Page 178 of Immortal Rose

I finally understood why some ladies swooned. “Do I like it? How in God’s name did you accomplish this in such a short amount of time?”

“Mrs. Silver helped with the hemming and Fleming with the beading. It is your debut,” Felicity said, beaming. “As Miss Mannerly’s says, we must present you in style.”

The deep blushing-pink dress had begun its life as a rather pretty, if simple, satin walking gown. It had been utterly transformed by the layer of sparkling gauze gathered over the bust and left to trail back over the skirt like fairy mist. All along the delicate edging, down the front of the original gown, and along its hem were small crystal flowers, each painstakingly layered and placed to resemble a swirl of roses. The pattern was remarkable, almost devastating in its beauty.

Sweeping up to wreath the shoulders were the rosettes she’d needlessly fretted over. They ran along the back of the gown—which, bless her, was high enough to cover my scars and fading bruises. The color of rosettes, in various shades of pink, reminded me of the wild tumult of roses that grew over the doorway of Foxcourt House.

“Thank you,” I told her. “I am so honored to wear this. It is beyond lovely.”

Felicity’s eyes glittered with excitement as she retrieved the leather box she’d set down as she’d come in. “And these were fetched from the vault for you.”

With obvious relish, Felicity unlatched the box, revealing a glittering mass of stones inside.

I went boneless then, sliding off the bed to the floor as I clutched at my chest. Felicity burst out laughing, placing it on the carpet between us as she sat beside me.

“Fizzy,” I began, lightheaded, “that’s—”

“A fine parure, hmm?” she said with a wink. “I learned that’s what a set of jewels like this is called from Miss Mannerly’s. I know some might fancy sapphires and emeralds and the like, but there is something lovely about the simplicity of diamonds and pearls.”

The parure contained a small diadem that had, it seemed, provided the inspiration for the pattern on the dress. It was a halo of leaves and roses comprised entirely of diamonds, its base lined with creamy, flawless pearls. The roses appeared again on the earrings, forming a glittering base for the large pearl drops, and on the collar necklace, twining through vines of pearls and diamond leaves.

“I cannot wear these,” I managed to get out, twisting the ring on my finger. The cost of such pieces—my God. I could barely stand the thought. And if something were to happen to them while I wore them, if I were to lose a stone—

“This is the Foxcourt Rose Parure,” Felicity said. “Of course you can wear them. They’re for your use now.” My expression fell, and Felicity was quick to clasp my hand between hers. “Yours for however long you wish, title or not. Lady or not. They were a wedding gift to his lordship’s mother, and they’re his to gift as he pleases . . . And he insisted I tell you that it pleases him that you have them.”

My heart throbbed so fiercely, I could scarcely breathe. Felicity followed my gaze back to the dress, squeezing my hands.

“Can I really do this?” I whispered.

“Of course you can,” Felicity said. “I only wish I could be there to see their faces as you stride past them looking as fine and unbothered as a queen. And then you’ll come back and tell me everything—about what people were wearing, their jewels, the conversations, the dances, any secret doors you discover in wall panels—everything.”

“Is there a ball in your novel?” I asked, smiling.

She returned it with one of her own. Of course there was. “Would you like to change now?”

I forced myself to stand, helping Felicity up as well.

A tide of sparkling happiness washed over me as the gown was fastened, molding to my shape flawlessly. It was enough to drive out the uncertainty that lingered at the pit of my stomach, at least for a little while.

More than arresting, this gown was a symbol. Of the new life I was entering as Rosebourne’s notorious heir. Of the pride and care the others had taken in helping me. Of the lady my mother had always imagined I’d be.

For as long as I lived, I would never forget the moment I turned and studied myself in the mirror, seeing not the scars of my past, but the woman I was becoming. Not a stranger, but myself.

After finessing my curls with hot tongs, Felicity had twisted the coils of my hair into an elaborate, loose style fitting for the event.

The Midsummer Ball at the palace marked the halfway point of the social season, but it had once served as a festival to honor the ancient goddess Venia’s birth, when men and fairies alike worshipped the old gods.

For the Patricians, however, it was yet another opportunity to delight themselves, this time by wearing costumes. Many dressed to honor the wild beauty of the goddess and her children, the fairies. It had always been my favorite social event to read accounts of; the costumes had become increasingly elaborate as time had gone on.

And so, after placing the surprisingly heavy tiara and securing it, Felicity set about weaving a scattering of living roses through its silver frame, filling my heart with the scent of them. She had only just stepped back to admire her work when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I called.

Even drawn and pale, Hugh was striking in his evening attire. Leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, he paused, inhaling deeply as he took in the sight of me. My skin warmed everywhere that assessing gaze touched. I felt more than lovely—I felt like a revelation.

Finally, he forced himself to turn to Felicity. “Might I have a moment alone with the countess?”

“Of course,” Felicity said, clearly enjoying my grimace at the title. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you require anything else.”