spent the afternoon retrimming it more modishly. Agatha pressed a hand to her middle and attempted to take a deep breath.
She despised lacing up so tightly, but the gown had been made a few years ago, and certain parts of her had grown in the interim.
The little porcelain clock on the mantel chimed. She had best ready herself for the night ahead.
She helped Nellie pull the skirts over her head. It was a pity, really. It would have been nice to face Mr. Rain in something a bit more appealing.
Simon firmly commanded his fists to unclench. Button was only doing his job. The fact that his fluttering and worrying were driving "the master" mad had more to do with Simon's misgivings about tonight's appearance.
He knew he could pull it off, of course. No one would know him for himself. If any did, they would no more claim acquaintance than he would, for their own protection.
And it wasn't that he didn't look fine. He had to admit that while Mortimer might be a nauseating fellow, he was a snappy dresser. Agatha had spared no expense on his wardrobe. He looked quite the first stare of fashion.
It was being the center of attention that worried him, he decided. Now, after all these years of keeping a low profile, it felt distinctly odd to be putting himself forward like this. He might as well dye himself red and flee before the hounds.
He still wasn't truly sure why he was going through with this, and that worried him as well. Oh, an invitation into Winchell's house was handy, but he could easily get in on his own.
As for this place, he was beginning to think there was nothing here. He had searched the house every night for a week and found nothing at all. Not a letter, not a word, not a clue.
By all the signs, the "Applequists" intended no more than the most temporary residence here. There were no hidden safe-boxes, no false-bottom drawers, no mysteriously hollow walls. The house was just as it seemed.
Agatha, however, was not. She was keeping something from him. Her manner was too friendly, too trusting and relaxed. Simon hadn't let his guard slip once since the waltz lesson, no matter how her sweetness had tempted him.
He had to admit, she was a consummate professional. He only wished he could be sure what profession.
Button gave a last aggrieved sigh and reluctant tug on the cravat.
"I suppose that will have to do, sir."
Button looked as though he wanted to cry. Simon examined himself in the mirror but could see nothing awry. Trying not to roll his eyes at the little valet's perfectionism, he clapped the fellow on the shoulder.
"Capital job, Button. Simply capital!" Giving his waistcoat a tug and casting an "I-am-Mortimer-king-of-all-I-survey" look in the glass, Simon sauntered out of the bedchamber in search of Agatha.
If he had to do this, he would just as soon get it over with. He wondered idly what Agatha was wearing.
The blasted gown was too tight. Agatha stretched up on her toes to check her neckline in the gilt mirror hanging over the small table in the front hall. Yes, it was far too tight. Oh, why hadn't she had a new wardrobe made for herself when she had ordered Simon's?
Well, she would, forthwith. But what was she to do tonight?
Agatha blinked at the sheer volume of exposed bosom her reflection presented. There was no getting around it. She would have to fetch some lace to tuck into her decolletage. Dowdy but necessary.
Her appearance was not important, at any rate. She had to remember that she was here to find Jamie, not to parade herself about.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Agatha turned to see Simon scowling at her from the stairs. Well, scowling at part of her, anyway.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Although she thought perhaps she did.
"You are not going anywhere like that!"
Even as Agatha's temper rose at Simon's high-handed tone, she felt pride rise in her at his cultured speech. She had done a marvelous job. No one would ever know him for an uneducated chimneysweep.
Simon hurried
She despised lacing up so tightly, but the gown had been made a few years ago, and certain parts of her had grown in the interim.
The little porcelain clock on the mantel chimed. She had best ready herself for the night ahead.
She helped Nellie pull the skirts over her head. It was a pity, really. It would have been nice to face Mr. Rain in something a bit more appealing.
Simon firmly commanded his fists to unclench. Button was only doing his job. The fact that his fluttering and worrying were driving "the master" mad had more to do with Simon's misgivings about tonight's appearance.
He knew he could pull it off, of course. No one would know him for himself. If any did, they would no more claim acquaintance than he would, for their own protection.
And it wasn't that he didn't look fine. He had to admit that while Mortimer might be a nauseating fellow, he was a snappy dresser. Agatha had spared no expense on his wardrobe. He looked quite the first stare of fashion.
It was being the center of attention that worried him, he decided. Now, after all these years of keeping a low profile, it felt distinctly odd to be putting himself forward like this. He might as well dye himself red and flee before the hounds.
He still wasn't truly sure why he was going through with this, and that worried him as well. Oh, an invitation into Winchell's house was handy, but he could easily get in on his own.
As for this place, he was beginning to think there was nothing here. He had searched the house every night for a week and found nothing at all. Not a letter, not a word, not a clue.
By all the signs, the "Applequists" intended no more than the most temporary residence here. There were no hidden safe-boxes, no false-bottom drawers, no mysteriously hollow walls. The house was just as it seemed.
Agatha, however, was not. She was keeping something from him. Her manner was too friendly, too trusting and relaxed. Simon hadn't let his guard slip once since the waltz lesson, no matter how her sweetness had tempted him.
He had to admit, she was a consummate professional. He only wished he could be sure what profession.
Button gave a last aggrieved sigh and reluctant tug on the cravat.
"I suppose that will have to do, sir."
Button looked as though he wanted to cry. Simon examined himself in the mirror but could see nothing awry. Trying not to roll his eyes at the little valet's perfectionism, he clapped the fellow on the shoulder.
"Capital job, Button. Simply capital!" Giving his waistcoat a tug and casting an "I-am-Mortimer-king-of-all-I-survey" look in the glass, Simon sauntered out of the bedchamber in search of Agatha.
If he had to do this, he would just as soon get it over with. He wondered idly what Agatha was wearing.
The blasted gown was too tight. Agatha stretched up on her toes to check her neckline in the gilt mirror hanging over the small table in the front hall. Yes, it was far too tight. Oh, why hadn't she had a new wardrobe made for herself when she had ordered Simon's?
Well, she would, forthwith. But what was she to do tonight?
Agatha blinked at the sheer volume of exposed bosom her reflection presented. There was no getting around it. She would have to fetch some lace to tuck into her decolletage. Dowdy but necessary.
Her appearance was not important, at any rate. She had to remember that she was here to find Jamie, not to parade herself about.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Agatha turned to see Simon scowling at her from the stairs. Well, scowling at part of her, anyway.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Although she thought perhaps she did.
"You are not going anywhere like that!"
Even as Agatha's temper rose at Simon's high-handed tone, she felt pride rise in her at his cultured speech. She had done a marvelous job. No one would ever know him for an uneducated chimneysweep.
Simon hurried
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