Charlotte offered her a limp smile.
Meg pursed her lips, assessing Charlotte’s pale face and dark hair. “I think the lavender.”
After helping Charlotte into a petticoat with a hem finished in lace and a neckline that Charlotte found disconcertingly low, Meg went to the wardrobe and selected a silk gown in the blue-purple shade of its floral namesake. Despite her protests about changing, Charlotte’s breath caught at the sight of the fine silk. She lifted her arms without prompting when Meg approached and let out a tiny sigh of pleasure as the silk slid over her skin.
That pleasant sensation flagged in the face of Charlotte’s sudden surprise.
“Is part of the gown missing?” Charlotte asked Meg in alarm. “Or is my petticoat perhaps too large?”
Meg was already buttoning up the dress. “What do you mean?”
“Meg, look.” The back of Charlotte’s neck began to burn. “You can see everything!”
“Oh, Lottie.” Meg tried to cover her giggle. “It’s just the fashion.”
“The fashion?” Charlotte kept gaping at her exposed bosom.
The traveling gown and spencer she’d worn aboard the Dragonfly had clung to her figure, but fabric had covered her from throat to wrist. The lavender gown Charlotte had just donned was obviously designed to expose that region of her body. Its neck swooped low and wide, baring her shoulders. Its tight, high waist hoisted her breasts up, forcing pale, curving flesh to strain against the silk bodice.
To make matters worse, the gown was accented with silver lace that featured crystal beading. The embellishments ran all along the low bodice and, while exquisite, caught the light whenever Charlotte moved, which could only draw more attention to how much of her skin was showing.
“I can’t go to dinner in this.”
“Of course you can,” Meg replied, handing her a pair of long white gloves. “You look beautiful. I’ll fetch the seed-pearl and gold comb for your hair.”
“Meg, I can’t!” The hot blush that first attacked Charlotte had surrendered to an icy horror. “What will Ash say . . . oh, Athene, what will Jack say?”
Meg had pinned Charlotte’s curls up, and now she finished the style by securing the pearl and gold comb toward the back of Charlotte’s head. “Jack will not say anything because this is not the Catacombs and he knows he can’t play the rake. And as for Ash . . . well, he won’t be there, so don’t worry about him.”
“Where will Ash be?” Charlotte asked, only slightly appeased.
“He’ll be with Grave and me,” Meg answered. “In the maid and valet dining room.”
That’s probably for the best, Charlotte thought. She suspected that no matter how sumptuous a feast was set before her this evening, the food would only leave a sour taste behind. So far Charlotte hated everything about this ship. She despised having to simper and pretend shyness rather than speaking her mind. She loathed the way that she was expected to do nothing for herself, but instead required Meg to do something as simple as dress her, while Ash and Grave toted her baggage through the ship to her opulent stateroom and then they slunk away to share an adjacent tiny double bunk. In their current roles, they couldn’t even eat a meal with her.
Charlotte had long known the history of the failed War for Independence. She’d learned about the subsequent years in which the Empire hunted down Patriots and shipped them off to internment, and inevitable death, at the Crucible, Boston’s notorious prison. She’d heard of the horrible Hanging Tree there, but she’d also heard that by the time the Crucible’s prisoners were sent to their executions, they welcomed death.
Most of all, she knew the war and the Empire had taken her parents away. Her mother and father continued the fight, risking their lives each day, while she and Ash hid in the ground waiting for the day they would take up arms for the cause as well. Charlotte had never believed that she could hate the Empire more than she already did, but pretending to be a part of it made her despise it even more.
As if she’d read Charlotte’s thoughts, Meg laid a gentle hand against the younger girl’s cheek. “It will be all right, Lottie. You’re a fighter. Even if that dress doesn’t feel like armor, it doesn’t change the mettle that’s in your blood and bones.”
Swallowing her outrage, Charlotte nodded.
Meg turned away when a sharp rap came at the door. “That’ll be Jack.”
Charlotte fidgeted, wanting to put her hand to her throat so her gloved arm would cover at least some bare skin, but she couldn’t spend all of dinner clutching at her neck. She forced herself to face the door and stand still.
“Meg,” Charlotte heard Jack say, “Ash took Grave to the servants’ dining room. They’ll expect you there.”
“Of course,” Meg said, then she stepped aside to let Jack in.
He stopped just inside the doorway and stared at Charlotte. She braced herself, standing with her spine stiffer than an iron rod as she waited for him to speak. They weren’t in the company of strangers yet, so Jack had no call to leave her be.
It was all she could do to not run and snatch a pelisse from the wardrobe to cover herself.
Jack kept staring. A funny expression took hold of his face. His jaw began to twitch.
Is he trying not to laugh? Charlotte’s hands fisted in her white gloves.
Jack looked at the floor, drawing a deep breath. Stepping close to her, Jack reached out and took her right fist in both his hands and raised it to his lips.
“My lady.”
Charlotte remained stone-still, staring at him in disbelief. Was that all he had to say?
When Meg politely cleared her throat, Charlotte stammered, “Lieutenant Winter.”
Jack grimaced at the title, but offered Charlotte his arm. “Shall we join the Lord and Lady Ott for dinner?”
“If we must,” Charlotte replied, taking his elbow.
Meg curtsied as they left the stateroom, and Charlotte groaned inwardly. It seemed that no one was bothered by all this role-playing the way she was. Admittedly, she hadn’t seen her brother since he left the arrival lounge, trying not to glower while he hefted Charlotte’s belongings from the ship. Surely Ash was as uncomfortable as she was, and probably furious to boot—he was accustomed to giving orders, and here he would have to defer to almost everyone. Charlotte found that notion both comforting and unsettling.
As Jack escorted Charlotte through the ship, she accepted begrudgingly that the Hector’s gilded halls awed her. Metals of every hue had been beaten, bent, molded, and married to gemstones, creating tapestry-like panels that covered the walls. It appeared that the designers of HMCS Hector thought it a crime to leave any surface without ornamentation.
They passed from the staterooms onto a landing, where began a great winding staircase carved of ebony. Jack remained uncharacteristically silent as they descended the steps. She observed that he hadn’t been forced to change his dress for dinner, though the shirt beneath his officer’s coat was crisp enough that Charlotte suspected it was new since their voyage. Guiding her through the halls, Jack walked too stiffly, as if the uniform he wore had begun to transform him from the scoundrel she’d known into a tin soldier.
Charlotte wished he would say something, anything, to put her at ease. Her nerves were holding her own tongue captive, and she supposed that Jack might be suffering the same malady.
In contrast to their silence, the dining room was abuzz with conversation. Jack paused at the edge of the great room; Charlotte assumed he was searching for the Otts’ table.
Finding them might be a challenge, thought Charlotte.
The formal dining hall lay in the Hector’s belly. Its floors matched the polished ebony of the staircase they’d just descended. A dozen or more tables, dressed in crisp white linen, awaited dinner guests. Above the tables, lighting had been cleverly masked as entertainment. A circus in miniature played out over the diners’ hea
ds. Shimmering globes outlined the silhouette of a great tent, beneath which mechanical actors performed their roles.
“There they are,” Jack announced as Charlotte watched a tiny man ride a tiny unicycle along a tiny tightrope.
The location of the Otts’ table bespoke their social status. Lady Ott was seated at the head of the dining hall, the table perched in front of one of the giant viewing portals featured in the walls. The next table over was the largest in the room. There, a uniformed man with a solemn face and heavy black beard was intoning to a group of like-bearded gentlemen who hung on his every word. Given the man’s dress and his supplicants, Charlotte guessed him to be the captain.
Lady Ott stretched out a hand in welcome as Charlotte and Jack approached.
“Miss Marshall, you are radiant! Wherever did you come by silks in that hue?” Lady Ott said, patting the seat of the chair next to her. “Sit beside me, dove.”
If Charlotte had thought her lavender gown to be scandalous, Lady Ott’s sapphire blue dress was downright obscene. Every time the woman moved, Charlotte feared that Lady Ott’s ample bosom would explode out of its bodice, which made it rather difficult not to stare while awaiting that inevitable disaster.
Jack pulled the chair out for Charlotte and tucked her close to the table after she sat, which made her feel rather like a child being settled into bed. She was grateful, however, when he sat on the other side of her.
“My husband is just having a word with the ship’s captain,” Lady Ott told them. “He should join us momentarily.”
No sooner had she finished speaking than a man loomed at their table. Jack stood up immediately, and Charlotte thought to rise, but Jack’s firm hand pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her to stay seated.
“My Lord Ott.” Jack inclined his head in respect.
Lord Ott looked like a boulder with arms, legs, and a head, but not much of a neck.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, young master,” Lord Ott replied.
Lady Ott turned in her chair to address her husband. “I chanced upon this lovely pair in the arrival lounge, my dear.”
“Chanced upon?” Lord Ott guffawed, and Charlotte decided he was more like a bear than a boulder. A bear that could crush her with an embrace or smother her with his shaggy gray and silver beard. “More like ambushed, I’d wager.”
“Oh, you!” Lady Ott giggled when her husband pinched her plump cheek.
Jack smiled tolerantly before saying, “I have the pleasure of knowing you by reputation. I’m Jack Winter, flight lieutenant of Her Imperial Majesty’s Air Brigade, Fourth Squadron.”
Lord Ott’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “Winter, eh? The wing commander?”
“I’m afraid not, my lord,” Jack answered, and Charlotte heard a bit of iron in his reply.
“But still Admiral Winter’s boy?” Lord Ott queried.
Jack nodded.
“Well then, you’d better start building yourself up, lad,” Lord Ott told Jack. “That brother of yours is the toast of New York. Time that we start hearing stories of your exploits.”
“Commodore Winter does the family proud,” Jack said stiffly. “I doubt he can be eclipsed.”
“Ah, but the fun’s all in trying, my boy!” Lord Ott boomed. “Keep your brother looking over his shoulder, that’s what I say!”
Charlotte tensed when Lord Ott’s bright gaze settled on her. “And who do we have here?”
Lady Ott tittered in her chair, but Jack spoke first. “I have the pleasure of bringing Lady Charlotte Marshall to the Floating City for her first season.”
“So the hunt begins. No doubt all the hounds will be chasing after this one.” Lord Ott snatched Charlotte’s hand out of her lap and kissed it noisily. At first she was taken aback, but the smile he offered her when he released her hand was genuinely warm and bursting with mirth. Charlotte found herself smiling back at the big man.
“I remember how great a hunt I had to catch this one,” Lord Ott told them as he took the chair at the round table on the other side of his wife. “Ah, the pursuits of youth. Let’s drink to that!”
Charlotte further warmed to the rotund man when he gave his wife an adoring look before waggling his eyebrows at her jiggling bosom. Jack covered his burst of laughter with a cough, but the besotted pair paid him no mind.
Lord Ott beckoned to a waiter, and soon each of the golden goblets at their table was brimming with ruby wine.
“To young love!” Lord Ott bellowed, so loudly that a few heads turned to gaze in his direction. When the other passengers noted who the proclaimant was, however, they smiled and nodded in approval—Lord Ott appeared to be quite popular among his fellows.
Charlotte, Jack, and Lady Ott raised their glasses. “To young love.”
When Charlotte spoke the words, she glanced at Jack. He was looking right back at her. She quickly averted her gaze, as the wine spurred heat through her veins. Surely it was the wine.
Despite her bare shoulders, Charlotte’s skin felt hot. Too hot. She wished she could take her gloves off, but Meg had reminded her that gloves remained on until dinner was served. Thus, she was relieved the waiter returned bearing silver chafing dishes and lifted the lid to reveal mussels steamed in a white wine broth.
Charlotte stripped off her gloves with as much decorum as she could muster. The shellfish were tender, and Charlotte savored the delicate flavors of the broth.
“So, Lieutenant Winter,” Lord Ott addressed Jack, “how did you come by such precious cargo? I’d think one of your station would be flying missions for the Empire, not escorting her virgins. Though how one would win such an assignment is valuable intelligence indeed!”
“Roger!” Lady Ott gasped. Red-faced, she turned to Charlotte. “You must pardon my husband, Miss Marshall.”
Charlotte was trying too hard not to choke on a mussel to reply.
Even Jack appeared flustered. “Uh . . . my lord, I don’t—”
“A thousand pardons, ladies.” Chortling, Lord Ott blew a kiss to his wife. “And, Lieutenant Winter, you must forgive me for not being able to resist teasing your ward. My real intention was to inquire about your service.”
Jack managed to regain his composure. “Ah, yes. My most recent assignment was training new combat pilots in the Empire’s Caribbean holdings.”
“Mmmm.” Lord Ott nodded, folding his hands around his keg of a belly. “I’ve heard there’s a renewed fear that the French will strike at the islands rather than along the Mississippi.”
“It’s hard to know what rumors have substance when it comes to France’s intentions,” Jack replied.
“And the Resistance, of course?” Lord Ott continued. “No telling what those rascals are up to.”
“No good, to be sure,” Jack said, taking a sip of wine.
Ott smiled before he said, “If a storm’s to come, may the wind be with us.”
Jack stiffened, but he tipped his goblet toward Lord Ott. “May the wind be with us.”
As servants appeared to whisk away porcelain dishes, Lady Ott clucked her tongue. “The men will no doubt spend the entirety of dinner discussing this dreadful war. We need not bother; let’s talk of pleasant things. Tell me, Miss Marshall, have you had any suitors?”
Two thoughts jumped into Charlotte’s head. The first: she didn’t find talk of the war at all dreadful. She was rather desperate to hear it. The second: she had no idea how to answer Lady Ott’s question.
The waiter placed a steaming bowl of cream-based fish soup before Charlotte as she tried to come up with an answer.
“No need to confess, my dear,” Lady Ott said, taking Charlotte’s delayed response as reluctance. “I’ve no doubt that a bevy of gentlemen have pressed for your hand. However, I must commend your father’s patience. No need to pass you off to an islander before you’ve taken your turn about the city.”
&
nbsp; Charlotte decided that nodding was her best course.
Lady Ott rewarded her with a beatific smile. “What would you prefer? Would you like to be a plantation mistress? Or have you longed to join the esteemed ladies who stroll the golden streets of the Colonial Platform?”
What strange choices Charlotte had in the fictional life of Lady Charlotte Marshall. Did the sum of her existence lie solely in whom she married? Charlotte had never imagined either possibility that Lady Ott had presented. One life on an island with a fortune tied to sugarcane harvests. Another in the colony’s greatest metropolis. But both were tied to the identity of her imaginary husband—who he was seemed to matter a great deal more than anything about Lady Charlotte Marshall.
Without meaning to, Charlotte found herself glancing at Jack. He was deep in conversation with Lord Ott. Charlotte turned back when she heard Lady Ott draw a sharp breath.
“I’d advise against it, sweetling,” Lady Ott said, shaking her head. “No matter how dashing, an officer will always be away, and you’ll find yourself quite lonely. My husband travels the world for commerce, but he always takes me along on these mercantile adventures.”
She nodded in Jack’s direction. “That one won’t show you the world. A wife is not taken to war.”
Charlotte felt blood draining from her cheeks. Had she linked husbands and Jack in the same thought?
Watching the younger woman’s face pale, Lady Ott patted Charlotte’s hand. “Oh, dear, dear. I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course it’s only natural to become attached to the young officer who has escorted you from your father’s estate to the city. But believe me, Miss Marshall, when you make your debut, you’ll find the young men will be clamoring to catch your eye. As my husband would say, you shouldn’t make a purchase until you’ve surveyed all the merchandise.”
Managing a nod and a weak smile, Charlotte turned her attention to her soup. Though delicious, the heavy cream settled poorly in her stomach. After a few spoonfuls, Charlotte pushed her plate away. A waiter appeared instantly to remove her bowl.