“No, in the …” She looked at Daire.
“The attic,” he said without looking up. “That family never throws anything away. They just build onto that palace so they can store more old oddments.”
Toby looked at Lorcan. “I wish we could borrow a dress and show it to Victoria. Maybe she’d remember it,” she said, laughing. “Of course she can’t remember my dream but she looked so good in that dress. She’s quite large on top.” She glanced at Lorcan. “You’d be a knockout in one of them. Soft white muslin with a red ribbon right around here.” She put her hands on her own upper rib cage.
Daire snorted. “Lorcan sleeps in leather.”
Toby saw a shadow go across Lorcan’s eyes at that remark, but she said nothing. The Lanconians were certainly good at hiding their emotions! she thought.
“Perhaps you could wear one of the dresses,” Lorcan said politely.
Toby got up and went behind Lorcan’s chair. After a nod of permission, Toby lifted Lorcan’s long ponytail to the top of her head and studied it. “Yes, quite beautiful. You know, in high heels, you’re probably taller than Daire.”
That made Lorcan smile, the first one she’d directed at Toby, while Daire shook his head as he typed something on the computer.
“Do you really think we could do this? I mean, would Graydon agree?” Toby asked the both of them. “And even if he did, would it be possible to borrow clothes and get them here in a short time?”
“Of course,” Daire said, “but Gray won’t like being told what we want him to do.”
“Especially where you are concerned,” Lorcan added. “And if Prince Graydon thinks Daire suggested it, he will say no.”
Toby started to ask for more information about that concept, but when Graydon appeared at the doorway, Toby said, “Come look at these pictures.”
He picked up one of a lady in a long white dress that was low cut and clung to her legs. “I like it,” he said.
Daire looked up from the computer. “It says here that a problem at the time was the ‘muslin disease.’ It seems that the women wore dresses of such thin fabric that they caught their deaths of cold.” He seemed to consider that. “I think maybe it was worth it.”
“Are you planning to dress like this for Victoria?” Graydon asked.
“Heavens, no! That’s impossible to achieve,” Toby said, looking at him. “Wait a minute! This was Jane Austen’s time. Not that we could pull this off, but that would mean that you … drumroll please … could be Mr. Darcy.”
“Are you talking about that priggish man who everybody thought was a snob?”
“You’re talking about the most romantic man ever put on paper, so have some respect. If I were to wear a dress thin enough to give me pneumonia, you would have to wear those breeches.” She handed him a picture of a man wearing tan trousers that were like a second skin and a tight black jacket with a high collar.
“Are you saying that if I wore tights, you’d agree to wear a dress like this?”
“Sure. Why not? But where are we going to get some eighteenth-century costumes?” She batted her eyelashes at him in a very innocent way.
“We’ll search the closets of my ancestors,” Graydon said. “I’ll ask Rory and—No. I’ll call my grandfather and he’ll have everything here as fast as jets can fly.”
Toby bent her head over the picture to hide her smile. The clothes in the photo were romance personified. “Does this mean that I might wear a gown that was once worn by a queen?”
“Yes,” Graydon said. “A prince doesn’t impress you but a queen does?”
“Makes sense to me,” Lorcan said and they all laughed. For the first time, Toby and Lorcan exchanged looks of camaraderie.
“So when are we going to wear these ridiculous clothes? And I wonder what the food was like then?” Graydon’s phone rang. “I have to take this,” he said tiredly and left the room.
“What a great idea,” Toby said. “We’ll put on a Regency dinner party and be in costume. Why don’t you two join us?” She smiled at Daire’s look of horror and Lorcan’s surprise.
“No,” Daire said in a quiet voice, and Toby could tell that it was a final statement. She looked at Lorcan. “Rory’s iPad is in the bottom right drawer in Gray’s bedroom.” Lorcan was up the stairs before Toby finished speaking.
It was five P.M., Lanconian time, when Graydon pushed the button to reach his grandfather’s private number.
“Graydon? Is that you?” In spite of his advanced years, J. T. Montgomery’s voice and spirit were strong—and he didn’t give his grandson time to answer. “I want to know why the hell Rory is pretending to be you and taking over your duties. Your grandmother is beside herself with worry that you’re secreted away in some hospital somewhere like your father is and your mother won’t tell us about it.”
“Granddad, I’m fine, and Mother knows nothing about this. I just wanted a week’s holiday, that’s all, but then Rory broke his wrist and … Well, things happened. Besides, I met a girl who—”