My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(94)

Her neighbor acquiesced and then left her with this piece of advice: “Friends don’t let friends corset alone.”

Next, there were the sleeves. They extended at least four inches out on either side of Jane’s small shoulders, making it impossible for one to walk through a doorway without turning sideways. And then there were the shoulders. Which were bare. As in, showing. Jane fought the urge to cover them with something else, something inconspicuous, something like . . . shrubbery.

Then there was the crinoline, which was a steel-constructed dome-shaped attachment that replaced layers and layers of skirts. It was supposed to make using a chamber pot easier, but Jane wondered what good that would do when the entire dress would prevent her from being able to enter the room with the chamber pot, let alone use it. At her wrist hung a drawstring handbag, inside of which was a mysterious book Wellesley called the Book of the Dead. It was supposed to help her in her mission tonight. It hung awkwardly, but excepting some sort of contraption that would hold it under the crinoline, her wrist really was the best option.

There was only one conclusion Jane could draw from the style and design of the dress and it was this: it had to be thought up by men. Then women could in no way outrun them, and with the lack of oxygen to the brain due to a rib cage the size of a fist, they could not outthink them. And with the bright colors, they couldn’t hide. No running, no thinking, no hiding.

But she had given her word to Wellington, and her silent word to Charlotte, that she would do this work. And Wellington insisted that this outfit was an appropriate one for visiting a palace.

Which she was about to, for the first time in her very plain and simple life. The carriage was bound for Saint James’s Palace, where, apparently, the king required a bit of help with a wayward ghost, and where Jane was also tasked with returning a signet ring.

The king was reluctant to call for the Society, but it was a particularly obnoxious ghost who had been rattling the royal shrubbery and knocking over the royal vases. Fun fact: it was the same ghost that was responsible for the “madness” of King George. Asking for help was the first step.

The second step was to squeeze oneself into a ridiculous dress, Jane thought. The third step was to save the Society.

Jane felt uncomfortable carrying the weight of the Society’s future on her very small shoulders, especially since she had no experience and no training, but the duke was convinced that the fact that she was a Beacon would make up for everything else, and the financial situation of the Society was of the utmost urgency.

She didn’t want to be here.

She didn’t want to be here.

But she was here, and it was all for Charlotte, she reminded herself.

The carriage bumped and jostled along the road, and Jane wished she actually were wearing lots of skirts instead of a steel crinoline. At least there would’ve been some cushioning.

One of her guards from the Society sat across from her, his back to the horse side, as was the protocol. He did not look to be in the mood to talk, which was just fine with Jane. Helen sat next to him, staring at Jane and The Dress and The Bows.

“You look like a court jester,” she said.

“Thank you,” Jane said.

“You’re welcome,” Helen responded. Helen was still grappling with the fact of Jane’s being a Beacon. She routinely questioned every single one of her actions.

“Am I walking across the room because you want me to?” she would say.

“Don’t be silly, dear,” Jane would say.

“All right. Am I not being silly because you don’t want me to be silly??”

It was rather exhausting.

The carriage descended upon the palace, and Jane got out and walked slowly up the stairs, because walking slowly was all she could do in the dress. The king was having a ball tonight, and only the elite could gain entrance. This was the most distressing part of all, for Jane was not educated in the ways of high society. She wished she were wearing a Society mask right now, but the king had asked for the utmost discretion. He did not want to scare his dinner guests.

“Miss Jane Eyre,” she said to the guard at the entrance.

“Of where?” the guard replied.

“Lowood . . . Estate.”

“Miss Jane Eyre, of the Lowood Estate.”

Upon entering the palace, Jane curtsied to the king, just as she’d practiced. The king noted her dress, counting the bows, Jane guessed. The duke had sent word to the king that he would recognize Jane by the number of bows on her dress.

The king nodded at her, held her gaze for a split second and then dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Jane assumed he would send for her at his convenience.

She hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

The evening was horribly long. Not being properly acquainted with anyone, and therefore not being able to make conversation with anyone, Jane went around the room pretending she had seen someone she had recognized and was on her way to meet up with them, but the result was that she just wandered back and forth with an expectant smile on her face that never actually landed on anyone. And do you realize, reader, how hard it is to not smile at anyone in particular when you are in a room crowded with faces?

At least Helen was there, but it wasn’t really the same as having company since Jane couldn’t talk to Helen in public. Exhausted, Jane sidled out of the great room and found a small dark alcove, in which she decided to catch her breath, and totally not hide, because she was an agent and hiding would be cowardly.