Page 20 of Hawk & Sparrow

“More than that, I’m afraid,” said Maximilian. “You’ll need an entirely new wardrobe. You’re going to be playing a role, so you’ll need appropriate costumes. Naturally, I will cover the associated costs.”

Vesper blinked. Her clothes certainly weren’t the finest—in fact, a great deal of them were secondhand—but this seemed extreme. “And what made you think I’d agree to this?”

Maximilian arched a brow. “You work for me now, remember? Of course, if you’d prefer to go back to the Globe, I’ll have Bexley take you at once. Just say the word, Miss Evans. The choice is yours.”

Vesper muttered something under her breath.

“I’m pleased to hear you’ll be cooperating.” Maximilian looked smug. “Bisan will take you upstairs for your fitting.”

“This way, miss.” The modiste gestured, and Vesper followed her up a set of stairs to a smaller fitting room with a round white pedestal in its center, a freestanding rack of day dresses, and several more piled high on a hassock. Bisan held up a gray-and-white day dress with pleats in its front.

“I have some dresses like this that could be tailored slightly to fit you,” she said. “For the custom pieces, I just need to know what fabrics you like. I can do silk, satin, wool, or velvet. What’s your normal preference?”

Heat rose in Vesper’s cheeks. She stared at the toes of her scuffed boots, and was suddenly self-conscious. The white blouse and green skirt she was wearing were some of the best clothes she had. Here, they felt like rags.

“I don’t have a preference,” she murmured.

The modiste frowned. “Sorry, miss?”

Vesper kept her eyes on the floor. “I’ve never been to a modiste, and I’ve never had a dress made. I get my clothes from thrift shops. It’s … it’s what I can afford.”

For several seconds, neither of them spoke. When the silence became unbearable, Vesper looked up. She’d expected to see pity in the young woman’s eyes, maybe secondhand embarrassment. Instead, Bisan’s smile was kind.

“I know just what to do.” She set the gray-and-white dress down and picked up another from the pile on the hassock. “How do you feel about satin?”

An hour later, Vesper stood before a full-length mirror, awed by the young woman staring back at her.

She was wearing a striped blue-and-black walking dress with a bustle, and a matching hat. A lump rose in her throat as her fingertips grazed the impossibly soft fabric. Never in her life had she worn something so fine, and for the first time she realized that she truly felt like a proper lady. Not an impostor, not an “odd girl.”

“Miss Evans?”

Vesper looked up and found Bisan was smiling at her.

“I take it the dress is to your liking?”

“It is.” Vesper tried to keep the emotion from her voice. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, miss.” Bisan offered a small curtsy. “If you’re ready, we can go back downstairs and show Mr. Kite.”

Vesper followed the modiste out of the fitting room and back down the stairs to the shop’s front parlor, trying not to trip in her new black lace-up boots. She was halfway down when Maximilian’s voice reached her.

“It’s really about time!” he was saying. “If I’d had to wait in this parlor any longer, I was going to launch a separate investigation into Miss Evans’s—”

Vesper reached the last stair, and the sorcerer’s eyes settled on her. She noticed that, today, they were colored the gray of a storm cloud. Her cheeks warmed as he continued to stare, lips parted.

“Goodness,” she murmured. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“You look…” Maximilian stared a few seconds longer, then cleared his throat. “Well, you look perfectly suitable. This will do nicely.”

Something reburrowed in Vesper’s chest. She didn’t know why, but the word suitable was oddly disappointing.

Maximilian turned to the modiste. “Bisan, excellent work. I shall arrange for my good friend Guillermo to send a box of macarons as a token of my thanks. They’re the best in the city, I assure you.”

“That’s hardly necessary, Mr. Kite.” Bisan bowed her head, but Vesper thought she saw a touch of amusement in the modiste’s eyes. She looked past the dressmaker, and for the first time noticed that a full tea service had been arranged in the parlor. She addressed Mr. Kite.

“Uh … what is this?”

“Morning tea,” said Maximilian breezily. “I had my footman set it up.”