It was becoming clear that Emily would be getting an offer of marriage sooner than we had anticipated so my mother, absolutely delighted by the possibility of having both daughters married off in a single season, had apparently sent for Sir Thomas Abney. He sat across from me now, at the dining table. The butler had set out sweet treats and teas and now stood nearby as chaperone so that we may speak free of familial ears.

"I must say I was quite surprised to receive your mother's letter," Sir Thomas was telling me eagerly. Far too eagerly. Everything he had done thus far had been far too eager. "And even more surprised when I noticed that the daughter it mentioned was you. Imagine my excitement!"

I didn't have to imagine it. It was on full display as much as the macarons towered between us.

"Yes, I was... quite surprised myself," I told him. That, at least, wasn't a lie. My mother hadn't told me she had written to Sir Thomas.

"I know you have not debuted but your mother seems to think it won't be necessary if we can reach some sort of arrangement before the next season begins. I, for one, think that's quite doable, don't you?"

My mouth opened but it closed again when I realized I had nothing to say.

"You don't have to answer me now, don't worry! I look forward to these times we have in which we can get to know one another as it is. So tell me, what sort of activities do you enjoy throughout the day?"

The rest of our conversation was more of the same. He asked questions. I tried to maintain a smile while I answered and wondered all the while if I could possibly keep up a fake smile for the rest of my life. And if I was as miserable for the rest of my life as I was at this very moment, would Sir Thomas even notice? The way he chattered along, sipping his tea and delving into the macarons told me probably not.

Once we had finished, he kissed my hand and made his way to the door, practically skipping. I, however, felt a wave of sort of guilty nausea overcome me as I watched him leave. I didn't want to marry Sir Thomas Abney but, unfortunately, I didn't have any reason not to. So, with that dreadful proposition hanging over my head, I made my way back to the drawing room where Emily had been entertaining suitors all morning. One was leaving just as I entered. He tipped his hat to me and I nodded politely as I slipped into the room behind him.

"He was very kind," my mother was saying as I made my way across the room to where Madison was patting the couch cushion beside her. She pulled out a deck of cards and began dealing as my mother continued. "Quite rich, too. He owns the old Pemberly estate on the east side of town."

"By the sea?" Emily asked.

My mother nodded with a smile. Emily opened her mouth to answer when the door opened again. I glanced up to see who had entered and heard Emily's gasp first. My mother scrambled to her feet, stuttering all over herself to welcome the gentleman caller.

"Y-Your Grace," my mother said as the Duke stepped inside, nodding politely. Emily gazed up at him, open-mouthed. Even Madison and I had trouble containing our surprise.

"Good morning, Countess," he greeted kindly. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"No!" my mother cried, too eagerly. I wondered if she was channelling Sir Thomas in her excitement. "Not at all! You could never intrude. Please, come in. Sit."

The Duke's eyes met mine as I forgot to avert my gaze this time. I couldn't.

"Actually, if it's quite alright, I wondered if Emily might care for a walk in the garden? I've something to discuss with her privately if it's not too much trouble."

My mother gaped at him, open-mouthed. Emily did the same, peering between the Duke and her mother for one long moment before slowly getting to her feet. That seemed to snap my mother out of it.

"Yes, yes of course!" she cried.

"Thank you," the Duke answered and then held out an arm for Emily. She took it and he led her from the room, her skirts swirling after them as the footman closed the door, leaving us to the empty silence of the drawing room. It was quiet for a long time before anyone spoke and when they did, it was my mother.

"A Duke," she whispered.

I couldn't take it anymore. I leapt from my place on the couch, threw down my cards, and turned to my mother.

"I feel unwell," I lied. "I think something was off with those macarons. I'm going to lie down."

"Oh dear, would you like some tea?" my mother was asking but I wasn't listening. I just stormed from the drawing room and made my way down the hall toward the stairs. I had climbed only two when someone grabbed my arm, stopping me. I turned to see that it was Elijah who had me.

"Did I see Thomas Abney leaving here just now?" he asked.

"You did," I spat. "And I imagine it's a sight you'll need to get used to. Mother is determined to have us both married off by the end of the season and, since I'm not properly debuted and Sir Thomas is the only one uncouth enough to stake a claim before I'm even declared eligible, it appears he's to be my decided husband."

Elijah's jaw tensed at this revelation.

"He will not," he vowed so firmly that it caught me off guard and I forgot my anger in a moment of confusion.

"Elijah, what-"

"I will talk to mother. In the meantime, turn him away."

"What?"

"If he comes to see you, say you're unwell. If you see him in public, say you're busy. You are, under no circumstances, to court Thomas Abney. Am I clear?"

"I'm not exactly in disagreement, Elijah but mother-"

"Mother will have you properly debuted if she wishes to marry you off."

"But the season's already begun. You cannot debut once the season has begun."

"She will. She will or she will wait another year to attempt to find you a match."

I stared at my brother and the strange determination on his face for a moment before I flung my arms around him and pulled him in for an embrace. He was stiff and surprised at first but he eased into it a moment later.

"Thank you," I whispered into his hair, feeling tears of gratitude forming in my eyes. I wasn't sure if Elijah could truly do as he claimed but the fact that he was willing to make an effort, that there was a chance for me to avoid the fate of Sir Thomas Abney, that was more than enough for now.

After a moment, he separated from my embrace, gave me a nod, and went off in the direction of his study. Before I could take another step, however, Benthem rounded the corner in his travelling cloak, donning his hat as he went for the door.

"Benthem," I called out to him and he turned to face me, smiling.

"Lovely morning, Ella," he responded in greeting.

"Lovely morning, indeed," I answered back, approaching him. "Where are you off to?"

"I've some business to attend to in town, I'm afraid."

"Ah. Would you mind if I rode along with you? Mother's just discovered she hasn't put in for a new dress order and the Jacobson ball is only days away."

He gave a nod and extended an arm with a smile. I hastened forward to take it, allowing him to lead me through the foyer, down the path, and into the carriage in friendly conversation. I did my best to avoid looking in the direction of the gardens but my natural curiosity got the best of me and I saw my sister walking side by side with the Duke, grinning up at him like a fool as he spoke. I felt a fury ignite within me that I did not much care for as I settled into the coach with Benthem.

Moments later, I found myself standing in front of Madame Francis' shop without a real reason to be. I had lied, of course. I had made up my excuse to Benthem for a chance at getting away from that suffocating estate and I had claimed to need to go to the one place any lady had any right to go in the middle of the day and, frankly, the only place I could think of which would not arouse suspicion. But now that I found myself standing in front of Madame Francis' doors, all I wanted to do was turn around and walk home.

But the thought of what might await me there spurred my feet onward and I moved forward, hearing the little bell above the door chime as I entered. The shop was busy today, far busier than I'd seen it in sometime, and I imagined my excuse about the Jacobson ball may not have been entirely a misdirection. I caught sight of a familiar bolt of black silk hanging in prominent display in the front window before a voice pulled me out of my perusal.

"Ella Harrington," Madame Francis said kindly as I turned to face her. It was perhaps the first time I'd seen her not behind the counter. She had a petite figure wrapped prettily in teal lace and a genuine smile that reached her dark eyes when she tilted her head to the side like she so often did when she spoke to you. It had the marvelous effect of making you feel as though she were more engaged to the conversation occurring between you than anything else in the room, though I imagined she must have hordes of customers to attend to at that very moment.

"Madame Francis," I politely returned the greeting, smiling back at her.

"What a pleasant surprise. I don't imagine you're here for a gown as your mother put in the Jacobson order weeks ago."

"Oh, no," I answered, shaking my head and following her back to the counter. But I had nothing more to say so I simply stood awkwardly facing her as she bent down to collect something that had fallen back there. When she realized I wasn't saying anything else, she stood back up, turned to face me, and raised a brow.

"Perhaps if you were to tell me what you were looking for, I could assist?"

My cheeks burned red.

"Actually, I, um. Well-" I cleared my throat, unsure what to say. With a sigh, I decided upon honesty as the best course of action. "In truth, I don't wish to keep you from your clients any longer. I requested a ride into town from my brother's friend under the guise of needing to purchase a dress for the ball but the truth is, I just- well, I don't wish to be home right now."

Her brow raised only further at that. She watched me for a moment and then reached out to the counter, unhooked a latch, and raised the wood to create an opening. She jerked her head in a gesture for me to come forward and I did, stepping through the gap in the counter to find myself on the other side with her. Then she took me by the hand and looked both ways before dragging me off to a dark corner of the shop and a little maroon door there. She unlatched the lock and pushed me inside. It was dark but I could see enough to notice that I was in a stairwell. She pushed me up the stairs from behind and I went, hitching up my skirts so as not to trip over them as I did.

At the top was another door with another latch that Madame Francis unclasped and pushed me through. On the other side was an apartment. A small one, everything located in one room, with scraps of silk and lace and chiffon tossed into every available nook and cranny. A few mannequins stood here or there, wearing unfinished pieces in various states of disarray. Madame Francis hastily cleared off a spot on the couch, tossing a particularly gauzy yellow lace to the ground before plopping down on top of it and patting the cushion beside her.

"As far as hiding places go, it's nothing much," she told me with a shrug. "And I know you're used to much more finery. But it's what I've got and it's at your disposal whenever you should need it."

I glanced at her, wide eyed.

"You're saying I can- you're letting me hide here?" I asked. She chuckled.

"Though I haven't the faintest idea what a girl of your standing could need to hide from, I've learned over the years that a woman needs a space of her own. You don't have that. You may never have that. I'm lucky enough that I do and I don't mind sharing."

"That-that's so-" I stumbled on my words, looking around at the modest apartment that felt more sanctuary than any home I'd ever been in before. I felt tears of gratitude prick the corners of my eyes as I finished. "That's so kind of you."

"Well, I'd like to think we're friends," she told me and I smiled at her. "Or at least, you've become a sort of inspiration for me. A muse."

"I have?"

She nodded and stood, walking across the room to another corner of boxes and ribbons and bows and a few scraps of fabric lying beneath it all. She began rummaging through the pile as she spoke.

"You've got the figure of a model. The kind of living mannequin that most stylists only dream of. They had girls like you in Paris when I lived there. They hired them to pose all day long while seamstresses worked away on dresses worn on their very bodies. It helped, you know, to see your dress on a perfect form, a real form. The way a woman moves, the way her hips sway, where she holds her arms, it's all intrical to the design. You can't see it on a mannequin. Truly, there have been many a time where I wasn't sure I liked a dress at all until I saw it on a live model."

I wasn't sure what to say. I felt that I should be flattered but it wasn't truly a testament to my beauty, only an appreciation of form by an artist working to craft an article to wear.

"I would be delighted," she said, grabbing a few gowns from the pile and rounding the bed to come back to me where I sat on the sofa, "if you would do me the honor of trying these on."

She paused. I reached out and ran a hand along the fabric in her hands. Only a few of them, maybe five. It was the least I could do for the woman allowing me to hide in her apartment and it would be a way to spend my time away as well. I gave her a nod and she pulled a gown right from the top.

"We'll start with the gold."

And so we did. I tried on a gown made of a spun shimmering champagne color that was dazzling in color but lacked the proper shape. Madame Francis tsked at me immediately and demanded I take it off the moment it was on. Then we tried an elegant plum but the neckline was dangerously low for polite society. Then there was another piece made from the black silk but this with a royal blue woven through the bodice. After that came a green satin that had me overheating before we'd even tied the laces. And last came the most daring piece of all. Madame Francis called it "pink lemonade" and claimed it was the latest fashion in Paris.

It was a bright and bouncy chiffon gown made up of alternating hot pink and a yellow I can only describe as lemon. The neck was a modest V that showed a hint of cleavage without causing a scandal and it accentuated the waist beautifully before fanning out into voluminous layers that all seemed to be floating on top of one another. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful gown I'd ever seen and something about it made me feel beautiful as well. I stared at myself in the mirror for what felt like an eternity, speechless.

"You're crying," someone spoke and I blinked out of my reverie, remembering for the first time that I was not alone. I raised a hand to wipe my eyes as Madame Francis approached from behind me. She placed a hand gently on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I sniffled, taking the handkerchief she offered which turned out to be nothing more than a scrap of fabric she found lying nearby. I dabbed at my tears with it as she watched me with a sorrowful yet curious expression.

"Would you like to talk about it?" She asked kindly, far too kindly for someone I hardly knew past our acquaintance. I considered her offer for a moment. Talking about it might help. Madame Francis did not seem the sort to go telling everyone who entered her shop everything she knew. She hadn't told anyone about the black silk dress, after all. So I folded the handkerchief in the palm of my hand and turned to face her, determined to finally confide in someone.

"I've made a mess of things with my sister," I pouted and Madame Francis cocked her head to the side but led me back to the couch where we sat to talk. "She hates me now and I'm not certain there's anything I can do to fix it."

"What happened?"

I shrugged and then threw my hands in the air, exasperated.

"I don't even know," I sighed. "She was livid with me for dressing up for a ball, something about how I always took over the spotlight. Then I showed up in that black silk dress you made me, feeling more beautiful than I ever had, and I saw it again, that look on her face. Hatred. And perhaps she's right. Perhaps I have some sort of compulsion to be the center of attention, I don't know, but I told her not to wear white and she wouldn't listen and-"

"It's her problem," Madame Francis interrupted and I blinked back at her to ascertain whether I had heard her correctly or not.

"Excuse me?" I queried.

"Her jealousy is not your issue, Ella. It's hers. You don't have to hide your light so hers doesn't seem so dull in comparison. If appearances are truly what your sister worries about, then perhaps her efforts should lie in making her own light brighter rather than attempting to dim yours."

I stared at her for a moment. I had thought of it that way as well, once during the days Emily had been angry with me, but it seemed a selfish way of thinking. And yet, Madame Francis was making the statement of her own accord. Perhaps Emily was the one being selfish. I leapt to my feet then.

"You're right," I told her, as if she didn't already know. "It's not my fault that Emily chooses to be so unpleasant!"

Madame Francis stood with me then, nodding along in agreement. I looked down at the dress.

"I should change. I'll need to get home before they miss me," I told her, grabbing my own dress hanging nearby and heading for the screen I had changed behind before. As I began to undress and redress, I called over it to her, "Thank you, by the way, for everything."

"Of course," she answered but there was a hesitation in her voice as I gathered my things and emerged from behind the screen. "Ella?"

"Yes?"

"Was that really why you came here? You were hiding from Emily?"

I paused near the door, cheeks blazing with the embarrassing reminder of what had truly driven me here. An image of the Duke in the gardens with Emily burned in my mind and I clenched my jaw with the unreasonable fury it ignited,

"Yes," I lied and then pushed my way through the door to Madame Francis' apartment.

My feet were on the pavement outside of her shop before I allowed myself to think again about what I had fled. I hadn't the slightest idea what the Duke had wished to speak to my sister about but his coming to fetch her during the time of day reserved for potential suitors spoke volumes of his intentions even if he, himself, did not. I had been caught off guard by it, a fact which I now felt thoroughly foolish for.

I had thought, perhaps, that there was something between the two of us. But I was realizing now that what we'd had wasn't anything special, at least not in the way I'd thought. He'd danced with me but he'd danced with Emily as well. He lived in my home but it was Emily's home too. He spoke to me but I'd seen him speaking to Emily as well. I'd been a fool. It was unlikely that he could ever be interested in my sister, I'd thought, but apparently even that was more likely than his being interested in me.