Chapter 21
Dorothy felt tired by the time she returned home from her outing with her friends. She hadn’t purchased anything, though both Agnes and Violet had insisted on visiting several shops.
“I don’t know why you won’t buy yourself something,” Violet had said tenderly, resting a hand on her arm. “You deserve new things, my dear. I understand you’re trying to be cautious about money, and that’s wise, but it’s not as if you’re in trouble financially. Right?”
“I’m not,” Dorothy had agreed. “But it’s best to be responsible. And besides, I don’t need anything, Violet. I have plenty of dresses I can wear.”
She hadn’t missed the look her friends had exchanged at that.
She understood what they were thinking. Her clothes were fine enough, but it had been a long time since she had purchased anything new.
Once she had given up on the idea of marriage, she’d stopped seeing the point of spending money on such things.
Fine dresses were for ladies looking to attract a husband or wanting to look good on the arm of one they’d already found.
A spinster didn’t need that sort of thing.
This was just another example of the way her friends pushed her toward marriage. Violet and Agnes didn’t want her to buy a gown because they thought she wanted one. They wanted a sign that she hadn’t given up on the idea of love.
It made Dorothy feel exhausted and frustrated.
Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to wrestle with her own feelings about spinsterhood?
Lately, it felt as though she had to tend to everyone else’s feelings on the matter too, and that wasn’t remotely fair.
She ought to be able to focus on herself.
If other people were upset about the choices she was making, it should be their responsibility to tend to those feelings, not hers.
Honestly, Violet and Agnes ought to get together with my sisters and talk about these things, she thought. Then they could support one another about it and stop asking me to do that for them.
She wasn’t hungry, even though it was lunch time.
And she found herself feeling grateful that her sisters weren’t at the house today.
They would want to sit down with her and talk about the upcoming ball.
They’d want to talk about Nathaniel. And if Dorothy resisted, they would push her.
They’d demand to know why she wasn’t eating, they’d ask what had happened in town today, they would insist on helping her get herself ready for the ball…
She sighed. It was so exhausting, and there seemed to be very little she could do to make it stop.
She went up the stairs to her room. Even though no one else was here, she knew she’d feel the most protected from the idea of meddling sisters if she was in a place where they never ventured.
And she was right. The moment she had closed the door behind herself, tension seemed to drain from her body and she felt more at ease.
She went over to her bed, ready to lie down and close her eyes for a few moments, until she was free of the feelings of frustration the day had left her with.
But there was something on her bed already.
For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the garment box and trying to make sense of what she was looking at. She recognized it immediately, of course. It had come from the modiste. She’d purchased gowns there in the past, so this box was a familiar sight.
But it wasn’t a sight that made any sense.
She hadn’t bought anything in town today, so why was this here?
Her mind grasped for an explanation and came up empty.
Her friends couldn’t have done this. She had been with them the whole time; they couldn’t have done it.
And besides, it was unlikely either of them would spend this kind of money on her.
Agnes was known to do wild things from time to time, but this seemed beyond even her.
Dorothy approached the bed slowly, not sure what to do. Removing the lid from the box seemed dangerous, somehow, as if by doing so she would be accepting whatever came next. That was a frightening proposition when she didn’t know what strings might be attached to this.
Don’t borrow trouble, Dorothy! It’s probably just a mistake. She took a deep breath and tried to force herself to calm down. This had probably been sent to her in error, that was all. She would open it up, try to discover who it was meant for, and have it sent back. That was the right thing to do.
Resolved, she approached the bed and removed the top of the box.
The gown inside was the perfect shade of blue, as if the fabric had been intentionally dyed to match her eyes. She sucked in a breath, startled. Without touching the note that lay on top, she knew at once that there had been no mistake. This was meant for her. That color was as good as a name tag.
Setting aside the note for a moment—it made her more nervous than the box itself had—she picked up the gown and walked over to the looking glass, holding it up in front of herself.
It was beautiful. And she would be beautiful in it; there was no doubting that.
Her eyes seemed to shine. The gown was a masterpiece, the sleeves made of a sheer fabric, the bodice embroidered with lavender thread that was difficult to see against the blue and just added a subtle hint of richness and complexity.
It was more beautiful than anything Dorothy owned.
I have to wear it to the Sanford Ball. She didn’t need any note to tell her what this gown was intended for, and besides, she wanted to wear it.
The beauty of it had set her heart racing.
It was all she could do not to put it on right now.
As a matter of fact, maybe she ought to do that, just to see if it fit…
“Lady Dorothy?”
It was her lady’s maid, Hattie. She stood in the doorway, hands gripped together in obvious nervousness. Dorothy beckoned her inside.
Hattie slipped in and closed the door. Dorothy was very fond of the girl.
One of the benefits of being on your own as she was had turned out to be having the authority to make your own decisions about the hiring of staff, and Dorothy had taken the opportunity to select a maid who was new to this kind of work.
Hattie was very young, not yet out of her teens, and she seemed constantly fearful that she might do something wrong, but Dorothy liked the idea of helping her to achieve her potential.
And in the meantime, she was discovering what it might feel like to be an elder sister instead of always a younger one. She enjoyed it immensely.
“Hattie, come and sit down,” she said. “What do you think of this gown?” She held it up.
“So that’s what was in the box?” Hattie asked. “We’ve all been wondering, Lady Dorothy. All the maids are talking about it. We have been ever since it arrived.”
Ah. Dorothy hadn’t thought of this. There was information to be had that she hadn’t yet sought. “When did this arrive, Hattie?”
“A few hours ago, while you were in town.”
“And who delivered it? Do you know?”
“I didn’t see him, but it was a man,” Hattie said. “They’re saying he was a messenger. Nobody knew him to look at. He must have been sent by someone else. I wonder who.”
“Yes,” Dorothy murmured. “I wonder.”
She looked back at the note, which lay amid the wrappings on the bed behind her. It was time to find out exactly what was going on here. She picked it up and opened it.
The message was simple. Saw this and thought of you - N
Her breath caught.
How had she failed to think of it? She hadn’t even guessed that it might come from him.
Nathaniel. That was who N had to be. That was the only person it could be.
He was the only person who was looking forward to her presence at the Sanford Ball.
He was the only person she could be certain she was going to spend time with there.
It made sense that he was thinking about seeing her.
But this…why would he have done this? Why would it matter to him what I wear to the ball?
“Who is it from, my lady?” Hattie asked, pressing her hands together as if unsure she should be asking questions at all.
“It’s all right, Hattie,” Dorothy assured her. “It’s a gift from the Duke of Henshaw. Though I don’t know why he sent it. He doesn’t say. Only that it reminded him of me.”
“It…well, it does match your eyes,” Hattie ventured. “Perhaps that’s why it made him think of you.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Dorothy agreed. “But the part I can’t understand is why he would send it, even if it did put me in his mind. It can’t be that every time he sees a gown that matches a lady’s eyes, he sends it to her.”
“No,” Hattie agreed. “I’m sure that isn’t it. But the two of you are—”
“We aren’t courting, Hattie. There’s nothing between us.”
Hattie was quiet for a moment. “I was going to say that you’re friends,” she said. “He considers you a friend. Maybe that’s the reason he wanted to give you a gift.”
Dorothy considered that. “It’s still an odd thing,” she said. “For a gentleman to give a lady a gift like this when all that exists between them is friendship…it’s odd. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes,” Hattie said. “But I don’t understand that much about these things, my lady. I’ve never befriended a gentleman.”
“Nor have I, really,” Dorothy admitted. “All my friends are ladies.”
“Maybe this is the way a duke behaves.”
“Well, he’s going to have to stop it,” Dorothy said firmly.
“He’s trying to find a wife, and how would she feel if she knew he was sending fine gowns to other ladies?
” She gritted her teeth. When they had practiced flirting, she had allowed herself to believe he understood ladies better than he’d let on previously, but now she could see that wasn’t true.
He had no idea what he was doing. That was obvious.
“Are you going to wear the gown?” Hattie asked her.
Dorothy sighed. “I am.” It was too beautiful not to wear.
Besides, she reasoned, the damage was done.
He had already sent it, and short of having it returned to the modiste—which struck her as an overreaction—there was nothing to be done about that.
She would let him know that this sort of thing couldn’t continue, but in the meantime, she couldn’t see any particular harm in wearing the gown.
She put it carefully into her wardrobe and closed the door, not wanting to look at it any more right now. The sight of it only set questions stirring in her mind that she had no answer for. Questions like, what was he thinking when he did this? What does he think this means?
She had no way of knowing, but she did know one thing.
In a gown like that one, there would be no way for her to escape notice. No way for her to fade into the background at the party. People were going to be looking at her. Talking about her. She wouldn’t be a wallflower. Not anymore.
That should have bothered her—it did bother her.
But at the same time, there was something about it that felt almost thrilling.
She couldn’t help wondering what this ball was going to have in store.