Mrs. Morell appears with an assistant and both set about telling Charlotte how radiant she is looking and how the dress she has in her hand is the very thing for her complexion at this time of year. I gaze out through the window of the dress shop. The weather shows we are properly into winter now, with a heavy, dark sky that promises freezing rain or snow. The October gales have abated, but only to be replaced by a bone-chilling drop in temperature. Freddie has already written several times to complain of the inadequacy of the heating at Radnor Hall. He told me the fresh air was doing him no good at all as it was much too cold to venture out into it for more than ten minutes at a time. He spends most of his days huddled by the fire in the study and might as well be back at Fitzroy Square. I replied to remind him, yet again, of our deal, and to beg him to sit it out. I assured him the weather was no better in London, the streets were filthy after so much rain, and half the household staff have succumbed to chills and coughs. However bored and uncomfortable he is at our childhood home, he is safer there. I do not doubt that there is opium to be found somewhere in the vicinity, but no such place as Mr. Chow Li’s exist. And now he will have to escape the ever-watchful Withers to go in search of it, for at last I have managed to bring about his traveling to Radnorshire to be with Freddie.

Mama took some persuading that our butler could be spared for such a long stint, and the real reason could not be revealed. It had required convincing her that Withers was in need of a change of scene and some time away from gritty London himself to get her to agree to let him go. Withers proved to be a fair actor when the part required a pitiful cough.

“Lilith, do come and look at this.” Charlotte’s voice draws me back into the warmth of the little shop. “Edith has found something exquisite in black. Oh, how ever could you resist?” She gestures enthusiastically at the garment Mrs. Morell is proffering. It is indeed lovely. I lean forward and touch the fine chiffon which is so soft it feels like melting snow beneath my fingers.

“From France,” the proprietor explains. “Arrived this very morning.”

The dress is cut so that it flows loosely, allowing for a corset, but not requiring the tiny waist that has been fashionable for so long. Instead, it has a higher waistline with a fine, beaded chiffon overskirt falling softly to the ankles over a silk paneled underskirt.

“Oh try it on!” Charlotte all but jumps up and down with excitement. “It will suit you perfectly, I know it will.”