"Enjoy the faire sir," the ticket taker said as she tore Martin's ticket and gave him back part of it. He smiled in return and doffed his feathered hat to her.
He always loved the Renaissance Faire, and he was glad he finally had a new outfit to wear. He had paid a respected craftswoman quite well to create an accurate and comfortable outfit. Traditional materials and techniques were used and every stitch was done by hand. When he was growing up, his parents had been involved with the Society for Creative Anachronism. His mother had been a well-known period clothier herself, and while he never learned how create anything, he knew how to recognize something that was well made. His eye for good outfits never failed him, and he found himself immediately categorizing all of those he saw around him as he made his way into the faire grounds. It was a perfect day in his mind, overcast, grey, and cool enough to make bulky layered clothing comfortable.
It wasn't an outfit that initially caught his eye, however as he made his way past the crowded entrance area. At the edge of the crowd he saw a young woman standing with her phone out looking quite annoyed. Her hair was tucked away inside a muffin hat of a light blue color that contrasted very nicely with her sun darkened, olive skin. Her dark brown eyebrows gave a hint of the color of the hair she had hidden away. Her eyes were a light grey color that seemed to flicker with hints of blue in the light. Martin was quite pleased to see she wore little or no makeup. Too many attendees seemed to think excessive modern makeup went hand in hand with their costume of choice. By his own estimation though, this young lady had no need of makeup. He guessed she might be in her early to mid-twenties, which probably wasn't overly young to his own thirty years, but he always felt older when he dressed for the faire.
Once he finally pulled his gaze from her face, he looked over her dress. It was quite traditional for a period outfit. The skirt of was a light blue to match her cap and it had a simple dark blue trim along the bottom. Her bodice was tight fitting and a dark blue to match the trim on her skirt with white laces going up the back. There was no pattern to the cloth, but the neckline had lace that seemed to match the grey of her eyes. Beneath the bodice she wore a plain white, sleeved blouse. Far too many women went without a blouse in order show off their assets. This young woman was perhaps not as blessed in that department, though Martin felt she had no need to show off. Her outfit was plain, but appropriate to a middle class or working woman of the era. It was also plainly handmade with care and attention to detail. She was stunning and he decided he had to meet this woman, and walked briskly toward her.
"Excuse me, m'lady," he said smoothly as he arrived, "you seem quite wroth, is there ought I can do to aid you?"
"What," she looked up startled with her forehead still creased in consternation. She went silent as she looked him over. "I'm sorry, do I know you," she said in confusion.
"No, m'lady, I am saddened that I have not had that distinct pleasure. Martin", he said with a smile and removing his hat with a slight bow, "Martin Taylor."
At last she smiled at him and Martin thought he would melt from the beauty of it. "I... that is... my escort seems to have wandered off with her young charges and abandoned me. My name is Charlotte Kosta, sir," she said as she offered her hand.
Martin took her hand and kissed it swiftly and gently. "Worrisome indeed, dear Charlotte. We dare not have such a beautiful young lady wandering about alone. Allow me to offer my services as escort."
She blushed at his compliment, looked down at her dress, and then at the people flowing around us. "Not so beautiful as most, sir, or at least over dressed in comparison."
"They would all be found wanting in comparison to you m'lady. Shall we proceed and find what diversions they have to offer here?"
Charlotte glanced at her phone once more, sighed, and then looked back to Martin. "Why not... I mean... Certainly sir," she said as she offered her arm. Martin took it feeling a small shiver of thrill run through him as he did so.
They wandered inside and went from shop to shop for an hour, chatting as they went. He learned that Charlotte was an accountant, but spent her spare time making clothes for people that came to the faire. Martin told her about his career creating websites for small companies. Eventually, they found a comedy show that was due to start a few minutes after they arrived so they took the opportunity to sit for a while. Martin had seen it before and took the opportunity to talk to his new acquaintance when it became apparent she wasn't really watching the show either.
"Your dress is lovely," he said. "I take it you made it yourself?"
"I... but... how could you possibly know that," she said in surprise.
"I have an eye for clothing of this sort. My mother made it for many years. Your dress shows the same detail and care, the mark of someone who loves the work even more than the result."
"But that doesn't mean I made it, it could be my mother, sister, aunt..."
"Father, brother, uncle," he interrupted her dismissively.
"I... I'm sorry... but still, it could have been made by anyone."
"It fits you perfectly and the colors match your skin and your eyes. Even if your mother made it, it would not suit you as well."
Charlotte blushed slightly, but smiled at him all the same. "You don't think it's plain next to all these noble's gowns, sexy pirates, and chainmail bikinis?"
