Page 23 of A Duke in Autumn

Eugenia took the box, and examined it – the only thing on the outside was her name. On the inside, the fine muslin that had wrapped the gown lay in a tangle, where Nell had pushed it aside to lift out the gown. Eugenia pulled it out and, as she did, a large card fluttered to the floor. She dropped the muslin back into the box, and bent to retrieve the card.

‘A beautiful gown, for a beautiful lady, whose best designs should not languish in the imagination. Dare to be true to your own vision, and wear this gift tonight.’

That was the entirety of the message. There was no signature, and no indication of the name of the sender. It had come from Madame Bergeron's shop, and, seemingly, she had made it, but even after Eugenia had checked every inch of the box and the muslin again, there was nothing further to indicate who had done this, or why.

She stared at the card. Were there any clues there? She did not recognise the hand it was written in, but, perhaps, the words themselves provided some clues?

Obviously, whoever had written it knew of her propensity for sketching designs of gowns.

Not only knew, but had somehow managed to obtain her sketch of this particular design. A design which she had only drawn fairly recently – a week or so ago, if she remembered rightly. How had it come into someone else’s possession?

She considered carefully, dredging her memory – where had she been when she’d drawn it? It came back to her – she’d been in the parlour, the afternoon that the Duke of Oakthorpe had come to call, and she’d covered it quickly with a landscape sketch, and rushed upstairs to change. A dreadful suspicion began to take form in her mind. What if… she had managed to drop the sketch, in the parlour, without realising it? And the next person into the room had found it?

She looked at the words on the card again – ‘dare to be true…’ her heart beat frantically, like a trapped bird, and she was suddenly barely able to breathe. The only person who had ever dared her to do anything, apart from her sister Isabelle, was Oakthorpe. And he had been the next person into the parlour that day.

But… would he do such a thing? Such a totally and utterly improper thing? For gentlemen did not buy respectable women gowns, unless those women were their wife or daughters. Other than that, the only women that men bought such gifts for were mistresses… Confusion filled her again.

If she allowed herself to contemplate that he might have done such an improper thing, then the question of why remained – as did the question of what she was to do about it. For she wanted to wear it, to be different, just this one time – to wear a gown of her own design, of daring style and colour, no matter what society might dictate as appropriate for an unmarried woman of her age.

Unbidden, the image of Oakthorpe rose in her mind, his golden eyes laughing at her hesitation, and his deep resonant voice gently teasing her – he would, undoubtedly say something like ‘My dear Lady Eugenia, dare to do something unexpected, just this once. Consider the fun you will have watching people react. Or are you too afraid to step beyond the bounds of propriety, even a little?’

Damnable, annoying man! How had it come to be that he could tease her, even when he wasn’t present?

The rebellion that had been growing inside her exploded at the thought – she would wear it, and risk her mother’s displeasure, just so that she could see his face. If he had sent the gown, he would not be able to admit it, but she would know from his face, she was sure. And, inside, she would feel deliciously wanton, just knowing that she was wearing a gown that a man had specifically had made for her, against all of society’s rules.

She turned to Nell who was still patiently watching her, as if wondering what strange whimsy had overtaken her mistress.

“I’ll wear it. And we’d best start getting me ready now, for the day is quite advanced.”

Chapter Eleven

“Eugenia! That gown! Why… how… its utterly inappropriate – far too daring for a girl of your age – the colour, the style…”

Eugenia drew a deep breath. She had hoped that the large shawl would camouflage enough of the gown to not draw her mother’s attention until they were on their way. Obviously, that tactic had failed. Now for the second part of her plan.

“Mother, I took counsel from the modiste and Lady Annet. I think it’s beautiful, even if it is more daring than my usual gowns. But, regardless, it is too late. There is not enough time for me to change, if we are to be at the Ball on time.”

Her mother loathed being late, so this was, hopefully, an effective ploy. She stood there, on the front steps, and waited, as her mother glanced to the carriage, to her, and back. Finally, she heaved a long-suffering sigh.

“Really Eugenia, I never expected something like this from you – from your sister, certainly, but from you? Unfortunately, you are right, it is far too late for you to change.”

She shook her head, then waved Eugenia towards the carriage.

“Thank you, Mother.”

The trip to the Assembly Rooms passed in silence, with the Dowager Duchess glaring at Eugenia all the way. For the first time in her life, that glare did not make her quail. Instead, she felt an odd sense of warmth inside, as if, on that night, anything was possible. Perhaps Oakthorpe was right – there was, it seemed, pleasure to be had from being less than perfectly behaved, as well as risk.

When they arrived, and Eugenia shed the shawl, she felt suddenly exposed – it was one thing to dream of what it would be like to wear a daring gown, it was another entirely to face the moment when others would see her in it. As the footman carried the shawl away, she almost wanted to call him back. But, with her mother’s eyes upon her, she would not allow herself to display any cowardice, for, if she did, she might never manage to wear something like this again.

They entered the ballroom, and paused for a moment, looking about to see who was present. Eugenia felt as if all eyes were on her, and every whisper behind a fan was about her. Her mother, now that they had arrived, seemed to be completely ignoring her.

“Look, Eugenia, there is Lady Bellinghaugh, and Oakthorpe. It’s not often that she comes out to events such as this, any more. We should go and greet them.”

Without waiting for her agreement, the Dowager Duchess almost towed Eugenia through the crowd, to where Lady Bellinghaugh sat, with Oakthorpe beside her.

By the time that they were halfway across the room, his eyes were upon her – she felt it as if he touched her, and heat filled her body, bringing a blush to her cheeks. His lips curved up into that wry smile, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. She lifted her chin, and met that heated gaze directly, as if daring him to say anything.

Eugenia had no idea where the courage to do so had come from, but she was not willing to allow him to know just how discomposed she became in his presence. They reached him, and he rose from the chair beside Lady Bellinghaugh and bowed, to her mother, and then to her, taking her hand as he did so.