AND thus the unusual friendship of Gail Alton and Max Fontaine fell apart.
It wasn’t with a war of words or a fading away as time and distance came between them. It was abrupt, forced by their own consciences.
They no longer spoke. When circumstances caused them to be in the same room, they barely did more than acknowledge the other’s presence. And every moment of strained politeness was a turn of the knife.
The problem of avoiding each other proved to be nothing more than a trick of scheduling. Max called less frequently at Number Seven, and when he did, Gail somehow managed to be spending that day about town with some new friends.
“She’s where?” Romilla blurted out one afternoon.
“Shopping,” Evangeline answered, “with Lilly and Lavender Pickering.”
“Willingly?” Romilla asked incredulously, but Evangeline just shrugged.
This news gave Romilla serious pause.
But alas, she did not have much time to focus on Gail’s odd behavior, for almost directly thereafter, things began occurring one on top of the other.
The first Event of Note was Count Roffstaam announcing his day of departure. Mrs. Holt, who had taken to her guest, but was yet so happy to have him leaving her beleaguered cook alone, announced a ball to be given in his honor.
“Another one?” Evangeline and Gail cried in tandem, only to be put off by a wave of Romilla’s hand. She had promised Mrs. Holt to jointly host the affair and spent a great deal of time with that lady preparing the guest lists. The Holts’s Mayfair residence, while purchased with “trade money,” as Lady Charlbury called it, was quite grand and perfect for hosting an intimate reception for more than five hundred people. Upon seeing the impressive residence and being greeted most warmly by Mrs. Holt, Romilla quickly decided that despite the acquisition of wealth through labor, the Holts could be worth knowing. She spent nearly every afternoon with that good lady finalizing preparations, often dragging the girls along with her. Gail was bored to tears by these outings, but Evangeline took to Mrs. Holt as easily as Romilla did, albeit without such mercenary motives.
The second Event of Note occurred soon after the announcement of the Count’s imminent departure. Sir Geoffrey received his appointment to the ministry. It was done quietly, and without fuss, only a dinner party of fifty of their closest friends to celebrate the event and a front-page announcement, courtesy of an editor friend at the Times, discreetly below the fold. By now Romilla had become quite adept at throwing a dinner party at a moment’s notice, and she did so with ease and flair. “Grasping” was no longer a phrase that befell them—at least not as often. For Romilla was fast becoming one of London’s most sought after hostesses—a position that unabashedly thrilled her. The Duke of Wellington even stood up and toasted his newest foreign minister, saying that he was never so happy as to have such an intelligent, honest, and upstanding gentleman working for the good of England.
Lord Fontaine was of course invited, and this time, his opinion was listened to with interest and consideration. He was seated, at Sir Geoffrey’s behest, near enough to him to partake in any conversation, the elder gentleman making certain to show the audience his undoubted approval of the younger.
While Max enjoyed this attention, his mind was occupied with things other than his future father-in-law’s approval. Indeed, he had difficulty concentrating on the conversation, with Gail seated across from him, not meeting his gaze, not sharing a laugh with him when someone misquoted Shakespeare. Not saying a word to him at all.
NO one should for a moment infer that the actions (or inactions) of Miss Gail Alton and Lord Fontaine went unnoticed by the other players in this piece. They weren’t necessarily connected, however.
Romilla was, as always, the shrewdest of the lot. It had begun to prick at her curiosity that Lord Fontaine’s visits had become less frequent. The month of courting was almost up, soon they would have to announce the betrothal. She began to worry that he had lost interest in Evangeline and would go against his word and jilt her. Oh, what a fiasco that would be! Sir Geoffrey’s new appointment could be taken away, or his power considerably lessened if his family were embroiled in scandal. Indeed, now that he would have the position, they had to be more careful than ever. Thinking that Lord Fontaine was distracted from his ravishing bride, Romilla approached her husband.
“But what would you have me do about it? I have the boy’s word,” he said gruffly, pouring over papers in his library. Romilla sighed. She had interrupted him to discuss the invitation list for his celebratory dinner party, and he was barely paying attention!
Really, ever since this Barivia business, Geoffrey had become more and more embroiled in his work, Romilla thought. It would be nice if he’d at least look at her when she spoke.
“You should make it known publicly that you approve of him, make his ties seem very close with the family. That kind of public support will place him more firmly in—”
“Our clutches?” her husband finished.
“For lack of better phrasing,” Romilla replied haughtily, “yes. At the dinner party. Make certain it is known you think very highly of Lord Fontaine.”
“Fine,” Sir Geoffrey sighed. “Seat him near me. He’d be a good one to ask about these translations, anyway,” he said, rubbing his eyes and indicating the papers.
“You could ask Abigail,” Romilla ventured. At her husband’s look of confusion, she added, “Gail. Your daughter.”
“She’s off having fun. Besides, I thought you wanted me to talk with Fontaine.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Romilla replied quickly. After a considering pause, she spoke again. “Speaking of, I’m a little worried about Abi—I mean, Gail.”
“What about her?” Sir Geoffrey grumbled, his eyes on his work.
“Well, it seems she’s spent the past few days with the Pickerings…”
Sir Geoffrey blinked at his wife. “What of it?”
“It’s just…I know she’s not particularly fond of the Pickerings,” Romilla continued, realizing even as she spoke how weak her argument sounded.
“Nonsense,” Sir Geoffrey scoffed. “If Gail didn’t like someone, she wouldn’t waste time with them. They’re silly, but harmless—and it’s good for Gail to make some friends. I really wish you wouldn’t bother me with little worries like this, my dear. I’ve a mountain of work to do.” And with that Sir Geoffrey returned his tired eyes to the papers in front of him.
Romilla nodded and left her husband to his work. After she shut the door, she realized sadly that he hadn’t noticed she was wearing his favorite frock.
BUT Romilla was far too busy a woman to reflect sadly on anything overlong and so went about the business of assisting Mrs. Holt with the Count’s ball, once the dinner party was out of the way. Therefore, she was not in the house when the next Event of Note occurred.
In fact, none of the family was at home except Gail.
Sir Geoffrey was at his new offices, as always, and Romilla had left just after tea to pay a call on Mrs. Holt, Evangeline in tow. After some discreet questioning, Gail found that Will Holt was expected to be there, which therefore raised the chances of Max being in attendance considerably. Accordingly, Gail had claimed she had fallen behind in correspondence (a bald-faced lie, but surprisingly no one questioned it) and stayed at home with a book.
Having just settled into blissful solitude with a copy of the latest gothic novel, she was greatly alarmed when someone began knocking furiously on her bedchamber door.
“Oh, Miss Gail, you must come downstairs at once!” Mrs. Bibb said when Gail answered the door. “There is a caller.”
“Mrs. Bibb, I told Morrison to tell all callers no one was at home,” Gail said, perplexed.
“We tried that, but he won’t go away—and he’s not the type o’ gent one can easily dismiss,” Mrs. Bibb replied, worrying her hands.
“Who is it? The duke?” Gail ventured as Mrs. Bibb, unable to wait any longer, grabbed her young mistress’s hand, dragging her down the steps.
“Nay, miss,” Mrs. Bibb answered. They came to a halt before the drawing room doors. “I sent a note to your lady stepmother, but someone needs to go attend him now.” Mrs. Bibb pulled Gail to face her, ruthlessly smoothing her hair and brushing out the wrinkles in her skirts.
“Is it the king? Mrs. Bibb, stop that!” Gail said, swatting at the housekeeper’s hands. “Really, I cannot imagine who would be worth all this fuss.”
Satisfied with Gail’s appearance, Mrs. Bibb opened the door to the drawing room, and shoved her through.
“Dratted girl! Shut that door. This house is drafty as a tomb.”
The old man sat by an abnormally high fire, his sharp green gaze glinting as he looked her up and down.
Gail took his measure.
“You must be the Earl.”
“SO you know me, do you girl? You’ve been forewarned, then?” The Earl kept his razor-sharp gaze on his quarry as she coolly moved to take the seat across from him.
“Not yet! Come closer. Let me get a good look at you,” Gail obliged, standing under the Earl’s scrutiny for a full minute in silence. She met his gaze and did her own assessment. He was old, she realized, so much older than she had imagined. He must have fathered Max quite late in life. The blue tones of the drawing room that brought out Evangeline’s complexion made the Earl’s already pale skin take on a deathly pallor. His posture was hunched in on itself, and his gnarled hands rested on a gold-headed cane. But in his face, in his eyes, was the active, shrewd mind of a man half as young.
“Good, good. Healthy child,” the Earl murmured. “Although perhaps too tall for my liking.” He waved his hand for Gail to take a seat, all the while regarding her with an aloof manner that could disarm royalty.
“To answer your earlier question, I was not, er, forewarned about you. You rather unmistakably have your son’s eyes,” she said, nervously settling back into the chair.
“It is he who has my eyes, and don’t you forget it, missy.”
And his officious manner, apparently.
The fire crackled and sparked in the hearth, while Gail searched for something…anything to say.
“I must apologize,” she stammered, unused to playing hostess, “you have caught my parents and sister out of the house, but they will be back directly. Would you care for some tea, or…?”
“No, no.” He cut her off with a wave of his twisted hand. “Didn’t come to speak with them. I came here to see you.”
An eyebrow shot up. Why would the Earl wish to see her? Unless…but that was impossible. Gail knew Max had little to do with his father, how would he…Could he know about what occurred in the park? And at the museum…Gail suddenly flushed.
“You should blush,” the Earl’s eyes narrowed, “for what you’ve done to snare my son. But for some reason, the idiot seems to care for you, given his devotion, so I wanted to see what the next Countess of Longsbowe was made of.”
Ah, that was it. Gail didn’t know whether to be relieved or cry. The Earl thought she was Evangeline, that it was she who would marry Max. Gail opened her mouth to correct the Earl’s assumption but was interrupted again.
“You had better have some good tricks up your sleeve, my girl, because you’re not pretty enough to hold his interest six months together.”
Anger suddenly flared to life, brighter than what burned in the hearth.
“And what do you know of your son’s interests?” she asked, her voice deceptively low.
“I know my son,” the Earl stated.
“No you don’t. You don’t know your son at all.” Before she could stop it, Gail’s tongue was off and running. “Did you know he nearly single-handedly brokered a trade deal with a foreign country? That he speaks six languages, including Latin? That he for some unknown reason thinks Beethoven is the best composer to have ever breathed? No, of course not. If you did know your son, you would have realized that cutting off his allowance wouldn’t stop him from living. You wouldn’t call someone who is so obviously brilliant an idiot, and you certainly wouldn’t dare attempt to fit him into some untenable mold of your officious, overbearing self.”
The Earl went white with rage. His hand tightened on his gold-headed cane.
“You dare insult me in such a manner?!”
“As you dared insult me in my own home,” she said, leaning back in her chair and steepling her fingers in a dead-on imitation of her father at his most imperious. And although she looked to possess that steely calm, her mouth was dry, her palms sweaty, and inwardly Gail was quaking. What had she done? She had let her tongue run away with her, that’s what. Almost immediately upon seeing the Earl, all of the progress she had made in the past few weeks, all of the happy manners she had learned to affect, gone with one insult.
The Earl’s hand shook as he waggled a finger at her. “You should be more careful how you speak to the father of the man you will marry,” he said menacingly.
“I’m certain I shall,” she retorted, “but luckily, I have no call to impress you.” At his surprised look, she explained, “I am Gail Alton. Max is to marry my sister, Evangeline.”
The Earl grew silent with this new information, but she could see the gears turned rapidly in that still sharp brain. She had grievously insulted the Earl…she had spoken so far out of turn Max would have her head for what she revealed. All those things he had told her in confidence! But she would not be sorry for defending him to the man that was staring at her so intensely, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.
Gail, in turn, stared back.
She was about to go and ring for a servant—even if the Earl didn’t want tea, she needed something, anything to do—when he cocked an eyebrow (so like his son!) and gave a smirk of dawning understanding.
“If you…” He stopped, cleared his throat, and began again. “You defend him,” he said simply. She replied with a curious nod. “You defend him,” the old man elaborated, “with a good deal of feeling.”
Gail felt the blood drain away from her face. “I…I…well, Max, er, we’ve spent a great deal of time…”
A wolfish smile cracked the Earl’s wrinkled lips, revealing a skeleton’s grin. “And yet, you will be condemned to a life as merely a sister. Won’t you?”
Abruptly she stood. “It is none of your concern. Now if you will excuse me, I’ll check on the tea tray.” She moved to the door, but a beleaguered cry of “Hold on there, girl!” stilled her hand upon the knob.
She turned her steely gaze to the source of the cry. The Earl had stood up too quickly on shaky legs, walking after her while leaning heavily on his cane, his breathing labored.
“I’ll…chase you down, child…don’t…doubt it,” he said with shuttered breaths.
Gail, far from being coldhearted, could not help but be affected by the Earl’s state. Her features softened as she hurried to the Earl’s side. Taking his arm, she led him back to the fire and assisted him in taking his seat.
“Thank you, my girl,” the Earl said, sounding so rusty that Gail wasn’t sure the man had thanked anyone in the past fifty years. Gail smiled tightly in reply, leaning over the Earl to adjust the cushions. As she did, he caught her arm, stilling her movements and bringing her attention to his face. He regarded her again for a breath of time, not judging, but with consideration.
“You have more heart than I’ve seen in a woman for many years,” he said quietly.
Gail quirked a brow. “You met me but ten minutes ago, sir, and I’ve spent a good part of that time insulting you.” She gently removed her arm from his grasp and resumed her seat.
“Still, if I ever had anyone defend me the way you did my son…” He let his voice trail off wistfully. Then he shook his head, as if to clear himself of troubling thoughts.
“My son,” he declared in a strong voice, “is a fool.”
“Lord Longsbowe,” Gail bit out in protest, but was interrupted before she could start her argument again.
“Miss Alton. My son and I may be estranged. We are different people, which is a fact that I was forced to contend with long ago. But I still have eyes, and I can still call him a fool if the occasion warrants it. And I assure you, my son is a fool.” The hardness had returned to his green gaze, and Gail, for one of the few times in her life, thought better of voicing her opinion on the matter. Her temper was pricked, but so was her curiosity. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why Max was so foolish, but just then a sharp knock on the door interrupted the tension of the room. Mrs. Bibb entered, bearing the tea tray. She placed it on the small table next to Gail, and with a pointed look at that young lady, left. However, when Gail made to pour, the Earl held up a hand.
“I cannot stay,” he said, making to rise. “If you could…”
She was at his side in a trice. Helping him stand, she took a good deal of the Earl’s weight as she assisted him to the doors.
“You are too strong for a female,” the Earl grunted. Gail simply smiled and took more of the old man’s weight.
“One of the many benefits of being unfashionably tall. Also, I can block people’s views at the theater.”
“And too much cheek,” the Earl retorted.
Once at the door of Number Seven, the Earl transferred his weight with dignity to his valet, who had been waiting in the carriage. Gail said her farewells with a curtsy, while the Earl simply inclined his head.
“Good-bye, Miss Alton.” He bent his creaky frame into a bow.
WHAT a curious exchange, Gail thought as she quietly banked the fires in the overheated drawing room with an iron. The man had been here but minutes, yet he left her with a great deal of conflicting thoughts. In her ill-advised defense of Max, Gail had listed any number of things that the Earl might have denied, yet he did not. His actions regarding his son, trying to hold him back, were deplorable—there was no other word. And yet, when the facade of steel and stone cracked, Gail felt more than a little sorry for the old man.
She sat in the chair she had previously occupied and stared into the fire, conscious of the swollen emptiness of the room without the Earl sitting opposite. He thought he was acting in the best interests of his fool of a son, Gail realized. He had probably always thought that, even when his actions were the most grievous. Perhaps he saw the pain he had caused in the past. He certainly saw a great deal when she had slipped and defended Max. Gail felt the heat rise in her cheeks, in no way related to the height of the fire. She worked so hard to make certain her feelings didn’t show, and yet this stranger had seen through her as easily as water. She was condemned to a life as the sister of the perfect Evangeline. How could he call Max a fool, and not she?
Before Gail’s thoughts could follow down this troubling path any farther, the drawing room doors burst open, admitting a breathless and somewhat harried Romilla. Evangeline followed just as impatiently at her heels.
“Abigail! The Earl! Is he here?” Romilla asked immediately.
Gail rose from her chair and reverie. “No, ma’am. Er, he sends his compliments, but could not stay long.”
Romilla’s face fell. “Oh dear,” she said, on a great exhale. After a moment she shrugged, picked at the knot of her bonnet, and moved to the couch, Evangeline following suit.
“Now, you will simply have to tell me everything you and Lord Longsbowe spoke about. Heavens, it is warm in here, is it not? Oh thank goodness, you’ve ordered tea—Mrs. Holt, the dear woman, is unfortunately saddled with that German faux-French chef who tried to serve us sausages slathered in the most curious sauces for luncheon! Her son kept sneaking his to the dog. Mrs. Holt said it was unfortunate Lord Fontaine wasn’t in attendance, for he is the only one that can convince the chef to cook a good English meal. Abi—, I mean, Gail, please pour and start at the beginning.”
Gail’s head swam from trying to follow her stepmother’s lengthy speech, but one thing had stuck. As she prepared cups for her sister and stepmother from the tray that Mrs. Bibb had placed for the Earl only minutes before, she turned her innocent inquiry to her sister.
“Lord Fontaine was not in attendance?”
“No,” replied Evangeline. “William—Mr. Holt—said that he was locked in his rooms on Weymouth Street, working on some new translation. William, that is, Mr. Holt declared that if he had been there, he would have run here to intercept his father faster than horses could carry us.”
“As he should, Evangeline,” Romilla lectured. “I don’t understand your betrothed half the time. He should have introduced us to his father long ago. I had no notion the man was even in town! But now that the Earl has visited, hopefully it means he is accepting of the union.”
Suitably cowed, Evangeline ducked her head and took a sip of tea. Satisfied in her daughter’s deportment and a proper English cucumber sandwich in hand, Romilla again addressed the issue of Gail’s conversation with the Earl.
But on that subject, Gail found herself deeply conflicted and could not honestly relate what had been said. So she resorted to making up a number of vague compliments and inquiries, which would not satisfy Romilla nearly as much as the cucumber sandwich.
“EVIE?” Gail knocked on her sister’s door quietly before sticking her head in. She saw her sister by the window, staring as the carriages and people went by in the late afternoon traffic on the square. It took a moment before Evangeline became aware of her sister’s presence, but once she turned, she smiled genuinely for the company.
“I…I was wondering if you wanted to hear more about the Earl’s visit this afternoon,” Gail began, as she seated herself on her sister’s bed. She was the tallest female in the house, and yet Evie’s bed was so high, her feet dangled off the edge, making Gail feel extremely childlike. To be honest, she didn’t think there could be anything more to be said about the Earl’s visit—it had been extremely short, after all—but it was the best way she had come up with to introduce the topic she desperately needed council on: Max.
For, in the intervening time since the Earl’s departure, Gail’s mind had been swimming with all the truths that man had presented her. And the largest, most looming one was the fact that if she let her emotions have their full rein, she would be condemned to a life as a sister. She didn’t want to spend her life pining for what she couldn’t have. Therefore, the only way she could see herself ever moving past her feelings, was to confess them.
To Evangeline.
She knew that in time, she would get over these silly notions. She also knew, that in time, her sister would forgive her for developing a friendship with and subsequently an inappropriate affection for her husband. And she knew that all of this would only occur with a first step.
Still, it didn’t mean that step would be at all easy.
“Yes, the Earl,” Evangeline was saying, breaking into Gail’s nervous reverie. “Romilla is right, it is appalling that we haven’t seen him until now, but now that he’s called, we can return the gesture. Do you think we should stop by during our rounds tomorrow and leave a card?”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Gail replied quizzically, her brow furrowed. “Ma—er, Lord Fontaine and his father are not on the best of terms.”
Evangeline looked questioningly at her sister.
“But surely, you know that,” Gail finished.
“Actually,” Evangeline said, looking to her toes, “I didn’t know that. Obviously.”
Gail was about to open her mouth, about to start stumbling over her confession, when Evangeline’s head came up, and with watery eyes, made one of her own.
“I guess I’m not a very good fiancée, am I?”
“Evangeline, darling—that cannot be true.”
“Yes it can,” her sister continued. “I assure you it can. As evidenced by the fact that I did not know of Lord Fontaine’s relationship with his father, nor did I care to find it out.”
“Evie,” Gail began, wishing to reassure her sister, “all that stuff comes with time—”
“I know!” Evie cried. “Time is what we were given! Granted the boon of a full month, spent in each other’s company, in an attempt to get to know one another, to become comfortable with each other—and the only thing discovered in that time is a gulf of differences and disinterest.”
“I fear,” Gail ventured, gulping, “that some of that gulf, a, erm, good deal of it, actually, might be my fault.”
“No, Gail”—Evangeline waved off her protest—“I asked you to be present, remember? I asked you to be my support, and support you have! I am dissatisfied through my own efforts, believe me. None of this is your fault.”
Gail could only stare at her sister—this was certainly not how she intended this conversation to go. “Surely—surely, you’re not so unhappy?”
Evangeline stood now, began pacing, wearing the carpet with her eyes as much as her feet. “No, but I…I just wish I’d never ventured into the conservatory.”
“Oh Evie!” Gail sighed, hating that she had on more than one occasion wished the same thing, and hating her task now, “but that night, with the moonlight—you said then it was magical, entrancing…”
“Yes, darling, but the problem with moonlight is one has to live in the day. And that’s the fundamental difference between romance and love. Romance is moonlight, it’s the trappings of desire…”
“And love?” Gail could barely pitch her voice above a whisper.
It was many moments before Evangeline could answer. But when she did, it was with great, still feeling. “Love…love is understanding. Love is knowing that other person so well, you can anticipate them. Like if someone knows you’re uncomfortable, and they loosen your boot strings. Or if he knows you’re deeply worried about something, and does his best to remedy it and soothe your fears. Love…is need! Needing that person in your life, day after day, whatever ups and downs may come, wanting their presence, and they wanting yours, because it’s the only way either of you will ever feel whole.”
For a moment, Gail couldn’t speak. Then, “And…and Max does not make you feel this way?”
Sadly, Evangeline shook her head. “No. He does not. And I doubt I inspire any such feelings in him.”
She looked to the window for a moment, her figure framed in the falling light. “I am reconciled to the fact that I will not love my husband. I’m certain, that…that we’ll have an amicable enough relationship. I know, he’s not a bad person. But Gail,” her voice became hitched as the deep pools of her eyes threatened to spill over, “is it so wrong, so foolish, to wish for something more?”
“Maybe.” Gail shrugged. “Because the love you describe, giving yourself so completely to another, it sounds rather frightening.”
“Yes, it does,” Evangeline agreed, sitting beside her sister on the bed. “But maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it. Now,” she said, bearing herself up and shaking away any hint of tears, “I may not have the chance to find out, but I don’t want you thinking that way.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Gail frowned.
“I know you,” Evangeline said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t want you to feel like if I’m dissatisfied, you should be as well. I don’t want you to be afraid of happiness just because I failed to achieve it!”
“I have the impression you’ve been practicing this speech,” Gail drawled.
“For approximately eighteen years. Gail. Darling sister. Your life is your own. You don’t have to wait in line behind me. Now, you have to promise me—that if a chance at happiness comes your way, and you think you might love somebody, really love them, not just some foolish inclination, you have to take it.”
“This is terribly melodramatic, you know. It might help if you threw a joke or two in to break up the darker bits,” Gail chided, aiming for some levity, but Evangeline simply shook her head.
“Do be serious for a moment! Gail, I’m not going to have the opportunity to experience love, real love. I wasted any chance I would have on a foolish moonlight kiss. But I would very much like to have my sister, one day, tell me what it’s like.”
Gail was speechless for a full minute, until with a sniffle, she found her voice and luckily, her sense of humor. “What if I fall madly in love with a goatherder? Or a red Indian in America? Or one of the awful Basti brothers in Portugal?”
Evangeline burst out laughing—the first full laugh Gail had heard from her sister in days.
“All right. First of all, you wouldn’t dare fall for a Basti brother. The other two are far more easily imagined. And if it is a red Indian, you absolutely must tell me everything. I should require details.”
Gail laughed at that. “Evangeline!”
“But beyond your jokes and my ridiculous bout of melancholy,” Evie continued, still smiling, “if you loved someone, really loved him, why shouldn’t you try for happiness?”
In that moment, Gail knew she would tell Evangeline everything. About the kisses, the dances, about the first time she saw Max in the lake, the magical grotto, and all her feelings, even if she could not be sure of his. But as she opened her mouth, as her voice sounded the first syllable of her long past due confession, a knock sounded at the door.
It was Mrs. Bibb, with Polly, ready to assist with all manner of buttons and hairpins.
“Time to dress for the evenin’ m’ladies, your lady stepmother says the schedule is tight tonight, so we best hurry,” Mrs. Bibb spoke as she bustled into the room, lighting the sconces to replace the daylight that had since left them.
And with that, the return of real life, Gail’s hard-won courage left her, and the confession died on her tongue.
Evangeline was quickly at her dressing table, ready to be made into Miss Alton, jewel of the Ton.
It could be left for tomorrow.