Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed only to grow darker. She never spoke to Lina, only glared at her across the dinner table or sniped, in her very clever way, by making the sort of comments Mrs. Tilton was so adept at. “But of course, you couldn’t be expected to know that, coming from your... upbringing,” she might say with a withering smile, before sipping her tea.
Lina was accustomed to this sort of treatment, and was therefore quite capable of ignoring it. If anything, Elizabeth’s subtle nastiness might have soothed her a bit, and even worked in favor of soothing some of her anxiety about her upcoming wedding with the mysterious and potentially “depraved” Mr. Blackstone. Elizabeth could scarcely conceal the jealousy that burned beneath her disdain for Lina, for, in the end, Lina might have had a most questionable background, but the wealth of Mr. Blackstone’s estate was evident in the lavish wardrobe and arrangements he had made for her. And while wealth was certainly not the only requirement for prestige in society, it did go a long way, and even Elizabeth could see that.
None was more adept at stoking the fires of Elizabeth’s jealousy than Charlotte, who seemed to make it a sport. “If Mr. Blackstone allows it,” she would muse, for instance, pretending that she was unaware that Elizabeth was listening in on their conversation, “you would easily be able to travel all over the world in such fine style. How marvelous.” And other such commentary, with a devious smile and sometimes even a wink in Lina’s direction.
The truth was that Lina herself entertained such fantasies when she lay in bed at night, unable to get to sleep. There was much to fear from this marriage, and much unknown about Mr. Blackstone, and she remained ever poised to run away from it all. On the other hand, the possibilities that could come from marrying Mr. Blackstone were nearly endless: what if she could travel? What if she could decide, like some wealthy women did, to summer in France? Or even further away? She had such desires to explore the world, and they would never be realized if she remained an unmarried bastard, or married a commoner and worked as a maid. There was also the matter of the Harlowes. In the end, they had done her such favors by taking her into their home, and Evangeline, for all her faults, was still like a true sister to her. And Anna was beloved, a real sister in her estimation. Her marriage to Mr. Blackstone promised to repay them for all of their kindness, and to lift Anna to new social heights and opportunities of her own. There was no reason, to be sure, that Anna could not be brought to live with them.
There was much to consider, and when she lay awake turning it all over in her mind, she was unable to come to any decision about what to do. And so she floated along, attending the functions and making the preparations, unable to make a decisive move to commit mentally to the marriage, or to run away, or to even plan for either event.
Before long, the many weeks had passed, and a series of balls was upon them. Mr. Blackstone remained, still, at his estate in the north, and no definitive news about the wedding had been forthcoming. She had a dress and a date, and she knew that the affair, as per Mr. Blackstone’s peculiar tastes, would be small and private. It would take place in the town near his estate, but it did seem strange that he remained so far away, and sent no news.
For Lina, this was strange but in many ways a blessing. It allowed her to continue floating through life as though in a dream, making no decisions, putting off for tomorrow what might be difficult, in exchange for the glamor and excitement of her time in London.
Chapter Ten
Lina admired herselfin the mirror for a bit longer than she might have otherwise—for vanity, according to Mrs. Harlowe, was the seed of naughtiness—and was reluctantly pleased with the image that looked back at her. The gown was an astonishing work of art, and had been selected and paid for already by the enigmatic Mr. Blackstone, as strange as that was, considering that he was not to attend the ball or even arrive in London for weeks.
The skirt was full, made of a paper-thin silk organza draped over a base of fine silk, and this alone would have made the dress quite beautiful, but it was, additionally, embroidered with thousands of intricate flowers in gold, navy, periwinkle, and lilac, giving it an ethereal appearance that quite made Lina feel as though she had stepped into a living fairytale. As she moved, the fabric and the fine silk embroidery caught the light in such a way that she seemed to have been lit up by tiny candles within the gown. The bodice had been tailored to showcase her slenderness, and a border of extraordinary workmanship clung, just barely, to the tops of her shoulders.
“It’s scandalous,” Lina had heard Mrs. Harlowe mutter under her breath. Though in fact, there was nothing scandalous about it, apart from the amount of time that must have been spent creating it.
Charlotte had sent her very own servant to help Lina with her hair, which was decorated so elaborately and with so many curls, tresses, and plaits, that she doubted she would ever be able to remove them all.
Evangeline had been noticeably perturbed by the beauty of the dress, and so had selected a fantastical red dress, with so many layers and tiers, bows and ribbons and sashes, that she seemed visibly exhausted each time she moved. The dress itself required two servants to lower over the enormous hoop that came with it, and she required compacting in order to squeeze through the door of her bedroom.
Anna was disappointed, for she was unable to attend due to a cold she had acquired.
“You look like a princess from a fairy tale,” Anna told her. “Oh, I am so very happy for you!”
Lina gave her a brave smile and thanked her. But she wondered, as they gathered in the carriage—a separate carriage had to be sent for Evangeline and her absurd dress—if she was a princess in a fairy tale, who would have a happy ending, or if her fate were really much, much worse.
* * *
Charlotte’s face litup when Lina and Evangeline arrived. “Lina,” she breathed, “you are utterly breathtaking!” Then, because she was a kind person and had sensed Lina’s strange affection for the miserable and sometimes petty Evangeline, she smiled in her direction. “That dress,” she breathed with as much sincerity as she could muster, “isquitespectacular, Evangeline. You are most glamorous.”
If Evangeline picked up on anything but sincerity in Charlotte’s tone, she did not show it. She seemed distracted enough by the task of maneuvering in the enormous dress that Charlotte might have said anything to her and she would have smiled politely and said “thank you.”
