“I know you’re up to your eyeballs in December, perhaps literally.” Effie quirked a smile. “But Simon was agonizing over his assignment—something to do with parapets, I think?—and, knowing I would be no help, I suggested we call on you.”
She wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand, she was so unaccountably happy to see him. It was all she could do to refrain from throwing her arms around him. On the other hand, she had asked that they not see each other in person anymore, and here he was, on the flimsiest of excuses. On the third hand—and she was well aware that she did not have three hands—the Pavilion story was going to be a centerpiece of a future issue, and she welcomed the opportunity to shape it.
“Mind you,” Effie continued when she did not speak, “initially I’d thought he saidparakeets, and I was well-prepared to opine on that topic, but no, it turns out a parapet does not fly through the air and chirp, so I lost interest.”
Effie was speaking blithely but eyeing her closely. He opened his mouth again, as if to keep rambling—he was talking because he knew she was discomfited and was buying her time.
She gathered herself and said to Lord Marsden, “We also have to decide what to do about your byline, my lord.”
“Speaking of December, is this it?” Effie walked over to a large table covered with papers, each marked with a number, in a spread-out mock-up of the issue.
“Yes.”
He walked around, eyeing the pages. “Where is the famous sunrise dress? As I’ve said, I do adore your year-end fashion spread.”
“So do my readers. The Christmas issue always sells well, and while Mr. Glanvil thinks it is because of our Lord and Savior, I think it’s because of the dresses.”
Lord Marsden snickered. Julianna went to stand next to Effie and pointed at the dress he was asking about. “See this ruffle? It is meant to be a kind of transitional color between the orange and yellow I told you about. A sort of apricot shade, if you will.”
Effie cooed appreciatively. “So you will have that plate colored, I suppose.”
“I thought to. Mr. Glanvil won’t allow it, though, as he favors coloring an illustration that will accompany a piece on Christmas tabletop ornamentation.”
“A pity.”
“Yes, but it is an improvement on his initial plan, which was to reserve color for the nativity scene. I made quite the impassioned speech to try to save the sunrise dress.The nativity scene, which we have all seen a hundred versions of in a hundred different places, including last year in this very magazine, is to be in color, but the triumph of the Season in Paris, which was a fleeting moment, is relegated to black and white?I asked. He responded by offering the compromise of using color for the tabletop piece. I thought it a modest triumph. The holly-bedecked branch of candles will make for a striking illustration. I console myself that the sunrise dress has enough embellishments that it will render well enough in black and white. At least I am not wasting color yet again on the Holy Family and assorted barn animals.”
Lord Marsden chuckled, startling Julianna. She had forgotten that she and Effie were not alone. She turned to Lord Marsden. “My lord, may I have a look at what you’ve brought me?”
The two of them sat together, and as Julianna skimmed the draft, she was vaguely aware of Effie poking around the office.
After she and Lord Marsden were done discussing his piece, Effie asked, “Who are your neighbors? A dressmaker downstairs, I saw. And it seems you have a solicitor across the hall. But what about above?”
“Flats.”
“Who lives there?”
“Professionals, mostly. The solicitor you mentioned. The dressmaker from downstairs along with her husband, who owns the building.”
He performed one of his single Effie claps. “Well, Simon, if Jules has got you all straightened out, we ought to be going.”
That was it? He had arrived in her office like a cyclone, and now that she’d sorted Lord Marsden, he was leaving?
Although perhaps he hadn’t come in like a cyclone. Perhaps she’d only felt him as such. He had been calm and perfectly measured in his demeanor. Friendly. Because they were friends.
You can’t miss what you don’t let yourself want.
Her old adage surfaced in her mind, but it had long ago ceased to be true.
* * *
What Julianna wanted, she decided over the next week—what she wanted and could actually have—was company.
“I miss Father,” she said to Amy one afternoon when she’d knocked off early and sought out Amy only to find her in the garden dyeing a dress from last Season. A yellow muslin was becoming navy—refashioning garments was one of Amy’s particular talents.
“I miss Mother,” Amy said, surprising Julianna.
“Why don’t you go see her?”
