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Whatever questions had been forming upon Eliza’s tongue promptly disappeared.
The gown was exquisite.
Ivory silk spilt through Cecily’s hands, the fabric catching the firelight with a soft, almost pearlescent sheen. Delicate embroidery traced the bodice and every stitch was crafted in a way that Eliza could scarcely imagine another pair of hands having created it.
“Cecily…” Eliza gasped.
“Yes, yes, you may admire my genius once you are wearing it. Arms up.”
Eliza stared at her sister.
Something was most certainly going on.
But she had spent enough years as Cecily’s willing mannequin to know resistance was largely pointless.
With a bewildered shake of her head, Eliza did as she was instructed.
Within minutes, her nightclothes had been discarded, and Cecily was fastening, adjusting and tugging with the intense concentration of an artist confronted by her masterpiece. By the time she finally stepped away, Eliza found herself dressed in perhaps the most beautiful gown her sister had ever created.
Cecily looked her over from head to toe and a slow smile spread across her face.
“Perfect,” Cecily said before placing a matching shawl over Eliza’s shoulders.
“Perfect for what?” Eliza asked suspiciously.
“You will soon see.”
Before she could demand anything further, Cecily caught her by the hand and began leading her from the chambers and through the darkened corridors of Winworth.
“You are beginning to concern me, Cecily. What are you doing? And what could not have waited until morning?” Eliza whispered, mindful that most of Winworth had long since succumbed to the night.
“Good grief,” Cecily muttered. “Has that husband of yours discovered precisely how many questions you ask?”
“I suspect he has,” Eliza replied truthfully.
Cecily continued onwards, offering absolutely nothing by way of explanation, until they reached the French doors at the end of the corridor.
As she pushed them open, cold winter air embraced them immediately, but the chill was not the reason Eliza froze in her step.
There were thousands of candles in the grass illuminating the grounds.
They stretched across the lawn in numbers greater than she had ever seen gathered in one place, hundreds upon hundreds of tiny flames flickering beneath the night sky, forming a glowing path through the grounds of Winworth. Their light danced against the frost-touched grass, transforming the familiar gardens into something so impossibly beautiful that, for several seconds, Eliza stared.
“What on earth…” Eliza muttered, but whatever thought had been forming vanished the moment she saw him.
A man stood waiting at the beginning of the candlelit path. Tall and lean, dressed smartly in a navy uniform, with black hair and a pair of brown eyes she would have recognised anywhere.
Eliza forgot how to breathe.
No.
Surely not.
“Richard?” Eliza called.
His smile appeared slowly.
“Hello, Trouble.” Richard greeted her.
