Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(38)

Angelique knew it wouldn’t do a bit of good to argue with Lavinia, any more than it did to contradict Ebenezer. When they were determined to do something, she’d learned that protesting would only strengthen their resolve.

Of course, Ebenezer had been thrilled when Lavinia’s invitation to visit again had finally arrived. He’d admonished Angelique to cooperate with the commander’s daughter and to win her favor.

For the past three days, Angelique had subjected herself to what Lavinia called “beauty treatments,” but she didn’t know how much more she could endure without shriveling up like a worm. Yes, she wanted Pierre to remember her when he left the island. She didn’t want him to forget their friendship this time. But was all the discomfort really worth it?

After all, his three weeks were drawing to a close. He would be leaving the island by the week’s end, and she wouldn’t see him again until next spring—if he remembered his promise that he wouldn’t stay away for so long.

“Oh, this is perfect,” Lavinia said, rising from the trunk and clapping her hands.

Angelique remained still. Lavinia’s enthusiasm didn’t bode well.

“Yes, I do believe this is the perfect color to go with your hair.” The rustling of satin swooshed in the air, sending more of Lavinia’s perfume over Angelique.

Through the reflection in the mirror, Angelique stared in growing dismay at the folds upon folds of satin and lace and ruffles that Lavinia was pulling from the trunk.

“You shall wear it home this very day.” Lavinia draped the beautiful gown across her bed.

“I can’t.” It was beautiful. The glossy material was a bright bluish-green, the color of the lake water on a calm and sunny day.

“But it’s perfect for you. The turquoise will be stunning with your coloring.” Lavinia tilted her head and studied Angelique. “Underneath all your frumpy layers, I do believe we are about the same size.”

“It’s not the size I doubt.” Angelique stared at the bodice, the low square neckline with its ruffled border and the very high waist that formed a tight line at the bosom. She glanced to the bodice on Lavinia’s gown, noticing for the first time that it too hugged her chest, outlining her in the most revealing way, leaving far too much skin exposed.

Angelique blushed at the thought of anyone seeing her in such a gown. Even if it was the latest fashion for women, she would feel entirely uncomfortable in it. Not to mention the fact that Ebenezer would never allow it.

She could almost hear the words of sharp rebuke he’d uttered to her mother after they moved into the tavern, the slashing of satin, and the roar of the flames as he burned her gowns, one after another. Her mother had been devastated and had cried for days. And Ebenezer punished her severely until she’d agreed to don the modest, plain apparel of his late wife.

“My stepfather would never allow me to wear such a gown,” Angelique insisted. Ebenezer would lock her in her room forever if she dressed in anything but the most austere garments.

“Everyone says he’s Quaker.” Lavinia’s statement was really more of a question, and she paused in her smoothing of the gown, cocking her head at Angelique and waiting for a reply.

“I don’t know. He’s never said.” Ebenezer’s past was a mystery to her. He’d been on the island for as long as she could remember, even back during the days when her father had still been alive. But beyond the island, she didn’t know where Ebenezer had come from or what had influenced him.

What she did know was that he was a lustful man. At times she wondered if his strict standards, piety, and zeal were his attempts at overcoming his sins. Maybe by making her and Betty wear the modest clothes, he was trying to resist the temptation to sin.

But the truth was he couldn’t stop. He’d given in to his desires too many times so that now he was as thirsty for women as voyageurs were for rum. To have an immodestly clad woman in his house, right under his nose, would only remind him of his lust and his sins.

Angelique shook her head at the gown, and the books on her head came tumbling down, hitting her shoulders and arms before landing with a hard thump against the floor. “Thank you for the offer of the dress, Miss McDouall. But I can’t wear the gown. I just can’t.”

It would be too dangerous. Ebenezer would think she was turning into Therese—or worse, her mother.

“I shall talk with your stepfather and convince him of the need.”

“How would I work in such a beautiful gown?” Angelique scrambled for any excuse. “I would ruin it within a day.”

Lavinia smoothed a hand over the rich satin. “True. You would ruin it with your work. Unless we can convince your stepfather to allow you to partake in the kind of work that befits a true gentlewoman, like embroidery, art, education, and other such skills necessary for managing a home. Perhaps you could participate in charity work, helping me with my newly formed Soldiers Relief Committee.”

“It’s the busiest time of the year, and he needs my help with the inn and the garden.” Angelique knew she had to find a way out of having to wear the gown. It was one thing to learn correct posture and reduce her freckles; it was quite another thing to show up at the inn wearing something that would anger Ebenezer beyond his limits of tolerance.

Lavinia gently spread out the gown until it covered the bed in all its shimmering beauty.