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Samuel looked at Shan in shock. A suit from a tailor, even one who wasn’t as talented or popular as Laurens, was already an extravagance. An entire wardrobe was too much to bear thinking of. “No, that’s too much.”

Shaking her head, Shan stepped forward. “You will be needing the clothes, and, believe me, in a matter of weeks you’ll be thanking me for the foresight. And don’t worry about money, this is an investment on my part.”

“And she’s getting a discount,” Laurens added, popping up at his armpit. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”

“A discount?”

Laurens’ grin was predatory. “You’re going to be the most talked-about person this season, boy. You’ll be a walking, talking advertisement. It’ll be great for business.”

Shan inclined her head. “Just so. You’ll be helping a simple, working-class woman. Aren’t you proud of that?”

Before he could fight back—clearly Madame Laurens was not hurting for coin—Anton reappeared at their side, holding up a bolt of cloth against his skin.

“Ah,” Laurens said, “the black.” She took a half-step back, her eyes going unfocused. “Perfect. You know, Anton, if you get tired of being at your sister’s beck and call, I could use someone with your skill.”

Anton smiled, but there was an emptiness in his gaze that froze Samuel to the bone. “Thanks, my dear, I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned away, and Laurens just shook her head.

“Damn Blood Workers,” she muttered under her breath.

“I thought he was Unblooded,” Samuel said, watching as Anton crossed to where Shan stood, sorting through piles of fabric. Together, they whispered and consulted, occasionally pulling a bolt out, no doubt picking the materials for his wardrobe.

Laurens followed his gaze, her eyes awash with something like sadness. “He is, but he was still raised in their world.” She cast him a suddenly serious look. “It’s not too late for you, you know. You can still get out of this.”

Samuel worried his lip, wishing that he could. That he had any other choice. But there was this dark gift inside him, and this Aberforth legacy to claim. Maybe, just maybe, if he found a way to survive in their world, he could do just a bit of good. “I can’t,” he whispered, and Laurens deflated.

“All right. Now, be still.” She waved her handful of pins in front of him, and he went as still as the grave. “Good boy.” Their moment gone and forgotten, Laurens refocused, sticking pins through the fabric as the silk slowly took the shape of a proper suit jacket.

“It’s wonderful,” Shan said, abandoning her work to look him over. “I didn’t think the black would work with his complexion, but…”

“It makes quite the image, doesn’t it?” Laurens sketched in the air in front of him. “With a clean white shirt and cravat, the contrast will be lovely. Especially with that hair of his.”

Shan hummed in response. “Yes, he’ll be quite lovely.” Her eyes were dark, sweeping over him in such a way that he felt like she wasn’t seeing the clothes that were being made for him, but, rather, beneath the clothes themselves. “Quite lovely indeed.”

He could feel the blush rise in him, staining his cheeks, but he didn’t turn from her.

Laurens laughed—a deep, rolling belly laugh. “Oh, this is just delicious.”

Shan turned, slowly, arching an imperious eyebrow at her. “I am not paying you to gossip, Laurens.” And with that, she turned and sauntered towards the liquor cabinet and the carafe of wine that waited.

Samuel wanted to die.

Laurens, still chuckling, quickly got back to work. “Oh, now I see why you’re here. Not that I blame you—if I were fifteen years younger…” Samuel groaned, and she cackled. “Let me help you out with that.”

Kneeling before him, Laurens began work on the breeches, and he could already tell they were going to be far more form-fitting that anything he was used to, and he almost asked her to loosen them a bit.

But then he caught himself. Shan was still watching him from across the room, now with a glass of wine in her hand. Her gaze was hot, a brand on his skin, and any protest he had died unspoken on his lips.

He stood still and silent as the tailor finished her work.

“I’ll have the first one delivered here tomorrow,” Laurens said, stepping away. “And the rest?”

Shan shrugged. “I’ll confirm with you after, but I imagine the Aberforth townhouse.”

“I still don’t think that is necessary,” Samuel said, pointedly. “I already have a home.”

“No, you had a hovel,” Shan said sharply. “You can’t believe that we’d still let you stay there. Appearances aren’t just about the clothes you wear, it’s everything else as well.”

Laurens sighed. “I have much work to do. I’ll see myself out. Just let me know where to send this all and I’ll send you the final bill.” She crooked her fingers towards Samuel in a brisk wave. “Nice to meet you, Aberforth. And Anton, if you can help an old woman carry her materials back to her carriage, she’ll give you a discount on your next purchase.”