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“I was curious,” I said.

“Everyone is.” She stirred her tea. “He usually attends. Though no one ever seems to know when he’ll make an appearance.” She paused. “I’ve lived at Blackwood Hall for three years and can probably count my conversations with him on one hand.”

“I assumed residents saw him more often.”

“Some do. Most don’t.” Charlotte took a sip. “Alexander has a habit of being discussed far more often than he’s seen. I’ve heard rumors. It’s impossible not to around here. The funny thing is, the people who actually know him seem to like him. They all say he’s unfailingly courteous.”

Charlotte rested her cup on its saucer. “There is one rumor that never seems to disappear. People say there was once a fiancée.”

“A fiancée?” I didn’t know why the thought of that made me uneasy.

“The stories are all different,” she said. “The only thing anyone seems certain about is that something happened several years ago, and Alexander became even more private afterwards.”

I understood that better than I wanted to admit. There was a particular way a person went quiet after something ended. Not dramatically, not all at once, but by degrees, closing the doors that had once let people in until solitude stopped feeling like loss and started feeling like a design. I had spent the last few years arranging my own life in the same way.

Charlotte seemed content to leave Alexander’s history exactly where she had found it, in the realm of rumor and speculation. Before I could ask another question, she glanced at her watch.

“Right,” she said. “Enough mysteries for one afternoon. We have a gala to prepare for.”

We made our way toward our appointment.

* * *

The boutique occupied the upper floor of a narrow brownstone tucked between an art gallery and a private jeweler. Had Charlotte not directed me to it, I would have walked past without a second glance. The interior was quiet and intimate. Soft lighting reflected from decorative mirrors and a carefully selected collection of gowns occupied the room, each given enough space to be appreciated on its own.

A woman greeted Charlotte by name the moment we entered.

“Hello, Charlotte! So lovely to see you.”

“Hi Joanna.” The two embraced lightly before Charlotte glanced toward me. “This is Emilia.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Joanna said, offering her hand. “Charlotte usually knows exactly what she’s looking for before she walks through that door.”

I laughed. “I think she knows what I’m looking for too.”

The next hour passed in a procession of silk, satin, and increasingly expensive fabrics. The first dress was a champagne gown with a fitted bodice and layers of soft tulle that fell almost to the floor.

I studied my reflection. “It looks like something a princess would wear.”

“You say that as though it’s a criticism.” Charlotte was wearing a deep burgundy gown with a softly draped neckline and a flowing skirt. The color was striking against her fair skin and strawberry-blond hair. It suited her perfectly, polished and romantic enough that she looked ready to be serenaded.

“It is a criticism,” I said.

Charlotte sighed. “Scientists.”

Joanna disappeared briefly and returned carrying a garment bag. Something in Charlotte’s expression immediately got my attention. “This might be it, Emilia.”

I accepted the garment bag and disappeared into the dressing room. Several minutes later, I stepped into the showroom. The sapphire silk caught the light with every movement, appearing almost black one moment before revealing its true color. The fabric skimmed my curvy figure, following the fullness of my hips before drawing in at my waist and falling in graceful lines to the floor. Elegant without being ostentatious, refined without being severe, it felt as though it belonged at a masquerade gala.

Neither Charlotte nor Joanna said anything. I turned toward the mirror. Against the sapphire silk, my dark hair and olive-toned skin seemed warmer. The woman staring back at me looked polished, confident, and entirely prepared for an evening at Blackwood’s most celebrated event. I took a small turn, watching the sapphire silk move effortlessly around me. “This is the one,” I said.

Charlotte smiled. “Oh, it definitely is. We’ll take it.”

She had already declared the deep burgundy gown hers.

“Have we officially satisfied your gala requirements?” I asked.

“The dress requirements.”