“The water’s gone cold.” Fanny held up a large towel and Amelia automatically rose. Holding her arms out, she allowed the maid to wrap it around her.
She didn’t even startle when she heard the door between her chamber and the corridor open to allow her mother and Miss Henrietta to enter. Not far behind the women, two uniformed manservants followed, carrying a familiar trunk.
Amelia’s wardrobe.
Like two guards, both Clementine and Fanny stepped in front of Amelia. “What do you think you’re doing, barging inhere while her ladyship is dressing?” Fanny demanded, fierce as a bulldog.
“You are an impertinent one, aren’t you?” Lady Foxbourne wrinkled her nose as though she was smelling something foul. She lifted her chin. “If it were up to me, you’d be sacked. But… seeing as you work forthat man.” She sniffed. “My daughter’s lady’s maid will tend to her now. You can go.”
Fanny’s back straightened, and Amelia vaguely realized that none of Mr. Beckworth’s team were accustomed to dealing with members of the aristocracy. If Amelia hadn’t felt utterly dead inside, she would have been embarrassed. For Fanny. For her mother. For standing amongst them wearing nothing but a towel.
Fanny was practically shaking in outrage and looked poised to lay into the intruders once more until Clementine placed a halting hand on her arm. “This is the Marchioness of Foxbourne.Lady Amelia’s mother. Thank you. You’ve helped more than you can ever know.”
Amelia almost felt like she was dreaming. It seemed impossible that her cousin, her mother, her lady’s maid, and Fanny—one of Mr. Beckworth’s people—could all be here with her, in the same room, at the same time. Those parts of her life were supposed to remain separate, a divide between Smuggler’s Manor and everything that came before.
She did not want them to come together. Amelia could practically hear the deafening explosion as they collided right in front of her.
“You need to get dressed, Amelia. In a proper gown.” Lady Foxbourne stood tall and proud, her hands clasped at her waist, frowning down at everyone around her. It was a familiar sight, one that Amelia would be expected to emulate someday soon. One that she had tried to emulate in the past.
The manservants had exited by now, and Amelia’s lady’s maid was already rummaging through the trunk.
“Clementine and I will wait for you in the drawing room. We’ll get on with our journey as soon as you’re looking presentable again. We certainly can’t stay here.”
“That’sLadyWinterhope, Mother,” Amelia said.
Both Clementine and her mother stared at her curiously.
“She is Lady Winterhope now,” Amelia clarified.
Clementine smiled weakly, but the disapproving lines in Lady Foxbourne’s face merely deepened.
The older woman flicked a glance to Miss Henrietta. “Be quick about it.”
Two minutes later, Amelia was left alone with her old lady’s maid, who had wasted no time in gathering a pile of undergarments and a pastel lavender gown.
Unlike the gowns Amelia had been wearing, Amelia knew the design was modern. It would be fitted to her waist and feature bell sleeves, made more cumbersome than a person would expect by the stuffing required to fill them.
“We mustn’t dither,” she said.
There was something so familiar, but also so very wrong, in all of this. It was as though Amelia was watching another woman submit to the chemise and the tights, not to mention the small pillows attached to her shoulders.
Those wretched stays.
“You’re thicker. Your mother won’t like this. Have you been gorging yourself, my lady?”
Bent over slightly, Amelia grasped one of the bedposts while the maid tugged and wrestled with the laces until she was satisfied that they were tight enough.
As Miss Henrietta dropped the gown over Amelia’s head, Amelia experienced a few seconds of panic when she couldn’tseem to breathe. She very nearly succumbed to it, but no.No!Clawing, she poked her head out and gulped for air.
The maid didn’t even notice, or purposely ignored her, smoothing Amelia’s skirts and then tugging on the fasteners in back. “Nothing but water and greens until you’ve done some decreasing,” she said. “Once all this is over, you’ll need to look your best for Lord Northwoods.”
“But… I’m ruined,” Amelia said helplessly. Of course, she was ruined! Intentionally. Willfully. Happily!
Twice!
“No,” Miss Henrietta said. “Thetonbelieves you are in mourning—for an old auntie. Word has been sent to your brother, and I imagine he’ll finalize your betrothal the second he’s on English soil again.”
She was ruined, though. But in a secret way. Memories she could never share with another soul. So…
