Hazel leaned in. “Whatisall this?”
Evelyn took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she caught sight of the ivory-and-gold insignia on one of the labels. Her eyes widened in dawning horror.
“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no…”
She reached for the topmost parcel with trembling fingers, tearing it open. There, nestled in layers of tissue and silk, was the gown she had described from Madame Vernisse, the ivory muslin with the intricate lace along the bodice. Beneath it, folded with near ceremonial reverence, lay the champagne silk with the embroidered hem.
Cordelia let out a delighted shriek. “He bought them all?”
Evelyn didn’t answer—she had already begun tearing into the next box. Out came the satin with pearl beading from Mrs. Aldermere. Then the dusky rose with the empire waist she had only mentioned in passing.
“And these,” she breathed, undoing the ribbon of yet another parcel, “I never even described…”
Hazel leaned in to inspect a note nestled among the tissue. “There’s something here.”
Evelyn snatched the envelope and opened it with wary fingers. The writing inside was infuriatingly elegant, and the words were scrawled with clear, deliberate mockery:
My dear Miss Ellory,
Since you were so uncertain, I thought it only fair to relieve you of the burden of choice. I trust these may assist you in making a timely decision. Though, between us, I suspect you will look rather dangerous in the champagne silk.
R.
Evelyn’s cheeks flamed. “He’smockingme!”
Cordelia clutched her sides with laughter. “He may be, but he’s doing it with exquisite taste.”
Hazel bit her lip. “Evelyn… you must admit, it’s rather romantic.”
Evelyn spun around. “It’s infuriating! This was supposed to buy me time, not add to his ridiculous charm campaign!”
“And yet,” Cordelia said, grinning like a cat, “he’s winning.”
Evelyn exhaled, glaring down at the pile of silks and lace as if they had betrayed her personally.
“Not for long,” she muttered. “He may have bested me today… but the game is not over.”
Chapter Seven
Robert entered the Ellory parlor with his usual composed step, offering a bow first to Lady Brimwood, who received him as though he were the Prince Regent himself.
“My dear Duke,” she said, rising with delight. “What a pleasant surprise! Do sit. Evelyn, dear, come, don’t be shy.”
Evelyn was seated by the window with her arms crossed and her lips pursed into a sullen little line. She rose with visible reluctance, curtsied, all perfectly, of course, and then, resumed her seat with all the grace of a martyr awaiting execution.
“I hope I am not intruding,” Robert said pleasantly as he sat, glancing once toward the lady in question.
“Not in the least,” Lady Brimwood said at once. “We were simply taking tea. Evelyn, won’t you pour for His Grace?”
“If he wishes,” Evelyn muttered, reaching for the teapot.
“I only came for conversation,” Robert replied smoothly, waving away the offer. “Because I do have a question pressing upon me.”
Evelyn stiffened. He waited a moment then asked with deliberate calm. “Have you at last selected a gown, or am I to expect a six-month engagement while the matter is debated in Parliament?”
That got her attention. She turned her eyes upon him—those beautiful, sharp eyes which now sparkled with indignation.
“Actually,” she retorted, “now that they areallmine, the decision has become significantly more difficult.”
