Beneath the Porcelain Mask

33. Who could ever have dreamed of this?

Despite his earlier mood, it was Erik who helped me get ready that evening.

I stuck a hand out from behind my changing screen as the clothes I'd thrown over the top disappeared. A new set of petticoats pressed themselves into my ungloved hand, and as I took them, my fingers brushed against the cold, dead skin of Erik's hand.

"When you've finished," he said, rustling with something in the armoire, "I have a gift for you."

"You may need to wait a while," I replied, pulling my clothes into place and making sure they were just tight enough that I could still breathe and move. I yanked my bloomers on and reached for the small, cheap bustle he now handed me.

Finally, after half an hour behind the screen, I did the final lacings on my dress and stepped out. Erik sat in the armchair by the armoire, thoroughly engrossed in the newspaper I'd brought him. I reached for some hairpins and piled the waves of unruly and mostly tangled chestnut hair on top of my head. It was only when I at last went to put my mask and gloves on that I noticed he was, in fact, watching me.

"Yes, Erik?"

"Your present is over there," he said, nodding at the ottoman. I frowned at it and tied the mask lace into an untidy yet secure knot. "Consider it a wedding gift. I do believe it is a current tradition in Britain to give something of the sort."

I didn't point out my opposition to British customs now, after experiencing the thick smog of London that had ruined one of my violin bows as I played beneath Blackfriar's one evening, but knelt by the ottoman and carefully lifted the lid.

"It isn't much," Erik continued, folding the newspaper and leaving it on the armchair as I pulled out the first thing I saw. He stood and paced across the room to me. "Please. Allow me."

His cold hand slipped around my glove and he pulled me up next to him, taking the thick woollen garment from my hands. He shook it out and turned me around, draping and arranging it over my shoulders.

"It should keep you warm for a few years," he explained, popping my bonnet on and turning me once more to tie it at my chin. "You can be fashionable and alive at the same time."

"I suppose you'd like the updates."

"There is a certain scarcity of such factors in my life, I'll admit. Now, do you like your present?"

"It's a Paisley shawl," I noted, twirling one of the tassels. I looked up again to see Erik smiling down at me, his lips barely lifted in a classical Erik smile. I watched him for a long minute, loving how uncomfortable it made him. He cleared his throat, folding his hands before himself.

I stood up and threw my arms around his chest, huffing hard, and he froze.

"Thank you," I whispered into his waistcoat, the hard porcelain pressing against some of my more serious burns. He managed to pat my back curtly and pushed me away.

"Anytime. Now, scat, Kitty Cat."

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~

"Ah! There you are!"

One of Jeremy's typical, broad smiles met me as I hurried out of the doors and into the busy square. He'd stopped a cab in the middle of the flow of riders, other carriages and pedestrians, and the footman holding the door open for him seemed impatient, his foot tapping constantly.

"I thought I might have to go without you."

I moved past him and made to climb into the carriage. He lifted his hand and I stared back down at it. He only smiled on, emerald eyes twinkling in the early evening light.