Page 22 of A Duke in Autumn

Morris watched the shapely Lady Eugenia walk out of the door with a smile on his face – a smile that his aunt would almost certainly misinterpret. He was pleased because the Lady would be attending the Ball. And that meant that he could put his plan nicely into action. He would arrange with the modiste to send the box with the gown he had ordered, at the same time that she sent the gowns Lady Eugenia had ordered herself.

It would arrive, a box among others, with an anonymous note inside. And he would make sure that it did not arrive until the afternoon on the day of the Ball. If he was correct in what he was coming to understand about her personality, the temptation of it would be too much to resist.

“She’s a clever girl, isn’t she? I could barely stop myself from laughing, watching the two of you trying not to compliment each other.”

“You, my dear Aunt, are incorrigible. I believe that you shocked the poor Dowager Duchess. And really – after you promised not to conspire with my mother to push young ladies at me! That was most naughty of you.”

“Well… whilst I do believe in you marrying for love, in allowing you to make your own choice… I am not averse to giving you a nudge in the right direction occasionally, when an obvious solution is right in front of you. And you do find her attractive, don’t you? You are even beginning to care, though I suppose you won’t admit it.”

He felt his jaw drop open, and snapped it shut with alacrity. His Aunt thought that he… did he? Was she right? She was usually damnably perceptive, so… he would have to closely consider her words, although his mind wanted, very much, to shy away from what she suggested. She watched him, with an expression of amusement which matched the one that he wore so often.

“I admit nothing, Aunt. You’ll know my thoughts when I am ready to tell you, and not a second before.”

She laughed as he left the room.

~~~~~

The week went by, and Eugenia saw the Duke again, a few times – at tea with Lady Bellinghaugh, at a theatrical performance, at a small soiree – but they spoke little. Nonetheless, she found herself watching him, unable to look away if he was present. Other young ladies would flock around him, given the chance, and as time went on, Eugenia found it harder and harder to watch as he conversed with them, or danced with them. She did not understand herself at all – for she did not care for him that way… did she? Even if, every time that he met her eyes across a room, a cascade of fluttering filled her stomach.

When the day of the Ball arrived, she was filled with excitement. Today, the gown and accessories she had ordered would be delivered, and she would wear it tonight. Would he like it?

The thought stopped her – why did it matter if he liked it? She was nothing to him, beyond a neighbour he found worthy of little more than teasing. But it did matter. She wanted him to like the way that she looked. Internally, she chastised herself for being a silly goose, and settled with a book to wile away the day until the gown was delivered. It proved unconscionably difficult to concentrate on.

But, eventually, there came a knock at the door, not long before the time when she would need to begin to prepare for the evening, and the butler accepted a pile of boxes from the messenger. Moments later, a tap came at the parlour door.

“Where shall I place these, my Lady?”

“Please take them up to my rooms, and give them to Nell.”

The footman nodded, and left. Eugenia made herself move slowly. She closed the book, and set it down on the side table, then stood. She wanted to run up the stairs in a most unladylike fashion, and instantly pull the gown from its box, but she refused to allow herself to do any such thing. Respectable ladies did not run about the house like hoydens. She did, however, allow herself to walk rather faster than usual – that was an acceptable compromise, wasn’t it?

As she reached the top of the stairs, and turned towards her rooms, the footman passed her on his way back down. By the time she opened the door, and stepped in to her small private parlour, she could hear the rustling of boxes.

As she went through the door to the dressing room, Nell spun to her, her face excited, and a gown lifted in her hands.

“Oh, my Lady, this is so very, very beautiful! You must wear this one tonight, you simply must! The colour will make your eyes shine, and go perfectly with the necklace you have – the one that was your grandmother’s.”

Eugenia stopped, as shock and confusion filled her.

The gown that Nell held was, indeed, beautiful. It was a spectacular mid sapphire blue, with the underlayer being satin, and the outer layer being a very fine net of similar colour, over which were scattered innumerable tiny gems, which caught the light with every tiny movement.

But it was not a gown she had ordered. It was, however, a gown that she had designed. Which was impossible, for that design was not one that she had given to the modiste – it was far too daring in cut and style for her to have ordered it. That fact aside, now that it was there, in front of her, she ached to wear it.

She pushed that idea firmly from her mind, and focused on the mystery of the existence of the beautiful gown.

“Nell… how many gowns were delivered?”

Nell looked at her, puzzled, having expected her to be enthusiastic about the sapphire gown.

“Why two, my Lady – this one, and a pale gold one with dark gold ribbon.”

Eugenia went forward, to where the boxes lay on a couch. The other gown was the one she had ordered.

“Which box was that one in, Nell?”

Nell carefully laid the gown over a chair, and came to her. After a moment of moving the boxes about, she lifted one.

“It was in this box, my Lady, wrapped in this fine muslin to protect it.”