Rook

Myfanwy had absolutely no idea what her executive assistant was talking about. A crimson dress? How out of character. As far as Myfanwy could tell, everything in Thomas’s wardrobe was black, gray, or white.
    Ingrid sighed. “Val tells me that it’s in the wardrobe in your guest room, along with all those other clothes the Greek made you buy and that you never wear. I’ll send over the instructions on how to put it on.”
    “Christ,” said Myfanwy, who’d been paying only partial attention but was now jolted away from her perusal of the administrivia. “I thought it was going to be an intimate gathering.”
    “Well, it is just the Court members and their entourages,” said Ingrid. “And the envoys from the Croatoan and their entourages.”
    “Hold on a sec,” said Myfanwy, turning to Shantay, who was busily checking her e-mail. “Shan, do you have an entourage?”
    “Uh, yes,” said Shantay in a tone that suggested she was also in possession of a spine, a nose, and various other things that were usually taken for granted.
    “So where are they?” asked Myfanwy. “Why aren’t they hanging around you? And don’t take this personally, but why aren’t they entertaining you so that you don’t have to come along to manifestations?”
    “They had to fly in, so they’re still settling in at the hotel.”
    “Oh,” said Myfanwy. “Ingrid, is…
my
entourage going to be ready?” she said hesitantly. Since the day she’d assumed this life, she hadn’t been aware of having any specific entourage, as such. Maybe Thomas had elected not to have any.
    “I’ll be going to the hairdresser in an hour,” said Ingrid, “and I’ve e-mailed them the instructions for your hair, so they will be ready for you when you arrive. Now, will Anthony be an acceptable bodyguard?”
    “Yeah, sounds great,” said Myfanwy.
So Ingrid and Anthony are my entourage.
    “Excellent, then we shall come to your house a half hour before sunset.”
    “Sure,” said Myfanwy.
It sounds like I’m going to the high school formal.
    I can’t wear this!” Myfanwy exclaimed in horror.
    Val came trotting into the guest room and stopped short when she saw the dress Myfanwy was holding up.
    “You can’t wear that!” the housekeeper exclaimed.
    “Yes, I know,” said Myfanwy, who was shivering in her underwear but much preferred it to the alternative.
    “It’s like all the material that’s supposed to be on top migrated to the bottom,” said Val.
    “Yes, I know,” said Myfanwy, who thoughtfully eyed her own chest and wondered how the thing was supposed to stay up. How could Thomas describe herself as shy and unassuming while owning a garment that would embarrass a Venetian courtesan? It wasn’t that it was indecent so much as that it implied a great deal of self-confidence. It was extraordinary and undeniably unorthodox. It would have been striking on anyone, but on Thomas it would be downright shocking.
    In fact, all of the outfits in the guest room wardrobe represented a drastic schism in Thomas’s apparent fashion sensibilities. Myfanwy had opened the doors and then actually taken a few steps backward, stunned by the clothes she’d found there. Inside, a garden of colors blossomed. A full range of dresses, gowns, and outfits awaited, all beautifully made, and all crying out for attention.
    “What kind of party are you going to?” Val asked.
    “It’s for work,” said Myfanwy helplessly.
    “Formal?”
    “To a certain degree.”
    “Obviously. You don’t see a lot of trains nowadays, not outside weddings.”
Any wedding in which this dress appeared on the bride would have to be pretty damn open-minded,
thought Myfanwy.
And might well incorporate the honeymoon on the altar.
    “We’re meeting with the Americans,” Myfanwy explained.
    “Oh!” said Val, obviously doing some mental rearranging.
    “Do you think I can pull it off?”
    “I should think any passerby could pull it off if he tugged on this bit right here,” said Val grimly. “Still, your hair is lovely, and with a bit of jewelry you’ll look very special.”
    Upon learning that this was an international event, Val had clearly filed it in the same category as the Oscars, or possibly World War II. She began fussing around as if Myfanwy were her daughter going off to prom. Obviously more familiar with certain aspects of the house than Myfanwy was, Val produced a jewelry box and drew out a large metal necklace to take the place of whatever material was