“Evie! You’re home, at last!” Margaret, her eyes wide with distress, clutched at her arm. “You must come quickly. I’ve tried on every gown in my wardrobe, and not a single one is suitable for Lady Ashworth’s ball next week. It’s a disaster!”
Evelina patted her sister’s hand, forcing a calm she did not feel. “Now, now, Maggie. I’m certain we can find a solution. But first, where are Penelope and Alexandra?”
As if summoned by their names, two more blurs—one of chestnut-brown curls, the other of honey-blonde curls—came tearing through the foyer, their laughter echoing off the high ceiling.
“Penny! Alexa! Cease this nonsense at once!” Evelina’s voice cracked like a whip, halting the girls in their tracks. “What have I told you about running in the house?”
Penelope, the youngest at twelve, had the grace to look abashed. “We’re sorry, Evie. We were only playing.”
Alexandra, fourteen and ever-practical, added, “We didn’t break anything this time.”
Evelina closed her eyes briefly, praying for patience. “This time,” she echoed. “And what of Mrs. Wilmington’s roses?”
The guilty look the two girls exchanged spoke volumes.
Evelina sighed. “Very well. Penelope, Alexandra, you will both write letters of apology to Mrs. Wilmington this evening. And tomorrow, you shall assist her in tending to her garden as recompense.”
“But Evie—” Penelope began to protest.
“No buts,” Evelina cut her off firmly. “Actions have consequences, my dear. Now, off you go to begin your letters. I shall inspect them before supper.”
As her two youngest sisters trudged up the stairs, Evelina turned her attention back to Margaret. “Now, about your gowns?—”
“Oh, Evie, it’s hopeless!” Margaret wailed. “They’re all at least two Seasons out of fashion. How am I to make a good impression at my debut if I look like a country bumpkin?”
Evelina guided her sister towards the drawing room, her mind already calculating the cost of new fabric.
The memory of the Duke’s opulent study flashed through her mind, the stark contrast between his wealth and their genteel poverty making her chest tighten with anxiety.
“Let us examine what we have to work with, shall we?” she said, pushing those thoughts aside. “I’m certain with a few alterations, we can create something magnificent.”
As they entered the drawing room, Evelina caught sight of Louisa curled up on the window seat, with a book in her lap. At sixteen, Louisa was the most introverted of the Balfour sisters, preferring the company of literary heroes to that of real people.
“Louisa, dear,” Evelina called softly. “Would you be so kind as to assist us? We could use your discerning eye.”
Louisa glanced up, a flicker of interest crossing her face before she schooled her features into careful indifference. “I suppose I could spare a moment,” she said, marking her place in the book before joining them.
For the next hour, Evelina sifted through Margaret’s wardrobe, assessing each gown with a critical eye.
She laid out the most promising pieces, her mind whirring with possibilities for updates and alterations. All the while, herthoughts kept drifting back to the Duke and the opportunity she may have squandered.
She thought of the man’s daughter. Unlike her, Evelina had not had an army of nursemaids at her disposal to help with her sisters, just the housekeeper, who had been sorely tested to run far away from the entire family but stayed on only due to a sense of responsibility.
If only Evelina had held her tongue, if only she had been more demure and acquiescent. But no, the very thought of simpering and bowing to that man’s arrogance made her blood boil. And yet, was her pride worth the cost of her family’s security?
Stop thinking of the man!
She closed her eyes to steady herself, allowing herself to return to the conversation with her sisters.
“Perhaps if we add some lace to the sleeves of the blue silk dress,” Louisa suggested, her earlier disinterest giving way to genuine engagement.
Evelina nodded approvingly, grateful for the distraction from her tumultuous thoughts. “An excellent idea, Lou. And if we turn up the hem a bit, it will be perfectly in line with the current fashion.”
Margaret, however, remained unconvinced. “But what of the gown for my debut? Surely I cannot appear in an altered hand-me-down!”
Evelina felt a pang of guilt. How she longed to give Margaret the debut she deserved, the debut Evelina herself had forsaken for the sake of her sisters.
“We shall find a way, Maggie. I promise you.”
