It’s so not like her to be coy about something.
“You have to promise not to tease me about this,” she begins.
I try to resist smiling. She has me captive now.
“How bad could it be?”
She steps forward, her fingers brushing my skin while she threads buttons through the holes on my shirt, and she looks up into my face, as if she’s about to share a state secret. “All right, Drew. Here it is. Ready?” She takes a deep breath. “I’m a card-carrying member of the Regency Literature Reenactment Society,” she whispers. “We get dressed up and hold balls and dance La Boulangere.”
I stare at her. This was not the confession I anticipated. It’s also not a surprise, since I discovered this when I googled her the first day we met. “Fascinating …”
She twists my wrists so she can fix my cuffs. “Yes, it is.” She glances at me, as if to check how I’m taking the news that she’s even more of a nerd than I’d allowed for.
“Are you searching for a suitable husband?” I ask.
She thumps me. “If I was, you’d be struck off the list!”
“I wasn’t aware I was in the running. Also, I’m seventeen?”
“Anyway, I haven’t been lately. I’ve just been … busy.”
Ah, yes. Busy with the future husband material that is Oliver. Can’t see him showing up at a Regency ball. Not even for Evie. I guess we have that in common.
“What other weird hobbies don’t I know about?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “All right, then, if we’re putting it all on the table,” she says. “I propagate plants.”
“Huh?”
“Plants. I take cuttings and grow them in water until they strike roots, and then I plant the seedlings. I’ve got two lots on the go—one at Bree’s place and another set in Newcastle that Dad looks after while I’m here!”
“You are positively middle-aged.”
“You are positively irritating. I should just go to the formal with my boyfriend!”
Here we go.“Do you want to?”
Please say no.
She looks straight at me, like she’s considering it. I silently will her to choose me.
“If you wear your costume,” I say, before I can stop myself, “I’ll dress up too.”
What. The. Fuck. I don’t even want to go in the optional modern dress. Now I’m offering to fulfill all her Mr. Darcy fantasies?
Her eyes brighten. “You would do that? Dress in period costume?”
I guess I’ll have to now.
She isdelighted, and throws herself at me in a vigorous hug, before grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me through the store. “We need to get you a poet shirt.”
I regret this already.
“And a waistcoat. And a neck cravat. You can just wear normal straight-leg pants.”
“Thank God for that. I thought you’d put me in breeches …”
She looks at me thoughtfully. “Would youwearbreeches?”
