Adrian Blackwood

The door cracked open and the bag was whisked inside it so quickly that one might think it was by magic.

(No stays? Not even one of those weird modern 'bra' things? Men, honestly. It was fine. It was fine. Lydia could make it work.)

After rather longer than Adrian might have thought it would take Lydia to get dressed, since one had to account for a pep talk given to the nearest looking glass and attempts to do something with her hair, Lydia sailed out of the bathroom with Adrian's quilt folded neatly in her arms. "Mr. Blackwood," she said, "I must thank you for allowing me to impose upon your hospitality, and for not providing me with one of the more horrid modern forms of footwear." These might be ugly but at least they weren't making her want to cut her feet off within ten steps. She offered him, "Your quilt, sir."