But it is so enchanting. How can I not wear such a thing? I would regret it forever if I left it in a box, unworn and unloved.
“We are forgetting one possibility,” she said, more for her own peace of mind than her sisters’.
Teresa quirked an eyebrow. “We are?”
“It is not absurd that the gown has come from Vincent,” Isolde replied. “He must be feeling terribly guilty for having to leave during my debut Season—he said as much in his last letter to Mama. Why, the only person whowouldspend such an obscene amount of money on a gown like this is our brother. Whenever he feels he has done something wrong, what does he do?”
Prudence tilted her head to one side. “He buys expensive things for whomever he feels he has upset.”
“Like that collection of leatherbound encyclopedias,” Teresa agreed.
Prudence nodded. “And that thoroughbred that I have never ridden.”
“He bought Mama diamonds after he came home inebriated last year,” Isolde said, determined to find an easier answer to the question of who had sent the gown.
Ithadto be Vincent. He must have arranged it before he left for Bath. Indeed, the note was not necessarily romantic; it was Teresa making it sound like it was romantic that had led Isolde’s own mind astray for a moment. Those sweet words could just as easily be friendly or brotherly.
But they are not…a quiet voice whispered in the back of Isolde’s mind.
“Please wear it, Izzie,” Teresa urged. “It is the only way to be certain of where it came from. If it is from a suitor or an admirer, they will assuredly say as much tonight. If it is from Vincent, then no one will say they bought it for you.”
Isolde could not deny it; Teresa had made a very good point. Going to the ball in the gifted gownwasthe only way to discover the sender, although she still hesitated. What if the gown had come from someone she did not want to have to thank? What if the likes of Lord Spofforth had sent it? Or Colin?
She shuddered as if a cold draft had just blown into the room. “Very well. I shall not disappoint the pair of you.” She mustered a smile. “But you must promise not to stay awake to hear the conclusion. I will tell you in the morning.”
“Spoilsport,” Prudence said with a grin.
Teresa clasped her hands together. “What if we cannot sleep from the excitement?”
“Pretend,” Isolde replied, sighing as she looked at the gown again.
It reallywasthe most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she hoped the sender, whoever they were, had the character to match. Otherwise, she would never be able to wear it again.
And Edmund will be there…that quiet voice whispered again, nudging a thought into her mind that she had not yet considered. An impossible, improbable thought. He had said it himself—an express rider had handed him the box on his way into the house.
A coincidence, nothing more.
But what if—Isolde severed the notion before it could swell into something it was not. Edmund had decided to keep his distance. Edmund wanted nothing to do with her. There was a greater chance that the gown had come from the King of Spain than Edmund.
So, why was she already anticipating the look on his face when he saw her in that gown?
“Everyone out!” Isolde said, suddenly shaky. “Might you send my lady’s maid in as you depart? I must hurry. There is notnearly enough time to prepare myself for tonight, if I am to appear worthy of that dress.”
As soon as her sisters left, Isolde turned to face the oval mirror beside her vanity. A startled, anxious young woman looked back, and as Isolde met her own eyes, she whispered, “Do not be foolish, girl. It cannot be him. He would not do this for me. The gown could be explained, perhaps, but he certainly would not write such… enchanting words.” She expelled a breath. “But tonight, youwillfind your future husband.”
After all, if she could not find her great love story in the most heaven-sent dress ever created, then perhaps she deserved to be a spinster.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Duke and Duchess of Farnaby’s opulent ballroom had been transformed into a scene from Roman myth and history, emulating the triclinia of ancient days—everything designed for feasting and drinking and merrymaking.
False pillars had been brought in, bordering the sides of the ballroom, while heavy purple velvet draped luxuriously between. More velvets and silks and gauzy swathes of fabric in bright reds, burnished oranges, and rich purples billowed from one side of the ballroom to the other, creating a lower, swaying ceiling. And chaise-longues had been arranged around the space instead of the usual tables and chairs, for those who wished to spectate or rest awhile.
“It is outrageous,” an old woman in a stuffy black dress muttered, turning up her nose at the long, narrow feasting tables that could be glimpsed between the false pillars.
Edmund, who was standing to one side, minding his own business until he saw someone worth talking to, stifled a laugh at the woman’s remark.Hethought it was rather impressive, and the array of delicious food had already tempted him to wander by the tables a few times, picking at the plump grapes and sweet treats and roasted duck.
Since he had decided to return to his own townhouse to avoid Isolde, he had all but lost his appetite, so he had been rather pleased to rediscover it. Indeed, he hoped it meant he was recovering from his temporary insanity.
