AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Emily rolled her eyes at that and poked the maid teasingly. “Make sure His Grace does not hear that from you,” she told Jenny. “Heaven only knows he does not need more air to puff up his inflated ego!”
“Well, he does have every right, Milady. He’s a damn fine man if I do say so myself!”
“Jenny!” she hissed.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Milady!” the maid bobbed. Her grin, though, was as unrepentant as the rest of her surely was.
Emily narrowed her eyes at her. “Instead of mooning about His Grace and the Viscount, why don’t you help me prepare for the ball tomorrow?”
Emily had already seen the dress that Lady Rutbridge had “lovingly” prepared for her stepdaughter. If she had doubted it before, Emily now knew for certain that her own stepmother was trying to sabotage her and for nearly two seasons, Horatia hadsucceeded.
Emily was determined that Lady Rutbridge would not succeed this time.
This time, Emily did not care if she had to tear down her whole wardrobe—she had already instructed Jenny to work on a dress that might not be as fashionable as those of the other debutantes, but it would at least save her the humiliation she had endured from all her previous dresses.
I just need to survive this one ball, she told herself. In a week or so, the dresses from Madame Dubois would be ready, and Emily would at least have something new and more presentable to wear than the atrocities that Lady Rutbridge foisted on her.
“Even if I hafta work all night, I’ll make sure that dress is ready for the ball tomorrow night, Milady,” Jenny swore to her.
Emily just nodded quietly. “Nothing too drastic, Jenny. Just get rid of all those gaudy decorations, and it should be fine.”
* * *
The maid sighed as she looked at her defeated mistress. If the previous Marchioness of Rutbridge had not died so young, her young mistress would not be forced to remedy her own dresses just to make them barely passable. No mother in her right mind would foist on her daughter the ugly dresses that Lady Rutbridge kept making her mistress wear.
It was already laughable enough in their own home, and she could hardly imagine the humiliation her mistress had to bear for the last two seasons.
The next morning, Jenny brought the dress that she had been working on the whole night. She had at least managed to reduce the outrageous ruffles that threatened to drown out the entire dress, but without them, it was reduced to being a rather plain and boring gown.
It broke her heart to think that while the rest of the young ladies would be attending the ball in all their finery, dressed in the latest fashions, her mistress—the daughter of a marquess—would be going in an outdated gown.
“You did rather well, Jenny,” Emily smiled softly at her. “Thank you so much for your efforts.”
Her kind words and gentle tone brought tears to Jenny’s eyes. “I would have done more if I could, Milady—”
“Oh, shush! You have already exceeded my expectations,” Emily told her. “The new gowns should arrive next week, and then, we will not have to put up with these anymore.”
Her tone was so hopeful that Jenny prayed in her heart that the gowns Lord Hardy ordered truly were up to scratch. Her mistress deserved fine things, too—more than her brat of a younger sister.
However, the maid needed not have wasted an entire night’s sleep trying to fix a gown that was beyond redemption, for, in the afternoon, they received a most wondrous surprise.
* * *
Emily had just finished the midday meal and was already making her way upstairs to make preparations for the ball later that night when Jamison came hurrying after her and Jenny.
“Milady, someone delivered this just now,” the butler informed her breathlessly. In his arms, there was a rather familiar-looking, large, white box. Embossed on the cover in glittering gold script was the name of one of the most sought-after modistes in all of London—Madame Estelle.
Emily frowned. “Who sent this?”
“The messenger did not leave a clue,” the butler replied. “He only told me to make sure that this reached your hands.”
Emily and Jenny shared a confused look. Could the Viscount have sent it? If so, that was rather bold of him and even inappropriate as they were not even formally courting yet.
If not the Viscount, then Benedict perhaps? But her brother never sent word that he had had a special gown made for her for the Hadley ball.
“There must be a card inside,” Emily murmured. “Quick, Jamison, set it down.”
The butler readily obeyed and set the box down on the table. Jenny helped her lift the cover off. The inside of the box was lined with tissue paper and a hint of delicate gold lace peeked out. A single card with a strong scrawl was placed in the very center.
