Once they were situated, each person furnished with a beverage and a paintbrush, there was another lull in activity and conversation, and Julianna realized everyone was looking to her to say something.
All she could think of to say was “You lovely, lovely people.”
And, belatedly, once she had a paintbrush in hand, “I have no idea how to do this.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Effie said, “but how hard can it be? Didn’t you once tell me that your previous printer had his children doing color work?”
“You are the painter among us,” Julianna said. “I propose you make an initial attempt, and if successful, the rest of us shall mimic you.”
“Olive ought to do it. She has quite the eye. You should see some of her embroidery.”
And so they began, Julianna huddling with Miss Morgan and reading aloud a description of the dress. Together they consulted on color gradients, and in short order Julianna was contemplating a beautiful version of the sunrise dress.
“I can see why it’s called the sunrise dress,” the countess said as they all began attempting to reproduce Miss Morgan’s efforts.
“I don’t think it is called that in any official capacity,” Julianna said. “It’s just a moniker that came to mind when I read the textual description of the dress.”
“’Tis Miss Evans’s innovation,” Effie said, and everyone agreed that it was the perfect name for the dress.
Soon, each person was bent over a stack of magazines. The countess and the gentlemen were seated at the large worktable and Miss Morgan and Julianna side by side at Julianna’s desk, which afforded them a little privacy. How novel to meet Miss Morgan, about whom Julianna had heard so much—both in Brighton and via Effie’s letters.
“I am so glad to finally meet you, Miss Evans,” Miss Morgan said. “For I have heard so much about you.”
Julianna laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“I am mad for your magazine, you know.”
“Oh! Are you?”
“Yes, even before Lord Featherfinch relayed your inquiry about whether I would write an article about Turin—and I will, happily; nothing has ever flattered me more than being asked—I was a regular reader.” She leaned in and whispered, “I was a regular reader even before I understood I ought to be paying special attention to thepoetryyou print.” She hitched her head toward her sister, and mouthed, “She doesn’t know.”
“Really?” Julianna whispered, “I’d have thought since Lord Featherfinch has told his friends about his poetical bent, and one of those friends is her husband, that the lady would know.”
“No.” Miss Morgan performed another gestural nod, this one aimed at the gentlemen. “Those three would sooner die than betray each other’s confidences. They’re very loyal that way.”
They were, weren’t they? How lovely. How lucky.
“Miss Evans, would you care to come to tea sometime?”
“Yes, I would like that very much.”
She really would. She hoped it was not one of those “invitations” that was merely a vague suggestion of a future event unaccompanied by any specifics suggesting that the event would actually occur.
“Would Saturday at four o’clock suit? Please tell me if that isn’t ideal. Lord Featherfinch tells me you work long hours. I, by contrast, am a lazy lie-about, so if you counter-propose a time that better meets with your approval, I am certain I can accommodate.”
Julianna felt herself flush with pleasure as she said, “Saturday at four suits just fine, thank you.”
Julianna could scarcely believe she had two earls, a viscount, a countess, and a sister to a countess coloring her magazine. And a tea date Saturday with the latter.
“I say, this is rather nice,” Lord Harcourt said. “Calming. Pleasantly repetitive. It focuses the mind.”
“Like your beads,” Effie said.
“Perhaps better than my beads.” Lord Harcourt explained to Julianna, “I have a string of beads I use to help settle my mind. It is superficially akin to the rosaries of the Catholics, though it does not hold any religious significance. I find the repetitive nature of moving the beads calming.”
“Well, my lord, you are welcome anytime, and I shall give you repetitive calming tasks.”
They worked late into the evening, and as the piles of magazines shrank, so too did the heaviness in Julianna’s chest.
