How to Marry a Marble Marquis(46)

I hope this trunk finds you well. I had it sent ahead of the ball to ensure it would be there upon your arrival. I confess, I had to solicit help from my housekeeper, but she herself is a vicious woman with admirable style, and I am confident we selected well for you, my dear. Lucy and your maid were most helpful in providing your measurements.

I’m so pleased to hear that Lord Stride was amenable to our request, and I’ve no doubt he has left you in an admirable position to secure the match you’re looking for. My only regret is that I have not been able to do more. I so wish your father would have asked for help years ago, and I wish I had learned of your situation earlier, but there is no sense in dwelling on what is done. We all must look to the future and find happier times for ourselves and those we love.

I am confident that this is a good match, my dear Eleanor. It may not have seemed so at the beginning, but you are a vibrant young woman with an adventurous soul, and I can think of no better way to keep that spark in you lit. I greatly am looking forward to receiving the announcement of your engagement, my dear.

All of my love,

Uncle Efraim.

Tears spilled over her cheeks. She was likely meant to have read this after the ball, she realized, for Uncle Efraim spoke as if her match had already been made. She watched as Trilby removed several gowns from the trunk — the aforementioned wisteria, a stunning ivory confection that was the most sophisticated thing she had ever owned, and an evening dress of soft mauve with a lace inset all the way to the bottom hem.

She took the dress from Trilby, holding it up herself and gazing into the mirror. It was lovely. The young fox woman was right — the color was stunning. It was also a rather conservative style, somewhat high-necked, with clean lines rather than being overly adorned with fripperies. Silas Stride would tell her she was dressing like an 80-year-old woman again, and she swallowed down a laugh. It didn’t matter. The dresses, all three of them, were beautiful. They were a sight better than what she had brought from home, and even with the conservative style, she could still make them work.

“It’s lovely, miss. A bit severe, but a stunning color.” Trilby cocked her head, tapping her mouth with a long, segmented finger. “Seeing as you’re trying to get a husband, miss, if you wanted to make it a bit naughty, we can dampen your chemise.”

The laugh that escaped her was like a bark, and Eleanor clapped a hand over her mouth to contain it, but it was too late. Her shoulders shook, and her eyes watered. She and this maid were going to get along very, very well.

The second trunk was larger. The first dress Trilby pulled out made Eleanor gasp. It was a day dress of emerald green, a bold, audacious color, in a modern cut with a low neckline and puffed sleeves. There was a pleated fan trim twisted around the bodice, zigzagging over the skirt, ending in a puddle of ruffles at the bottom hem. It was ridiculously ornate and beautiful, but she had no idea where it had come from. Three more dresses followed, all in bright colors and daring cuts, with painted lace and hand-beaded trim, feathers and ruffles and extravagance.

There were matching fans and shoes, reticules and parasols, and then at the bottom, the pièce de résistance. A dove grey gown of satin. The bodice was adorned with beads and pearls and swirling embroidery, the most opulent things she’d ever seen in her life. Grey satin slippers, a grey tulle fan . . . and a cape that was heavy with beadwork, the embroidery floss so dense that it caused a separation in the gauzy chiffon panels, forming ― she gasped, realizing what it was. The two panels formed rounded wings that draped over her shoulders and down her back. The finishing effect was a silver-grey domino mask with bouncing feathered antennae. Let me hear you sing, little moth.

“There’s a letter with this too, miss. Do you want it as well?”

She held out a shaky hand, unable to reconcile the heap of extravagant dresses she had just been sent for a three-day affair.

Dear Miss Eastwick,

I am ridiculously upset with my brute of a brother for not notifying me of when your departure was. He has informed me that you will be leaving this morning, and your bags are already packed. I don’t know if this trunk will make it in time to be included with the rest of your things. In the event that it is not, I am sending it posthaste to Dorset in hopes that it will arrive shortly after your arrival.

Enclosed you will find several dresses, some for day and some for evening, all with the appropriate accessories. I do hope that you will not look at this gift as an act of charity, nor as though I am casting off my old hand-me-downs, for it is neither. Yes, these dresses have all been worn by me and me alone. But you see, they are not mere hand-me-downs.

I love each item in this trunk. They were all gifts from our dearest brother, from his travels abroad. None of them currently fit me, and seeing them ignored in my wardrobe brings my heart sorrow. I’ve been told by my midwife that I’m unlikely to return to my previous size once my child is born, especially if I am planning on having another as soon as possible, which I am.

None of these gowns were commissioned for state affairs or Royal balls. None of them were anything other than gifts to me, purchased with love. I do not wish to see them sitting unused and unappreciated until they are moth-eaten, and inevitably, styles will change too dramatically for my own daughter to be able to enjoy them. So I would like you to have them, Miss Eastwick. I want to see these things that I love find new life with someone who will appreciate them for what they are — a token of appreciation, with no strings attached.