stammered, as Blenkins placed it in her lap with a solemn bow. “But there must be some mistake!”
“No mistake, Miss,” he assured her. “Your name is written upon the box.”
The Dowager hid a smile. “Well, hurry up and open it, dear. Perhaps it is a surprise?”
Fenella untied the ribbon, lifted the lid of the box and gave an astonished gasp. The Dowager nodded in approval as she peered over Fenella’s shoulder. Inside the box lay the most beautiful dress Fenella had ever seen. The underskirt was apple green satin, covered by an overdress of the sheerest pale green fabric, so transparent it was as if mist was floating before her eyes. Tiny seed pearls adorned the bodice and pretty puffed sleeves, and a trim of apple green satin ribbons under the bust and around the neckline completed the outfit. But there was more. Beneath the garment lay a dainty pair of cream satin slippers, a pair of delicate gloves and a cream-coloured shawl so fine it might have been woven from cobwebs.
“But who could have sent me this?” Fenella stuttered.
“Devlin, of course!” the Dowager exclaimed. “I think Madame Celeste has surpassed herself. An ideal dress for a young woman; not too flamboyant, just perfect, exquisite styling.” She examined the bodice. “Look at the detail, my dear. Simply lovely!”
“But why?” Fenella whispered, a flood of pink rushing into her cheeks as the memories surfaced in her mind.
The Dowager mistook Fenella’s flush for modest confusion and protest.
“Now, it is perfectly acceptable,” she said. “Although under normal circumstances, a gift such as this to a young lady would not be considered proper conduct. Devlin told me how your dress was soaked and filthy after that dreadful storm. And how he had to tear it to get you warm again.” Fenella’s face flamed. “Don’t blush my dear. He has explained it all to me, and when he suggested replacing your dress, I could only agree. After all, you saved my darling Scheherazade and Devlin knows how much she means to me.”
The old lady patted Fenella’s hand. “So run upstairs and put it on. I want to see you in that magnificent shade. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such fabric. That woman is a marvel!”
Fenella’s mind was a maelstrom as she fled to the house, clutching the box. The Dowager’s words lingered in her head. He had discussed it with his mother…a perfect dress. In her bedroom, she hastily disrobed, all the while gazing at the wonderful dress lying on the bed. She caught a glimpse of herself in the long cheval mirror. Her figure was tiny but perfect, her swelling breasts peeping over the top of her chemise. She was proud of her small waist; a man could span it in both hands. Fenella imagined standing in front of Devlin and feeling his hands, with their long sensitive fingers, encircling her waist.
What was she doing?
Fenella shook her head in anger.
Why do I keep thinking of him ? Why do thoughts of him haunt my every waking moment?
Vowing to put him out of her mind, she adjusted the dress and gazed at her reflection. It fitted perfectly. How did he know her size?
Fenella was not at all vain, but she caught her breath in admiration at the sight of her reflection. A vision of loveliness stared back at her. She looked incredible—elegant, sophisticated, a lady of fashion and quality. The green hue enhanced her beautiful colouring. Her cheeks were flushed pink with pleasure, her lips seemed an impossible rose-red, and her glossy dark curls danced as she swung back and forth, admiring the stylish figure in the glass. She caught sight of a letter in the box, almost hidden by the shawl.
A letter from Devlin? With trembling fingers, she opened the envelope and read:
My dear Miss Preston,
Once again, my apologies for ruining your dress. Madame Celeste assures me this style is the latest mode and the fabric the newest in her selection. I hope this will compensate you for your loss and eliminate all memories
“No mistake, Miss,” he assured her. “Your name is written upon the box.”
The Dowager hid a smile. “Well, hurry up and open it, dear. Perhaps it is a surprise?”
Fenella untied the ribbon, lifted the lid of the box and gave an astonished gasp. The Dowager nodded in approval as she peered over Fenella’s shoulder. Inside the box lay the most beautiful dress Fenella had ever seen. The underskirt was apple green satin, covered by an overdress of the sheerest pale green fabric, so transparent it was as if mist was floating before her eyes. Tiny seed pearls adorned the bodice and pretty puffed sleeves, and a trim of apple green satin ribbons under the bust and around the neckline completed the outfit. But there was more. Beneath the garment lay a dainty pair of cream satin slippers, a pair of delicate gloves and a cream-coloured shawl so fine it might have been woven from cobwebs.
“But who could have sent me this?” Fenella stuttered.
“Devlin, of course!” the Dowager exclaimed. “I think Madame Celeste has surpassed herself. An ideal dress for a young woman; not too flamboyant, just perfect, exquisite styling.” She examined the bodice. “Look at the detail, my dear. Simply lovely!”
“But why?” Fenella whispered, a flood of pink rushing into her cheeks as the memories surfaced in her mind.
The Dowager mistook Fenella’s flush for modest confusion and protest.
“Now, it is perfectly acceptable,” she said. “Although under normal circumstances, a gift such as this to a young lady would not be considered proper conduct. Devlin told me how your dress was soaked and filthy after that dreadful storm. And how he had to tear it to get you warm again.” Fenella’s face flamed. “Don’t blush my dear. He has explained it all to me, and when he suggested replacing your dress, I could only agree. After all, you saved my darling Scheherazade and Devlin knows how much she means to me.”
The old lady patted Fenella’s hand. “So run upstairs and put it on. I want to see you in that magnificent shade. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such fabric. That woman is a marvel!”
Fenella’s mind was a maelstrom as she fled to the house, clutching the box. The Dowager’s words lingered in her head. He had discussed it with his mother…a perfect dress. In her bedroom, she hastily disrobed, all the while gazing at the wonderful dress lying on the bed. She caught a glimpse of herself in the long cheval mirror. Her figure was tiny but perfect, her swelling breasts peeping over the top of her chemise. She was proud of her small waist; a man could span it in both hands. Fenella imagined standing in front of Devlin and feeling his hands, with their long sensitive fingers, encircling her waist.
What was she doing?
Fenella shook her head in anger.
Why do I keep thinking of him ? Why do thoughts of him haunt my every waking moment?
Vowing to put him out of her mind, she adjusted the dress and gazed at her reflection. It fitted perfectly. How did he know her size?
Fenella was not at all vain, but she caught her breath in admiration at the sight of her reflection. A vision of loveliness stared back at her. She looked incredible—elegant, sophisticated, a lady of fashion and quality. The green hue enhanced her beautiful colouring. Her cheeks were flushed pink with pleasure, her lips seemed an impossible rose-red, and her glossy dark curls danced as she swung back and forth, admiring the stylish figure in the glass. She caught sight of a letter in the box, almost hidden by the shawl.
A letter from Devlin? With trembling fingers, she opened the envelope and read:
My dear Miss Preston,
Once again, my apologies for ruining your dress. Madame Celeste assures me this style is the latest mode and the fabric the newest in her selection. I hope this will compensate you for your loss and eliminate all memories
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