“Be kind,” Elizabeth scolded. “We’re doing our best.”
It was usually Chloe who curled the hard-to-reach bits of Tommy’s hair. But when her sister married the Duke of Faircliffe, Tommy had been left on her own. Again. At first, she’d tried to curl her hair herself. The front and sides turned out all right, but in the back, she either burned the hair to a crisp or skipped whole patches altogether.
Elizabeth’s hair was naturally curly, so she did not have much experience with curling tongs. On the other hand, she was more patient than almost any other sibling and had assured Tommy she wasn’t too busy slashing villains with her rapier to learn a new skill.
She wasn’t quite up to Chloe’s level—perhaps no one else ever could be—but Elizabeth was a good sister doing her best.
“This is a special occasion,” Tommy informed Graham. “I must represent Horace Wynchester, a stylish Balcovian lord.”
“Mm-hm,” said her brother. “When you chose this romantic hair arrangement, you were definitely thinking of the expectations of the entire beau monde, and not about one specific young lady.”
“Where are Jacob and Marjorie?” Tommy demanded. “They promised there would be no more meddling in my romantical entanglements or lack thereof.”
“Your first mistake was believing them,” Graham said. “I, for one, shall never cease offering my wise counsel.”
“If by that you mean ‘unsolicited opinions,’” said Elizabeth, “mayhap you’re not as wise as you think you are.”
Graham smirked. “I predicted Mrs. York would ask Tommy to bring our carriage with the Wynchester crest as a prop for her schemes, didn’t I?”
“That’s not a prediction,” Elizabeth said. “We already knew that the Yorks intend to use Tommy as a stepping-stone.”
“Not all of the Yorks,” Tommy said. “Philippa doesn’t want to use me.”
Graham waggled his eyebrows. “Then try harder.”
Marjorie skidded into view. “Did I miss it?”
“No,” said Tommy. “I won’t apply the cosmetics until Elizabeth finishes curling my hair, so as not to accidentally smudge something.”
“What you need are side whiskers,” Graham said. “Jacob can probably loan you some polecat fur to match your hair.”
“First,” said Tommy, “never give fashion advice again. Second, artificial hair is unnecessary. I was clean shaven yesterday. It would raise more eyebrows to sprout polecats on my cheeks today.”
Marjorie pulled an armchair closer to where Tommy sat before her dressing table. “I love to watch you turn into a man. It’s no wonder Prinny used to spend his mornings watching Brummell do it.”
“Beau Brummell was already a man,” Graham reminded her.
“Andstillworse at it than Tommy,” Marjorie said with pride. “Brummell’s toilette took up to five hours, whereas Tommy can become a perfect gentleman in less than forty-five minutes.”
Tommy smiled and stretched her legs in their knee breeches out before her.
Elizabeth smacked her on the padded shoulder. “Stop moving. I’m almost done curling your hair.”
A footman appeared in the doorway. “Your biscuits, madam,” he said to Marjorie.
Graham moved out of the way. “You ordered biscuits to Tommy’s boudoir again?”
“It’s like watching a performance at the theater,” Marjorie explained. She turned to Tommy. “Are you scared?”
“No,” Tommy lied.
“Why should she be scared?” Graham scoffed. “Tommy has impersonated everything there is to impersonate, and I’ve never once seen her hesitate.”
“Never once?” Elizabeth asked archly.
“Very well, there were a few false starts before she spoke to Philippa,” Graham allowed.
“An entire year of false starts,” Marjorie corrected him.
