Page 62 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

“Oh, you will,” promised Malory in her crisp, no-nonsense tones.

Ivy clapped her hands. “Turn around. I want to see.”

Kate spun, letting the additional petticoats Malory had brought swirl about her legs. She loved the feel of them. The corset was still in doubt until she turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length oval mirror. “Oh, my.”

The corset covered her well enough, but it presented her breasts like apples to be picked. Kate hesitated. She was trying to look like she belonged in 1776. Dressed like this, she either belonged onPetticoat JunctionorLonesome Dove. How authentic would this be?

“Raise your arms.”

Kate obeyed, and Malory dropped the dress over her head while Ivy tugged it down and arranged the skirts.

Kate watched her own transformation. “Wow.”

“You like?” Ivy gave a little jump.

Kate took a breath. Okay, good, she wouldn’t pass out. She could still breathe comfortably. She stood taller. The corset really did help her posture. She rolled her shoulders a bit and smoothed a hand along her waist as her friends helped finish lacing up the dress.

Malory gave a short nod of approval. “Now for your hair.”

“I thought it just went under a cap. That’s how I did it on Halloween.”

“Oh, there’s a bit more to it than that.” Malory gave a half smile.

At Malory’s direction, Kate sat in front of the vanity she had added to the room when Rory brought over the furniture. While Ivy danced around and handed Malory combs and brushes and curling irons, Malory set about transforming her hair. The last touch was to place the white lace-trimmed cap over the bun on the back of her head, ringlets framing her face.

Once her friends were satisfied, Kate couldn’t believe how true to the era she appeared. “I can’t thank you both enough.”

Ivy tilted her head and, with a thoughtful purse to her lips, said, “It’s right that you should look the part tonight of the composer.”

“The composer?” Kate gave a little laugh. “You think the composer is a woman?”

“Well, she would have to be, wouldn’t she? I’ve heard you practice a little bit. The music is so unique. It has a definite feminine quality, don’t you think?”

Malory shrugged. “I haven’t heard the music yet, but I don’t think many women were composing music in the eighteenth century. The general consensus of the day was that their time would be best spent wielding a needle rather than a pen. Women writing verses was frowned upon. Women writing music was generally unheard of.”

“Well, I expect there were women who bucked tradition. Women were just as talented. I think the men just never gave them any credit. I love a pretty quilt as much as the next gal, but quilts don’t last hundreds of years. Did you find any more secret compartments in your writing desk?” Ivy asked Kate.

“I looked, but no. Malory is sure there must be another.”

“Let’s look.” Ivy gave a jump.

“Now?”

“Yes, let’s go down and I’ll take a picture of you at the writing desk. You can use it to promote your inn.”

Not a bad idea, thought Kate, so they headed out, Ivy snapping pictures with her phone and Kate gliding down the stairs in her sturdy, low-heeled, lace-up boots.

Kate had moved the desk into the parlor, and she seated herself before it to pose for Ivy’s pictures. She pulled out a sheet of paper and raised a quill to write. As she leaned forward to adjust her skirt for the photo, she gripped the corner edge of the writing desk and heard the click of a small mechanism. A drawer popped open an inch on the side.

Ivy gasped. “You found it.”

Kate blinked at it. She eased the drawer open carefully. “There’s something inside it.”

“Is it another manuscript?”

Very carefully touching only the edges, Kate spread out the scrap of paper on the desk. They leaned over it.

“It’s poetry, I think.”

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