“Heavens, Alice, the last vestige of the bustle went out last year,” Davina told her briskly. “Now one leads from the bosom, with slender hips and lots and lots of froufrou under the skirt from the knees down.”
Alice was afraid to ask what froufrou was, exactly, in case it was something that hurt.
Silks and organdies and velvets became a blur, and when she couldn’t answer or make a decision to save her life, Davina conferred with the modiste and made said decisions herself with the expertise of long practice.
Who knew she spoke Cantonese, too?
The only good part was when Alice’s measurements were duplicated on the expandable body of a gleaming bronze automaton, whose arms and legs ratcheted in and out depending on the customer’s stature. But even then, she was whisked away for a conference on bodices and forced to choose between puffed sleeves or cap, instead of examining the way they made the automaton duplicate her gait so the skirt would accommodate her stride.
At this very moment her father could be on a train for goodness knows where, and she was required to make a decision about sleeves?
Again she fought the desire to weep.
Chapter 7
The dresses were delivered the next evening, two hours before they were to depart for the governor’s mansion. The Mopsies both came to Davina’s stateroom to watch the three of them dress.
“’is poor lordship,” Maggie remarked. “Booted out of ’is own room?”
“His lordship has a dressing room of his own and many fewer yards of material to manage,” Davina told them. “Make yourselves useful, girls, and help Claire and Alice with those skirts. No, Alice dear, it must go on over your head. Try not to disturb your hair, for we do not have time to put it up again.”
“Ain’t nothing disturbing this hair,” could be heard from the depths of the aquamarine silk. “There’s enough pins in my head to melt down for a pistol.”
To Claire’s relief, Maggie played ladies’ maid for her while the countess and Lizzie saw to Alice, snapping snaps and tying tapes and fluffing organdy. This was nothing like the blue gown that Ned Mose had taken from her in Resolution. Her new gown was a deep emerald green that brought out the red lights in her auburn hair. A cluster of yellow velvet roses pulled up a flutter of pale gold organdy on each shoulder—and not much else. Claire had never exposed so much of her arms and bosom before, nor been laced in the new style of corset which actually gave her a bosom, not to mention a very tiny waist. The skirts belled out below, embroidered with yellow roses in a border a foot above the hem.
“Ent you pretty,” Maggie said, standing back so Claire could admire the train behind her in the mirror. “You look like a daffodil, Lady.”
Claire bent over and kissed her. “And you are kind to say so. Will you wind the pearls about my neck? At least they’ll cover some of me.”
It was the first time she had had the use of a full-length mirror since the riots in Wilton Crescent, and she almost didn’t recognize herself. With her grandmother’s ring and the St. Ives pearls, and a yellow velvet rose pinned next to her chignon, Claire had to admit that for the first time in her life, she was almost satisfied with what she saw in the glass.
What a pity Alice could not say the same.
Alice regarded herself with some dismay. The aquamarine blue brought out the vividness of her eyes, and her hair had been curled within an inch of its life and braided into a coronet about her head. Between two panels of cream lace on her bodice, ruched organdy arrowed into a satin belt whose circumference could almost be spanned with two hands. The skirts spilled to the floor in a froth of silk and organdy, but the countess had wisely ordered no train. It took practice to manage one, and Alice had had none.
Alice flicked at the blue feather curling around her ear and held in place with a diamond clip loaned by the countess. “This is gonna drive me batty.” She gazed at herself in dismay. “I have no idea who that person is.”
“Then you must become acquainted with her.” Davina looked like a slender Roman goddess in draped crimson and cream silk. Upon her hair rested a diadem of tawny diamonds. “You must face the unhappy truth, Alice—you clean up very nicely.”
“I can’t breathe, I’m swimming in all these skirts, and if I shake my head, this stupid feather will make me sneeze.”
“Chin up,” Claire said. “You’ll get used to it. Just remember to lift your hems going down stairs as well as up, and use the loop sewn into the skirt to lift it a little when you dance.”
“Claire, nobody is going to dance with me.”
“I’ll lay you a bet that you’re wrong.”
“Name it.”
“If you are a wallflower, I’ll give you my landau.”
All the color drained from Alice’s face. “Are you crazy? You can’t do that.”
“Of course I can. I am not a simpleton—I know I cannot lose.”
“I say you’re going to. But if you win, I’ll give you Nine.”
Claire opened her mouth to refuse. The last thing she wanted about her was that eerie, eyeless presence, its servomotors whining every time it moved to do its owner’s bidding. And then she caught herself. Besides the Lass, Nine was the creation Alice valued the most—the way Claire valued her own landau. It was a fair bet.
Fair, but rather like taking candy from a baby.
“Done.”
“All right, you two,” the countess said. “Find your cloaks and fans and let’s be off.”
When they entered the main salon, the gentlemen came to their feet. Claire could not tell which was more rewarding—Andrew’s gobsmacked face as he realized who the lady in seafoam was, or the warmth in the eyes of Captain Hollys as he bent over her own hand.
“You will outshine every woman there,” he murmured. “If you do not save a waltz on your card for me, I shall sign on with a mining crew and never come back.”
“I must save you from that fate, then.” Claire smiled at his nonsense. “The first waltz—and be forewarned that dancing is not my strong suit.”
Andrew was still staring at Alice as if he had never seen her before.
Well, no one had ever seen this Alice before, but that was no reason to be rude and to make the color rise in her face.
“Captain Hollys, do rescue Alice. Andrew is making her uncomfortable.”
The good captain did just that, and Andrew snapped out of it as Claire stepped into his line of sight. “Claire. You look very pretty. No rifle?”
Pretty. Hmph. So it was the first time he had ever told her she was pretty. But need he sound so—distracted?
“Not tonight. I trust that with Count von Zeppelin and the governor himself there, we will be troubled neither by thieves nor pirates. However, I do have an ivory hair pick if my assumptions prove incorrect.”
“I knew I could depend on you.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Andrew, do not stare. It is abominably rude.”
“But can that really be Alice? I swear I thought her a complete stranger when she walked in.”
“She will think you completely strange if you do not behave more naturally. I do hope you told her she was … pretty.”
“I shall. The moment I secure the first dance.”
Which rendered Claire speechless until they were well on their way. Government House lay in several acres of park and gardens that Davina told them duplicated exactly the estates of Sir Geoffrey Arundel, the governor, in Derbyshire, though sadly, the elms and maples of that county had not survived the winters of the Canadas and had been replaced by pine and fir. The gardens still glowed, however, in the middle of October, and—
“My goodness!” Claire exclaimed as the Bentley came to a stop under the portico. “Today is my birthday and I completely forgot until this moment.”
“You’ve chosen a nice way to celebrate.” The earl smiled at her and kissed her cheek. “Happy eighteenth, Lady Claire. All Edmonton will be at your feet by midnight, or I’m a sad representative of the species.”
All Edmonton, it seemed, was in the ballroom, whirling in the patterns of the dance and chattering with such gusto that Claire could barely hear her own name as the majordomo announced it.
Earl and Countess Dunsmuir, of Dunsmuir House, London, and Hatley Park, Victoria.
Lady Claire Trevelyan, of Gwyn Place, Cornwall.
Miss Alice Chalmers, of the Texican Territory.
Mr. Andrew Malvern, B.S., R.S.E., of London.
Captain Ian Hollys, Baronet, Royal Aeronautic Corps, London.
Baronet? Heavens. What was a baronet doing flying a ship for an earl, companions at arms notwithstanding? She must find out during their waltz.
“So much for keeping a low profile,” Alice whispered as they descended the grand staircase. She clutched a great handful of her skirts so hard they would be fearfully crushed. “I should’ve given an alias.”
“I am very glad you did not,” Davina said behind her. “I plan to introduce you to everyone, and I should hate to have to remember it.”
Alice groaned, and before she could recover, Andrew had stepped up to write his name upon her card and then whirl her off onto the floor.
“Dear me,” Davina murmured, watching. “I am afraid our attempts at teaching her a few steps this afternoon were … inadequate.”
“Andrew will make sure she comes to no harm.” And sure enough, when Alice turned the wrong way, Andrew tightened his hand upon her waist and steered her back into the frothing current of the dancers. “She must learn that the first rule of dancing is to allow the man to lead.”
Davina looked amused. “Is this wisdom the product of personal experience?”
“I have not had much personal experience. But that is what the dance mistress at school always told us.”
“Claire, you must not stare at them so.”
“I am not staring. I am merely following the pattern of the dance and admiring the gowns of the other ladies.”
“If you say so, dear. Come. I want John to introduce you to Count von Zeppelin.”
With a determined effort, Claire pushed the image of Andrew’s gloved hand on Alice’s corseted back out of her mind. A dream was about to come true. She must not let that pleasure be muted by … by … well, she must not let it be muted.
She followed Davina and John to a small group standing next to the royal purple drapes that framed the tall windows overlooking the garden. A slender man in his fifties turned with a smile, his moustaches curled at the ends like the feather in Alice’s hair. “John, mein lieber freund. We meet again.”
The two men embraced in the European fashion and John turned to indicate his wife. Davina smiled her charming smile and extended her hand in its pristine opera glove. “Count, it is lovely to see you again. I trust the Baroness is well? Did she accompany you on this trip?”
Von Zeppelin bent over her hand. “Alas, no. She has just become a grandmother for the third time, so she has stayed at home to assist our daughter.”
“I hope you will give our best wishes to the new mother,” John told him. “I would like to introduce you to a young lady who admires your work greatly. Count Ferdinand von Girsberg-Zeppelin, allow me to present Lady Claire Trevelyan, a dear friend of the family.”
Claire dipped into a curtsey as the count bowed. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Claire. Are you familiar with my ships?”
“I am indeed, sir,” she said rather breathlessly. How charming he was! And what lively intelligence danced in those eyes, glinting through his formal manners. “In fact, I own stock in your company. I am quite certain that the Atlantic shipping lanes will belong to Zeppelin before many more months pass.”
His eyebrows rose, and then he gave a bark of laughter. “She is prudent as well as pretty.” He had not released her hand, and now he patted it. “I shall do my utmost not to disappoint you.”
“Claire aspires to be an engineer, Ferdinand,” John told him as he released her hand at last. “When we return to London, she will be entering the university to study.”
“Is it so? What field interests you?”
He had not laughed. He had not even behaved as though this were unusual. What an extraordinary man. Of course, things might be different in Prussia. After all, Madame Bertha Mercedes ran the largest manufactory of steam engines in all of Europe. Perhaps women were accepted to the universities there as a matter of course.
“I hardly know which to choose, sir, so many interest me,” she replied. “But since my travels have brought me here, I find my fascination with flight grows daily.”
“One can hardly function in this vast land without some way to get about,” he said, nodding in agreement. “A landau depends upon the existence of roads. A water vessel upon a river or sea. But an airship…” He gestured into the distance, as if his great ship were moored outside in the park. “An airship can go anywhere and be put to nearly any use in the service of mankind.” His gaze returned to her. “I think you would be wise to pursue aeronautics, my dear.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your counsel.”
“And do not forget the stock market.” He laughed at his own joke, clicked his heels and bowed from the waist to her and Davina, and drew John aside.
“Come, Claire,” Davina said. “I believe I see someone you know.”
“But—”
“We will leave the gentlemen to themselves for a moment.”
Claire resigned herself to being social when what she really wanted was to ask the count about his plans for a Zeppelin airfield outside New York, and follow that with her questions about the power cell and its ability to replace a steam engine. “Yes, Davina.”
“Claire!” A small commotion seemed to be moving toward them, which resolved into none other than Peony Churchill. She flung herself upon Claire in a huge hug. “Oh, I am so glad to see you—Mama was quite convinced you had decided to stay in London and marry James Selwyn. See what a low opinion she has of you! But I knew differently.” The laughter and joy faded from her face. “Claire? Are you quite all right?”
“Peony, did you not hear? James was killed in a train accident nearly two weeks ago.”
Wide-eyed, Peony lifted her gloved fingers to her lips. “No, I did not hear. We have been in Esquimaux country, documenting conditions there for a petition to Her Majesty.”
“I am very sorry to spring it on you in this fashion.”
“Are—are you all right?”
There were a number of ways to answer this, but Davina took the matter out of her hands. “They had not been engaged for some weeks.”
“Yes—yes, I know, but—” Peony suddenly seemed to realize to whom she was speaking. “Your ladyship, I do beg your pardon.” She sank into a graceful curtsey. “What a pleasure to see you. When I got your note that Claire had arrived, I hardly knew what to think. For all I knew, she was in New York awaiting passage here after her voyage on Persephone.”
“We must contrive a way to catch you up on my adventures,” Claire said. “I need at least two hours, and we will not get that here.”
“You certainly will not. I intend to see you dancing before this mazurka ends.” Davina sounded very firm. “Come along, you girls. There is Mrs. Abercrombie. She owns the second largest diamond mine in the Canadas, and her unmarried sons dancing attendance upon her stand to inherit the lot.”
“Who owns the largest one?” Claire asked.
“Why, John and I do, of course.”
Within moments of their introduction, Davina made sure that Claire and Peony were launched onto the ballroom floor in a lively polka with the Abercrombie boys, and Claire had not another moment to think until Captain Hollys appeared at her elbow.
“This one, I think, is mine.”
The boy—Conrad? Charles?—relinquished her with a smile, and Claire found herself slowing both steps and heart rate as she relaxed. What a blessing it was to dance with someone familiar.
“Small talk is so exhausting,” she said on a long breath.
“I hope
that is not meant to discourage me,” Captain Hollys said, clearly taken aback.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean you.” She smiled up into his eyes. “I merely meant I am glad to dance with someone I know. Remarks upon the weather and the state of the roads have their place, but one can only take them so far. Thank goodness the polka does not require much conversation.”
“And were you required to make small talk with Count von Zeppelin? I saw his lordship introduce you.”
“Is he not a fascinating man? Imagine being the one to invent something so marvelous as the airship—something we use for such magnificent purposes, and that we cannot imagine living without. I wonder if he realizes what a great thing he has done for mankind.”
“If he does, it is likely he gives the credit to his engineering staff. He is not proud or self-involved.”
“He advised me to take up aeronautical engineering when I return home.”
“And is that your intention? You do not plan to stay here?” He moved her smoothly into a turn that would take them close to the French doors.
“Goodness, no. I was only to come for a few weeks, until—” Until I turned eighteen and James could not force me to marry him. No, it would not do to bring up old hurts. “Until John and Davina wished to return to London.”
Another turn and he waltzed her out onto the terrace. The night air was cold, but braziers had been set up at intervals along the stone balustrade, so it was not unpleasant.
“Captain Hollys, Davina will be looking for me.”
“I think we have been through enough together that you might call me by my Christian name. Ian.”
She hardly knew where to look. Part of her wanted to flee to the crowded ballroom and find Peony—find Davina—find Alice and see if she was still dancing with Andrew.
Andrew. She was in love with Andrew, was she not? How did one know? With him, she did not have this fluttery, nervous feeling in her chest. Instead, she felt a sense of safety, of homecoming. To be sure, a Kensington address might elicit the same feeling—so that could not be a symptom of love at all.
Brilliant Devices: A steampunk adventure novel (Magnificent Devices) Page 6