Chapter 35 Hollow #2
The duchess squeezed her hand warmly. “The honor is mine, dear child. Edgar has found not just a wife, but a true partner. Someone who shares his burdens and his purpose. That gives this old woman considerable peace.”
As they began walking back toward the main gathering, Elisha felt a newfound respect for the woman beside her. “When is the next meeting?”
“Tomorrow evening, at the print shop. There are developments Edgar will want to know about upon his return.” The duchess’ tone carried a hint of concern that made Elisha’s stomach tighten with fresh worry.
“Developments?”
“Nothing that can’t wait until after we’ve finished charming these insufferable aristocrats,” the duchess said with renewed lightness. “Now, shall we go demonstrate how thoroughly a reformed orphan and a radical duchess can conquer high Society?”
With shared smiles of conspiracy and determination, they stepped back into the swirl of afternoon Society, their secret safely guarded behind pleasant conversation and perfect etiquette.
*
Elisha returned to Lancaster Hall with the duchess and her daughters, her heart light with the afternoon’s success yet heavy with Edgar’s continued absence. However, hope flickered when she spotted familiar luggage in the entrance hall—surely Edgar had returned at last.
But as the minutes stretched into an hour, and an hour into the evening, her excitement curdled into disappointment. The luggage, she learned from an apologetic footman, belonged to Lord Edwin, who had arrived for a brief visit before departing for Scotland.
Shortly after dinner, her heart sank completely when the duchess approached her in the drawing room, her expression carefully neutral in that way that signaled bad news delivered with maximum diplomacy.
“My dear,” the duchess began gently, “I’m afraid Edgar has sent word that his business in the north will require more time than anticipated. Something about a particularly complex situation with some tenants.”
Elisha felt her chest tighten, though she managed to keep her voice steady. “I see. I do hope all is well.”
“Oh, quite,” the duchess assured her, though her eyes held a flicker of something that might have been worry—or guilt.
“These matters can be so unpredictable. However, before you return to London tomorrow, I absolutely insist we fit you for some new autumn gowns. We cannot have the duke’s fiancée attending the Season’s events in last year’s fashions, can we? ”
Before Elisha could protest, she found herself whisked away to the duchess’ private chambers. The room had been transformed into a whirlwind of activity, with seamstresses, bolts of fabric, and what appeared to be enough silk to outfit a small army.
“Goodness,” Elisha breathed, taking in the chaos. “This seems rather… extensive for a few gowns.”
“Nonsense,” the duchess declared, directing her to stand upon a small platform in the center of the room. “You’ll need walking dresses, carriage dresses, evening gowns, and at least three ball gowns. And that’s just to start.”
“Three ball gowns?” Elisha’s voice rose an octave. “Your Grace, surely that’s excessive—”
“Ow!” she yelped as a pin found its mark.
“Oh, do stand still, dear,” the duchess chided gently, though her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Beauty requires patience, as they say.”
“I’m beginning to think it requires more courage than patience,” Elisha muttered, earning a poorly concealed giggle from one of the younger seamstresses.
“Arms up, miss,” instructed the head seamstress, a formidable woman who wielded pins like weapons and measured Elisha with the precision of a military strategist.
As they worked, the Lancaster siblings filtered in and out of the room like a parade of helpful chaos.
Edmund offered color commentary on various fabric choices (“The burgundy makes you look consumptive, Miss von Linde”) while Edwin contributed by reading aloud from a gothic novel in dramatically inappropriate voices.
Essie provided practical advice about which styles were most comfortable for dancing, and Eva offered increasingly creative suggestions for hiding weapons in formal wear.
“Eva,” the duchess said sharply as her youngest daughter demonstrated how a fan could double as a defensive weapon, “we are dressing a lady for Society events, not equipping her for a siege.”
“One never knows when such skills might prove useful,” Eva replied with suspicious innocence. “Besides, Elisha should be prepared for anything, especially with Edgar gallivanting about the countryside indefinitely.”
The comment hung in the air with uncomfortable weight. Elisha caught the duchess’ sharp glance at Eva, who suddenly became very interested in examining a bolt of green silk.
“Edgar’s absence is temporary,” the duchess said firmly, though something in her tone suggested she was trying to convince herself as much as Elisha. “These… tenant issues can be remarkably complex.”
“What sort of tenant issues require such secrecy?” Edwin asked with the blunt curiosity of a young man. “And why couldn’t Edgar simply send his land agent to handle matters?”
“Edwin,” Edmund warned quietly, but their brother pressed on.
“It’s been nearly a month, Mother. That’s hardly a typical estate matter.”
The room fell uncomfortably silent except for the soft whisper of fabric and the careful snip of scissors. Elisha felt her heart sink further as the implication became clear—Edgar’s family was as puzzled by his extended absence as she was.
“Perhaps,” she said carefully, “His Grace has simply found it necessary to be… thorough.”
“Thoroughly absent,” Eva muttered, earning another sharp look from her mother.
“Eva, that’s quite enough,” the duchess said with finality. “Edgar’s affairs are his own to manage, and we must trust his judgment.”
But as the evening wore on and Elisha submitted to endless fittings, measurements, and fabric selections, she couldn’t shake the growing certainty that something was terribly wrong. Edgar wouldn’t simply disappear without explanation.
Unless, perhaps, he had secrets that had finally caught up with him.
*
The next morning brought crisp autumn air and the bustle of departure preparations.
Elisha stood in the entrance hall of Lancaster Hall, feeling rather like a fraud, as she stood surrounded by an almost ridiculous number of boxes containing carefully selected gowns from the duchess’ and Essie’s own collections which were altered overnight to fit her smaller frame.
The duchess approached with a folded paper in her hands, her expression mixing maternal warmth with something that looked suspiciously like determination.
“Your schedule for the remainder of the Season,” she announced, pressing the paper into Elisha’s hands. “And before you protest, remember that when Edgar returns, you’ll need to be established in Society as his proper fiancée.”
Elisha unfolded the note and felt her mouth fall open.
Invitations to Almack’s Assembly Rooms—the holy grail of social acceptance—sat alongside requests for private viewings at the Royal Academy of Arts, the Thames Regatta at Henley, and at least a dozen other events that would have been impossibly beyond her reach mere months ago.
“Your Grace, this is… overwhelming,” she managed.
“It’s necessary,” the duchess replied firmly. “And you won’t be facing these events alone. Essie and Eva will accompany you to the appropriate gatherings, and I’ll be there for the more formal occasions.”
“But Edgar—”
“Will return to find you thoroughly established as the most sought-after young woman in London,” the duchess finished with conviction that seemed to convince everyone but herself.
As the carriage rolled toward London, Elisha stared out the window at the countryside and tried to silence the growing whisper of doubt in her mind.
Edgar’s absence might be perfectly innocent—urgent business that required discretion and time.
But combined with Thornton’s recent strange behavior, the upcoming literary contest, and her own involvement with the Pioneers, she couldn’t escape the feeling that forces were gathering beyond her understanding.
The hollow ache in her chest, which had started as simple longing for Edgar’s presence, was slowly transforming into something much more troubling: the fear that when Edgar finally returned—if he returned—everything between them might have changed irrevocably.
She touched the emerald ring on her finger, Edgar’s promise made tangible, and tried to hold onto the memory of his voice declaring his love.
Whatever was keeping him away, whatever dangers he might be facing, she would be ready.
The duchess had armed her with more than just gowns and social invitations—she’d given her weapons for surviving the treacherous waters of high Society.
And if Edgar needed saving from whatever shadows had claimed him, Elisha von Linde—soon to be revealed as the infamous Miss Lovelace—would be prepared for that battle too.
The Season ahead promised to be a test of everything she’d learned about courage, deception, and the price of love. She only hoped that when the final curtain fell, Edgar would still be there to share whatever victory or defeat awaited them both.