Chapter Four
By the evening of the Duchess of Ashbourne's Midsummer Ball, Everly House had surrendered itself entirely to organized chaos.
Footsteps sounded continuously upon the stairs. Maids hurried through corridors carrying boxes and ribbons and armfuls of freshly pressed gowns. Doors opened and closed throughout the house, accompanied by calls for hairpins and gloves and misplaced fans.
The London Season had a way of transforming even sensible households into something bordering on military operations.
From her place behind Rosalind's chair, Evangeline smiled faintly at the scene unfolding in her bedchamber.
Candles glowed warmly against the soft blue walls, their light reflected in mirrors and polished silver brushes spread across the dressing table. The room smelled faintly of lavender water and rose powder, mingled with beeswax and perfume.
Rosalind sat before the mirror with all the anticipation of a child awaiting Christmas morning.
"I cannot decide whether I am excited or terrified," she admitted.
"You are excited," Daphne informed her from across the room.
Rosalind frowned at her reflection. "I may be both."
Daphne stood near the window while a maid attempted, with rapidly diminishing hope, to persuade several dark curls into behaving themselves.
At seventeen, Daphne had already learned that rules existed primarily to irritate her.
Evangeline reached forward and fastened the delicate clasp of Rosalind's necklace at the back of her neck.
"There."
Rosalind immediately touched the small pearls resting at her throat.
"Oh..." she breathed softly.
The necklace belonged to their grandmother. Not valuable enough to alter fortunes, perhaps, but precious all the same.
The gowns they wore this evening had come from Madame Fournier's modest establishment several streets away, rather than one of the grand Bond Street dressmakers patronised by wealthier families.
There, Evangeline had overheard fragments of their mother's conversation with the modiste.
"No additional embroidery, please. And the sleeves may be altered, but this ribbon can be reused."
Sacrifices made quietly as mothers often made them.
Rosalind rose and moved toward the mirror, smoothing her skirts almost nervously.
Her gown was soft pale blue silk with delicate white embroidery along the hem and sleeves. The colour deepened the blue of her eyes and lent her an almost ethereal appearance.
Rosalind stared. "Oh, dear."
Evangeline blinked. "What is wrong?"
Rosalind turned immediately. "What if no one asks me to dance?"
Daphne looked positively offended. "No one asks you to dance?"
Rosalind nodded miserably. "What if everyone simply... overlooks me?"
Daphne stared at her for several moments and then crossed the room dramatically, seizing Rosalind by both shoulders.
"My dear Rosie," she announced solemnly, "if any gentleman overlooks you this evening, then he is blind and deserves his suffering."
Rosalind laughed helplessly, and Evangeline smiled as she adjusted one of Rosalind's curls where it had escaped its pins.
"Daphne is right," Evangeline agreed.
Daphne nodded smugly.
But still, Rosalind looked unconvinced.
"You are beautiful," Evangeline said, softening her voice.
Rosalind looked up.
"And kind," Evangeline continued. "And sweet, and you possess the sort of heart people remember."
Rosalind's eyes glistened. "You truly think so?"
"I know so."
Daphne made a noise of impatience. "Oh heavens, enough of this sentiment." She turned toward Evangeline. "Now save me."
Daphne's gown was a deep green silk that brought warmth to her hazel eyes, though she appeared far less interested in her appearance than in watching the activity below in the street.
As Evangeline adjusted one of her gloves, Daphne's expression softened suddenly.
"You know..." she said quietly, "you look beautiful tonight too."
Evangeline looked up as Rosalind turned.
"Oh, you do."
Evangeline blinked as Rosalind moved toward her. "No, truly."
Before she could escape, Rosalind turned her toward the mirror.
Evangeline glanced up, but in truth, her own gown had seemed almost unimportant while helping everyone else prepare. It had been that way for years now.
Ever since Papa's death, preparing for balls and musicales and garden parties had gradually become less about her own excitement and more about making certain everything went smoothly for everyone else.
There had always been ribbons to tie, curls to arrange, gloves to locate at the last possible moment, and Rosalind or Daphne to reassure when nerves appeared.
Somewhere along the way, Evangeline had simply slipped into the role naturally, smoothing difficulties before anyone else noticed them.
She had not minded it. In fact, she had loved it.
Rosalind's delight over a new gown or Daphne's dramatic complaints while being forced into proper society expectations had brought her a kind of happiness all its own.
She had stood behind mirrors fastening necklaces and adjusting sleeves so many times that she had stopped expecting anyone to notice whether she herself looked well or not.
Until now.
This year, she was not simply attending because it was expected or because Rosalind wished to dance and Daphne wished to laugh at everyone around her. This year, every invitation, every conversation, every dance carried weight.
Tonight especially.
Tonight her appearance mattered.
The realisation felt strangely unfamiliar, like putting on a gown that belonged to someone else.
For years she had quietly stepped aside so her sisters might shine. Yet now circumstances had turned her toward the centre of things, and she found she did not entirely know what to do with it.
"That colour suits you so," Rosalind said, pulling Evangeline from her thoughts.
Lady Margaret had chosen ivory silk for her, simple but elegant, with delicate embroidery of tiny flowers trailing along the sleeves and neckline. Golden-blonde curls had been arranged softly around her face, and pearl pins caught the candlelight among them.
For a moment, she scarcely recognised herself.
Rosalind smiled. "You look like one of the heroines from one of your novels."
Daphne nodded. "Like some gentlemen would lose all common sense over."
Warmth touched Evangeline's cheeks. "Do stop."
Before anyone could speak another word, Lady Margaret appeared in the doorway.
"Girls," she said, "if we do not leave now, we shall arrive after half of London."
Daphne groaned dramatically. "What a dreadful fate. Imagine being deprived of the opportunity to hear Lady Penworth discuss her headaches."
Rosalind laughed as she reached for her gloves. "I believe she discussed them for nearly twenty minutes at Lady Heartwell's musicale."
"Twenty-seven," Daphne corrected. "I counted."
The room stirred into motion immediately.
Maids fetched evening cloaks while fans, reticules, and gloves were located in the sort of last-minute confusion that seemed unavoidable before every important social engagement.
Rosalind checked her reflection twice more before allowing a maid to settle a pale blue shawl over her shoulders.
Daphne was searching beneath a chair for a missing glove while loudly insisting she had put it down "precisely there. "
Evangeline bent to retrieve it from beside the settee. "It appears your glove travelled independently."
Daphne accepted it with complete seriousness. "A troublesome glove."
. As Rosalind and Daphne swept ahead toward the corridor, Lady Margaret touched Evangeline's arm gently.
"My dear."
Evangeline turned, and her mother's smile softened.
For a moment she said nothing, simply reaching up to smooth a curl near Evangeline's temple as she had done since childhood.
"This evening..." Lady Margaret began quietly. "I know I need not remind you of its importance." Lady Margaret's eyes filled with emotion. "And I know what I am asking of you."
"Mother—"
"No." Her mother's hand tightened around hers. "Allow me to say it."
For a moment she seemed to struggle for words. "You have spent years taking care of everyone else." Her voice softened further. "Your sisters, me, this family."
Evangeline looked away briefly as Lady Margaret smiled sadly.
"And now you are prepared to sacrifice your own happiness for us."
A lump rose unexpectedly in Evangeline's throat. "You make it sound very dramatic."
"It feels dramatic to me."
For one brief moment neither spoke, and then Lady Margaret lifted her chin and brushed tears quickly from the corners of her eyes.
"You are my daughter," she said quietly. "And I have never been more proud of anyone."
Emotion tightened painfully in Evangeline's chest, but she smiled, because she could not seem to do anything else.
"We ought to go," she said softly.
Lady Margaret nodded.
But as they walked from the room together, Evangeline felt the weight of her promise settling heavily upon her shoulders once more.
Tonight mattered, not just for herself, but for all of them.
***
By the time their carriage joined the line of arrivals outside Ashbourne House, night had fully fallen across London.
The townhouse blazed with light.
Footmen in elegant livery moved swiftly up and down the steps while an endless procession of carriages arrived before the grand entrance, depositing ladies draped in silk and gentlemen in immaculate evening dress.
Music floated faintly into the warm summer night each time the doors opened.
Rosalind pressed closer to the carriage window. "Oh heavens."
Daphne leaned across beside her. "There appears to be enough people inside to populate a small country."
Lady Margaret smiled. "The Duchess does not believe in small gatherings."
Moments later they were ascending the marble staircase beneath glittering chandeliers while servants relieved them of shawls and wraps.
The ballroom itself seemed to unfold before them in dazzling light and movement.
Evangeline paused.
Even after years in society, some scenes still managed to astonish.