eyeing the pile of clothing warily.
“No. Women in the Regency wore stays, not corsets, and I’m only wearing one of those to the costume portion because I’m convinced that Mr. Periwinkle will be able to tell if I’m not. But I draw the line at not wearing underwear.”
“Who’s Mr. Periwinkle?” she asked, gingerly picking up one of the gowns and studying it. “And why would you be in danger of not wearing underwear?”
I grinned. I loved to share impromptu and surprising historical tidbits when the occasion arose. “Mr. Periwinkle is the English tailor who’s judging the costume competition, and Regency women went around, er, quite “free and clear” down there beneath their shifts.”
Ellie’s eyes looked like they might bug from her skull. “Are you serious?”
“Entirely.” I sorted through the clothing. I would put the gowns in the suitcase in the order I intended to wear them so they’d be lined up for steaming once we got to Bath.
“Wow. That’s surprising,” Ellie replied. “I always thought they were a bunch of prudes who covered it all up.”
I laughed. “You’re thinking of the Victorians. The Regency people wouldn’t show an ankle or touch a gloveless hand, but thought nothing of being panty-less.”
“Those sneaks.” She laughed and shook her head, then held up the silver gown I’d wear for the ball on the final night. “This is so pretty, Megs. You’re really talented.”
My mom had taught me to sew when I was a kid. At the time it had been a necessity because we couldn’t afford to buy new clothes for the school year. I spent my summers sewing. It turned out to be a handy skill for a Regency re-enactor.
“Thank you,” I said, curtsying. “I only hope these clothes are good enough to win.”
Ellie ran her hand over the embroidery on the gown. “You’re going to win, Meg. I have faith in you.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to Harrison and Lacey, or Dr. Holmes for that matter.”
“I don’t need to tell them,” Ellie said, carefully laying the gown back on the bed. “They’ll find out soon enough when they see you holding the trophy. There is a trophy, right?”
“God, I hope so. I’ve already cleared a space for it on my shelf at the office.”
Ellie smiled and shook her head. “That’s what I love about you, Megs. You’re so confident and smart and hardworking. If only you would be that way about everything you love to do.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Ellie gave me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look. “Uh, writing your historical romance novel.”
Crap. I’d made a classic mistake, giving Ellie an opening to give me grief about not starting my historical romance.
“Hardy-har-har,” I replied, fumbling through my sock and underwear drawer to find the best candidates to bring on the trip. Several pairs of my panties were simply not travel-worthy.
“What’s funny?” Ellie plunked a hand on her hip. “I wasn’t joking.” She had that look on her face she always got right before she turned really bossy. I knew it well. No doubt it was an excellent trait in a nurse practitioner. In a best friend, it sometimes got on my nerves.
“I’m not going to write a romance novel,” I said, gearing up to win a conversational argument we’d had many times before.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.” I located the decent underwear candidates and shuffled back over to my suitcase with them. Then I returned to the drawer to inspect the socks.
Ellie shrugged. She was examining my white cotton day dress. “Because you’re a snob and you’re worried that the other snobs will look down their snobby noses at you?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll have you know I’ve been seriously rethinking my snobbery lately. But that’s not the only reason why I can’t write a romance novel.”
“Oh, really, what’re the other reasons?”
I waved a hand in the air. “You seem to think writing a romance novel is just something you decide to do one day, like having a bagel for breakfast.”
Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t give me that crap, Meg. You’re one of the best writers I’ve ever known and you’ve been reading books about writing for years.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of people are good writers and study it, but it doesn’t mean they should actually write a book. Besides, I’m really busy trying to get tenure and write articles and be taken seriously in my field.”
Ellie rolled her eyes too. We enjoyed attempting to out-eye-roll each another upon occasion. “You have a freakin’ Ph.D. That’s pretty serious.”
“Yes, and