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Chapter Twenty-Five
Evelina had not spent so much time being fitted for dresses within the same year since she was but a girl of thirteen, undergoing her womanly growth spurt. Those had been the days when she had gone from a small pipsqueak of a girl into a tall, gangly thing, before finally filling out into the shape she had at present.
It had been a time in which Mother had loved to dress her in all the latest frills and fashions, but bemoaned the way she outgrew her outfits with such haste. Several of the dresses were able to be altered, which was fortunate, but even that required hours of Evelina’s time to be spent standing atop the small stool while a seamstress went about pinpointing which seams needed to be let out.
Now, as Evelina stood atop a similar stool, being fitted for what was meant to be a custom-made new gown for her forthcoming engagement ball, she wished desperately that she could go back to that earlier time, before everything became so complicated.
“You are going to be the talk of the town, Evelina,” Mother gushed, standing so close that the seamstress struggled to get between them to measure Evelina’s ribs. “I do so wish you would be more willing to announce word of your engagement prior to the ball itself.”
“Mother,” Evelina scolded, her eyes darting around the dress shop. Thankfully, the only other patrons were browsing on the other side of the room, muttering lowly to one another as to the benefits of various types of ribbon. “Hush.”
Mother scoffed and pouted, but thankfully, it appeared to be in jest. “No one can hear us, Evelina. And in all honesty, I am just thankful you have seen reason at last.”
Evelina had to bite her tongue to avoid spitting back an impolite reply. Instead, she forced her face into something mild, palatable. “Yes, Mother.”
Mother hummed contentedly, but then spotted something the seamstress was apparently doing that wasn’t to her liking. “Oh, no, dear—that is much too loose. When we say we want the gown to be modest, that does not mean we want it to swallow her like a burlap sack.”
The seamstress apologized and re-measured Evelina’s waist. She pulled the tape so tightly that Evelina felt its edges digging into her sides. She did not complain.
Diana, however, was not as easily fooled by Evelina’s show. Which was perhaps a good thing, considering Evelina had told her of the plan right from its onset, when they had spoken in her room after Father’s verdict that she was to marry Jerome.
“I shall agree to the engagement, but only to assuage the pressure put upon me to wed by our parents,” Evelina had said, eyes alight with hope for the first time since she’d been locked away to think things over. “Then, during the preparations, I will take care to ensure everything drags out as long as possible. This will give Lord Russell more time to make things right between our fathers, and as long as the proposed engagement to Lord Wilmore remains private, I am certain I can win Mother over to the promise of marrying a duke over a marquess.”
Diana had given her a fearful look. “Evelina, this is a dangerous game you are speaking of. If your intents are discovered, I cannot imagine the level of social disgrace that shall befall you.”
“Perhaps, Diana, but what else am I to do? In the short time we have known one another, Lord Russell has claimed my heart for himself. If the prospect of marrying Lord Wilmore was distasteful before, now I am certain I could not survive bearing the burden.”
Now, together once again in the dress shop, Diana watched Evelina from the settee with a schooled expression. Evelina smiled faintly at her sister from where she stood atop the stool, and Diana did smile back…but it did not quite reach her eyes.
Evelina sighed. It was no matter whether Diana approved of her plan or not, just so long as she did not betray Evelina’s confidence to Mother. What mattered was that Thomas make haste in repairing the damage between their two families, so that Evelina would not need to drag on this farce any longer than necessary.
Of course, thoughts of Thomas were dangerous in and of themselves. As Mother and the seamstress continued bickering politely about the shape and fit of the gown, Evelina found herself getting lost once more in the memory of the kiss they had shared in the gazebo.
She remembered the warmth of his lips. The confidence and strength of his hands around her waist. The way she had nearly climbed atop his lap then and there…oh, if only she had known in the moment how the fates would force them apart the very next day!
“Evelina?” her mother’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Are you listening?”
Evelina’s face, already flushed, grew further so when she became aware of the dull ache between her legs. “Yes, Mother.”
“Then by all means, answer the question.”
Evelina tried to recall whatever words had just passed between them, but for the life of her, all she could think of was Thomas’ face. The pitch of his voice, the honey-gold of his eyes…
Stop it. You cannot allow yourself to be carried away like this.
“Forgive me,” Evelina said, slouching slightly in shame at her own inattention. “Please, repeat the question.”
Mother wasted no time in placing a hand between Evelina’s shoulder blades and forcing her back straight once more. It wasn’t intended as a harsh gesture, merely as a callous reminder of what was expected of her.
“Do keep yourself standing tall, otherwise the length measurement will be completely off,” Mother said. “As we were discussing, what color and texture of fabric are you envisioning for the gown? I know I have my own ideas, but it is your engagement ball after all. Given your strong will, I’m certain you must already be set on a shade.”
In truth, under typical circumstances, Evelina could not have cared less about the color of any gown she wore. If Mother wanted her true opinion, she might have said it was frivolous and wasteful to constantly be commissioning new gowns as it was. She had beautiful gowns at home, and more at hand already than nearly any of the other young ladies her age, even ones of similar birth status.
But for once, Evelinadidhave an opinion as to the color of a gown, and a strong opinion at that.
She offered her most charming, innocuous style. “Whispers around town suggest that indikon-dyed fabric shall be all the rage in the winter. How fitting that I might be the first one to usher in the trend?”
Mother nodded, enthusiastic, but then her expression shifted into something more scrutinizing. “I have never known you to be one for trends, Evelina. From where does this change in attitude come?”
