with him at first sight, but there had always been something about him – something right, something that slotted into place right back in that cellar. She might have been busy freaking out at the time, but even then there had been … comfort. He just radiated comfort – not just physical, but in every possible way. He just fitted.
Ultimately, it felt like it had been the old ladies from the Tube that got her over the line, in the end.Roll with it, they’d said. They’d also mentioned a marquess, hadn’t they? And they seemed to feel pretty positive about how things ended up. Even without the instinct, deep down in her stomach, that was telling her it was what she needed, she could reconcile the logic to herself that way.
Being aRoll with itkind of person didn’t seem like a bad way to live – though, admittedly, Etta was pretty high when she’d come to that conclusion. Still, she’d decided to go all in. The Regency life had its challenges, but even discounting how she felt about Max, overall the last weeks had been a blast. She’d had more fun in her short time in 1817 than she’d had in her whole life in the entire twenty-first century.
Sure, there were no mobile phones. No endless rows of chocolate bars and popcorn, no quick flights to the continent, no TV reruns ofJudge Judy, no sweatpants. But Etta was used to spending her evenings doing something more productive than googling unaffordable weekend breaks while stuffing her face in front of CBS Reality until the logo had permanently burned itself onto her TV screen. She’d read more in the last couple of months than she had in the couple of years before that, she’d played pianos more beautiful than she’d even dreamed of touching in her old life, and she’d beento more parties than she had in the whole three years she’d spent at university. Her dresses might not have any give in them, but they made her feel like a queen.
And let’s face it, Max Stanhope in his tight capris and neat cravat was infinitely superior to the last six Hinge dates she’d been on in 2023 – in fact to anyone she’d ever dated in her life.
He was looking dashing as ever tonight in his evening attire, ostensibly listening to one of the local gentry talking about crop yields but in reality watching Etta out of the corner of one eye. She felt beautiful in her favourite blue evening dress as she stared at him brazenly – completely unable to stop herself and unwilling even to try as she watched her prey held captive by his monotonous tenant.
