I tugged at the short skirt, managing to pull the top lower than decent in the process. Mumbling to myself, I tugged it back up. Peter, aka Captain Egg, put his hand around my waist and pulled me against his side. “My advice? Don’t bend over.” I mumbled something unfit for young ears and eyed the coat rack where Lady York had left my down coat. My coat was big and ugly, and with a fire blazing in the living room fireplace, the temperature in the house was pushing 80. But still... “Here.” Peter plucked a white linen table runner off a nearby buffet and draped it around my shoulders. I twisted my lips and considered how willing I was to enter the party dressed in our hosts’ dining room decor. The front door flew open, letting in a stiff gust of cold air. My skirt rose in the back, revealing that my bloomers were not any more historically accurate than the rest of the getup that I had been assigned. I jerked my skirt down, wrapped the runner around my shoulders and strode into the living room where other guests were already waiting.
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