Chapter Nineteen #3
“Oh my, Charlotte.” Lizzy stepped to the side after lacing up the back of her dress.
Oh my was right, Charlotte thought as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was another being entirely.
Throughout her life, she had shied away from gold and yellow hues, remembering her stepmother’s warning that the colour would wash her out and make her look ill. She had been mistaken.
The gold satin of the dress shimmered like champagne in the dim candlelight. The colour was nearly a perfect match for her hair, and rather than making her look flat and pale, the blend made her eyes glow. She stood transfixed.
“Could you bend, my lady?” Lizzy was reaching up to undo the pins that held her braids tightly to her head but could not reach the ones on top.
“Oh yes. Sorry, Lizzy.”
Lizzy proceeded to unravel the plaits and brush out the waves, only pinning a few bits back from her face and letting the rest tumble down her back.
“Surely I should wear it up.” Charlotte had not worn her hair down in public since she was a girl.
It just was not done—except by the truly daring ladies, who still made sure the loose tresses were curled to perfection.
Charlotte had never been one of those ladies, preferring to have her hair out of her face and off her neck so that it did not dip into her food, or more importantly, her ink.
“This is better, my lady,”
“Charlotte.”
Lizzy rolled her eyes. “This is better, Charlotte. You look like an angel.”
Charlotte laughed. “Do angels often have bullet holes in them?” She fingered the puckered skin, feeling a phantom twinge through the muscle.
Lizzy screwed up her mouth in thought, then reached around to pull the length of her hair over the scar. “There. Good thing it did not go out the other side.”
Charlotte thought ruefully of the blistering pain she had awoken to as the doctor fished the bullet out of her flesh.
She was so blinded by it, she could not remain conscious, and then, when the laudanum had kept her subdued, she had still felt the pain.
She would have taken a matching exit wound if it had meant not enduring that nightmare.
“Well? Are ye’ ready?”
“Ready for what?” Charlotte felt her trepidation return.
Lizzy just gave her a cryptic smile. “You’ll see.”
With that, she ushered Charlotte down a small corridor that attached to the costume room. She could faintly hear voices on the other side of the wall.
Without a word, Lizzy stopped and opened a door, waving Charlotte ahead.
When she stepped out, she found herself in a lushly carpeted corridor wider than the one she had just left.
There were ladies and gentlemen in gorgeously elegant finery milling about the corridor, some stepping in and out of padded doors that lined the hall.
“My lady.” The voice caught her attention, also belonging to a footman, this one only a few years older than the other. He held open one of the elaborately cushioned doors, and she lifted her skirts to step inside, careful not to trip on the few small steps that led into the space.
“Champagne, my lady?” The second footman had followed her into the room, which she now saw was a sumptuously appointed opera box, and held a platter with a single glass of champagne out for her.
“Yes, thank you…” she trailed off, prompting his name. In her shock, she had not asked the last footman his name. She now felt badly about it.
“Carons, my lady.”
“Carons. Thank you.” She took the glass he offered. “Might I be expecting company here tonight, Carons?”
“I could not say, my lady.” With that, he bowed out of the box, the door shutting behind him almost silently.
Charlotte sighed and looked around the box.
The floor was carpeted like the outer corridor, but it was thicker here.
As she stepped around in a circle, her slippered feet sank into it like stepping onto lush grass.
There were elegantly upholstered seats at the front of the box like any other, but behind the first two rows were a matched pair of chaise lounges set around a low table like a small sitting room.
Ornate lamps sat sporadically throughout the space, giving it an intimate air despite the open banister that overlooked the still-curtained stage.
As she took it all in, Charlotte absently sipped from the glass she held.
Then she sipped again. The Astons had not been able to afford something so decadent as champagne for a long while, even the cheaper sparkling wines that imitated its effect.
Despite that, she was reasonably sure that this was the best champagne she had ever tasted.
It was light and dry with a true effervescence that lingered on her tongue and spread through her limbs after each sip. Between the delightful lightening effects of the drink and the soft spring of the carpet, she felt like she was walking on air.
Still alone in the box, and mostly concealed from the crowded auditorium below, Charlotte indulged in a little spin, giggling at herself and revelling in the pure elation of the simple moment.