He opened the trunk with a creak of old hinges. It was full of clothing, and the scent of lavender lifted into the air as he dug through it.
“I’ve noticed that much of what you wear is an older style,” I said. “Do you prefer it?”
“It’s more that I very rarely leave the estate. I’ve one suit of modern clothing, and I keep it clean and ready in case I do need to go out.” He sat back on his heels, placing a stack of folded men’s things aside on the floor. “But I suppose I do feel more myself in the older styles. Does it bother you?”
I shook my head. “It suits you. From studying the finer folk I serve in The Magpie, it seems to me that fashions—ladies’ especially—have become stiff and almost like cages. But my own dresses are plain and pretty well worn.” I felt my cheeks go pink. “I’ve almost saved enough money for something fresher in the New Year.”
But I’d be living a different life by then. I felt the first of what was sure to be many pangs for the life I’d give up. A true marriage, with a husband in my bed and babes in my arms one day. I’d never really longed for such things until now. It was hard not to think about how that might be with Harker, were things different. What our own children might look like.
He drew out a russet-red gown and laid it over the edge of the lid. “I wish we had time for something that wasn’t handed down. But it’s in good condition still, and I think it might fit you.”
The gown’s bodice was long and straight, the waist neatly pleated all the way round, with a bit of padding at the hips to give the skirt lift. The sleeves, too, were straight, and elbow length. A sweet layer of lace peeked out at the neckline and sleeve ends.
“It’s lovely,” I said, fingering the fine fabric. I wondered if the gown had been his mother’s.
“I’m glad you like it. I’ll go back down while you dress, but call me if you need me.”
To my eye the gown was a little slim, so I stripped off both my shift and corset before putting it on. The bodice fastened in front, and it gave me a squeeze, but I managed to close it all the way. The gown’s owner had been a tall woman, and I’d have to keep it off the ground, but the extra length would cover my long feet and battered old shoes.
I knelt beside the trunk, carefully sorting through it until I found a muslin shawl. There was also a brush with an ivory handle, and I worked it through my tangled hair. I had no pins, so I would have to leave it loose.
I put away the brush and then unwound the bandage from my neck. It bore only a slight pink smear, and when I touched the wounds, they felt dry. I laid the wrapping aside with my shift and corset.
“May I come up?” Harker called from below.
“Yes, I’ve finished.” I glanced around for a looking glass, but none was in sight.
He joined me, and I watched him closely as his eyes moved over me, lingering a beat at my neckline, where the tight-fitting bodice had caused me to be higher, rounder, and more exposed than ever before.
“How beautiful you are, Mina.”
Heat spread from my cheeks to my chest.
He raised his hand, and I saw that Mum’s cross dangled from its ribbon, silver winking in the lamplight. “May I?” he asked.
I nodded and he came closer, moving behind me. I lifted my hair, and his breath against the back of my neck was warmer, like his skin.
“Be careful,” I whispered as he threaded the necklace around me.
I shivered as his fingers tickled the nape of my neck. Once the ribbon was tied, I turned, letting my hair fall. We were standing close, the small talisman between us.
“It dropped from your hand as I carried you inside,” he said.
“I promise to always wear it.”
A sad smile curved his lips. “The vows have begun.”
Excitement fluttered through me, despite fears, regrets, and strange circumstances.
Harker went to the shelves on the other side of the room, then took down a wine bottle and two goblets. He returned, handing me one goblet of wine and raising the other between us.
“To your health, Mina. And the success of our endeavors.”
“Yes,” I said, raising my glass to his. “May we find a way together.”
The wine was strong and full of dark, overripe fruit, like late-September blackberries. There was also a cool, stony flavor that made me think of the holy well at Coldvreath. Unused to wine, and weak from earlier, I knew if I finished my glass I would be stumbling down the stairs, so I took tiny sips.
His gaze fixed on me, and my heart somehow sensed what was coming. Raising my glass again, I let the wine fill my mouth this time, fruity and tart on my tongue yet dry as clay dust in my throat.
