The Trouble with Anna

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

B ACK IN LONDON, ANNA STOOD in her bedroom before the needle-sharp eyes of Charlotte, the Dowager, Ivy, and Josephine herself, wearing only her chemise. A pile of enormous boxes had arrived containing the first of the gowns, and she’d been pushed up the stairs and stripped practically naked before she could utter even the smallest yip of protest.

“Josephine, you genius!” whooped Charlotte. “The gowns look glorious! What shall we put on her first—the blue evening gown or the green riding habit?”

“The evening gown,” said the Dowager. “It’s past time I saw Lady Anna in a proper dress.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “Shall we cut her hair first? To get the full effect?”

“I sharpened my shears the moment I saw her,” said Ivy.

“I keep my shears sharp too,” muttered Anna.

Josephine smiled at her reassuringly. “I think a haircut first. To give my lady the full effect.”

“I don’t want a haircut!” Anna cried.

She wasn’t a bit surprised when the women ignored her objection and thrust her down into a chair in the middle of the room. They circled around, staring so intently that she began to feel like a gory carriage accident.

“Let down your hair if you please, my lady.” The scissor blades gleamed wickedly in Ivy’s hand.

“Oh, very well!” Anna gave her pins a rough yank, and the dark knot of her hair unraveled.

“Gracious, there’s so much of it!” cried Charlotte. “Who would have guessed with the way she plasters it back?”

Ivy frowned. “It’s got more curl than I thought. That’s something, I suppose.”

Anna closed her eyes, gripped her hands tightly in her lap, and braced herself. She could hear the hungry snick of the scissors as they opened, feel the slight tug as the first lock fell. She pictured the big dark mess of her hair frizzled up in elaborate London curls and her thin face scowling from beneath it.

Oh god. Oh, help. What if Julian thinks I cut my hair for him? The thought attacked Anna like a bout of nausea.

“Are you done yet?” she cried.

“It’s a haircut, Anna, not a horse race,” said Charlotte repressively.

The haircut lasted for what seemed like hours to Anna, and the torture didn’t end when Ivy laid her scissors down. Next came the pins, the pomade, the sinister hiss of the hot tongs, and such endless yanking that Anna thought her scalp would come off in chunks.

At last, Ivy heaved a gusty sigh. “Done!”

Anna screwed up her courage to crack open an eyelid, craning her neck for a glimpse of herself in the looking glass behind her.

“No peeking! Not until we have you in the gown.” Charlotte jerked Anna to her feet, and Josephine thrust the evening gown over her head. They laced her up, fidgeting and adjusting until, with one final tug, Charlotte stepped back.

The Dowager’s eyes flooded and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, heavens!”

“Oh, Josephine!” Charlotte breathed.

Anna could barely stand it. “It’s just a gown! Why must you stare at me so strangely!”

Charlotte glided over, smug as anything. “We’re staring at you because it’s not just a gown .” She spun Anna around. “It’s your gown.”

Anna’s hand fluttered up to her mouth.

The woman in the looking glass was her, that much was indisputable. The thin slash of her lips, her sharp chin, and strange eyebrows stared back at her from the mirror, all right where she’d left them. The same dark hair sprouted from her head, though it swished back from her forehead in a dashing new way, and Ivy’s sweet-smelling pomade gave it the loveliest shine. She still had her thin arms and small frame, and she scowled just as fiercely as ever.

And yet—was that really her standing in the mirror in a stormy-blue evening gown that made her skin, always so wretchedly pale, glow against the moody silk? Was that her form it clung to so lovingly, as if flaunting her strength and spare lines? Anna’s hours in the saddle had given her enviable posture, she knew that. But this was the first dress that knew it too, that flat-out rejected any thought that she was scrawny or awkwardly sharp. Instead, this dress had its own ideas and it proclaimed them out loud: Behold—this is Lady Anna Reston. She’s really quite something.

Anna, overcome, snapped her eyes shut. Was this who she’d been all along?

If only Julian could have seen it.

No, no, no! What a useless thought.

“Dear?” said the Dowager gently. “Is something amiss?”

Anna shook her head, eyes still closed.

Charlotte squeezed her shoulder. “It’s too much too quickly, is that it?”

Anna shook her head again.

“You look beautiful. I promise you do.” The Dowager’s voice was clouded with worry.

Anna’s eyes snapped open. “Beautiful, bah!” she scoffed, and shook off the strange wistfulness. “I look… I look… I look… ferocious ! What geniuses you lot are. I look as if I win every fight!”

Charlotte laughed. “Exactly. Much better than beautiful. You look like yourself. At least, how I’ve always seen you.”

Anna smoothed her skirt and gave a cry of delight. “Never say I have pockets !?!”

“They are not for filling up with sugar cubes, do you understand?” said Charlotte. “They’re to tuck your hands in when you wish to look coy.”

“I’m going to fill my pockets with daggers!” Anna swished around the room, pulling imaginary knives from her skirts and skewering enemies.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “All right, my lady pirate. Try the pelisse.”

She held up the long jacket and Anna slipped it on.

The short collar stood up straight, like the jackets of the Royal Hussars, and it fastened with two rows of shiny gold buttons. Anna preened in the mirror. “I see what you mean about military cuts, Josephine. I could command an army in this.”

“Try the riding habit?” The Dowager pointed to the pool of emerald velvet on the bed.

Anna took off her new pelisse and handed it reverently to Ivy. “Thank you for my haircut, Ivy. Thank you, Josephine.” She pressed Charlotte and the Dowager each into a quick hug. “What a ridiculous fuss I made about a few dresses.”

Josephine smiled faintly. “My clothes deserve a fuss. But, my lady, if I may—too many young women dress to hide. And why should they, when clothes are for mystery, armor, or, yes, even beauty?”

“Mostly I dress to please myself, but sometimes I dress to squash my enemies,” said Charlotte.

“Ooh, Charlotte, yes! I’ll wear the green velvet and go marauding with you.” Anna caught her friend’s eye in the mirror, and the two women cackled together, in perfect agreement.

The Dowager, long-suffering, could only sigh.