Page 3 of To Have & To Hold

“Did youpokeme with that needle?” Louisa shrieked.

Madame Sorel pressed a hand to her chest, her expression a picture of innocence. “I am so sorry,mademoiselle. A terrible accident. Please forgive me.”

Lousia merely rolled her eyes, and the modiste looked back at Emilia with a mischievous glimmer in her eye. Emilia bit back a smile. Though she would never wish her genuine injury, it was comforting to know that even saints had their limits when it came to her cousin.

“Lousia,” Emilia ventured carefully. She had spent years learning how to tiptoe around her moods, yet there were still moments when she proved to be entirely unpredictable, particularly when she did not get her way.

“You look beautiful.” Emilia met Louisa’s eyes in the mirror, softening her expression with a small smile. “The gownis perfect. I truly do not believe any further alterations are necessary.”

“What wouldyouknow?” Louisa snapped. “You have not attended a ball in nearly two years, and you drew very little attention when you did.”

Emilia took a steadying breath, and her gaze lifted to meet Madame Sorel’s in the mirror. Both women knew if they didn’t act swiftly, Louisa would demand that the dress be dismantled entirely—and they were running dangerously short on time.

Though the official start to the social season wasn’t until spring, members of the Ton had already begun returning to London and the first ball of the year was less than a fortnight away—as was Louisa’s entrance into society.

“Louisa,” Emilia tried a slightly firmer tone. “Madame Sorel has been working on this gown for months. The Beckley ball is in ten days. There is simply no time to remake something that is already perfect.” She held her breath, hoping that her cousin would see reason.

As difficult as she could be, Emilia tried to remind herself that Louisa’s unrealistic expectations and demands were not entirely her own fault. Her mother had indulged her endlessly after her father’s death, and Emilia’s uncle had been quick to give in to every childish tantrum once he married the widowed Lady Ashley.

When Emilia was younger, she had often wondered why her uncle lavished his affection so freely uponLouisa while the niece he had raised since infancy seemed to merit notice only when he required something of her. But with age came clarity, and what Emilia had long perceived as indulgent affection was, in truth, Lord Talbot’s way of keeping a firm hand on the purse strings of his wife’s sizable inheritance.

Louisa spun once more before the mirror. The gown in question was undeniably beautiful. The base of the dress was a dazzling sapphire blue silk with delicate ivory lace, and a neckline edged with two neat rows of pearls. Emilia could only dream of wearing a dress so exquisite, but one look at her cousin’s reflection told her that Louisa was not going to be appeased.

If silk and taffeta could be set on fire by sheer willpower, the look in Louisa’s eyes would have been enough to reduce the entire gown to ash.

“I have a solution!” Madame Sorel gracefully rose from the floor and laid a gentle hand on Louisa’s shoulder, turning her away from the mirror. “I was commissioned to supply Lady Charlotte Eaton with gowns for this season.”

“Lady Charlotte?” Louisa’s eyes grew wide. “The Duke of Kenswick’s sister?”

Emilia tried not to laugh at the catlike grin that spread across Madame Sorel’s face as she nodded.

“She could not decide between two very similar designs for a ballgown. So I made the foundation of both dresses in the same fabric, so she could see them when she arrived in town. Iwas going to put the second gown on display, but I can add the lace overskirt from your dress to complete it.”

Emilia was quite certain Madame Sorel was an angel. Louisa’s mind was visibly spinning, her eyes gleaming with delight.

“I could own the same gown as Lady Charlotte?”

“It will not be exactly the same,” the Frenchwoman corrected. “But I think it will resolve all of your concerns.” She offered an encouraging wink in Emilia’s direction before continuing. “The design is more modern, but still elegant. The color is most unique—Lady Charlotte requested the fabric specifically.” The modiste stood a tad taller as she added, for good measure, “It is all the rage in France.”

That was all she needed to say.

After a few more hours of fitting and pinning the new dress, Emilia and Louisa stepped out onto the street with a promise to return in a few days to try on the completed gown.

“I cannot believe you wanted me to settle for that blue monstrosity,” Louisa said, shooting Emilia a glare.

“I am sorry,” Emilia offered. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for. How was she supposed to have known that Madame Sorel had a spare ballgown—nearly perfectly sized—tucked away in the back of her shop?

“I suppose it is not entirely your fault,” Louisa huffed. “I do not settle for anything because I know I can have exactlywhat I want.”

Emilia said nothing as her cousin strode ahead, chin lifted high, so certain that the world would bend in obedience to her every whim.

Louisa threw a smile back over her shoulder. “You are far too quick to accept whatever you are given, because nothing remarkable ever happens to you.”

Emilia shoved down the unwelcome ache that appeared in her chest. It was the truth—but no one seemed to understand that was exactly how she preferred it. There was a reason she lingered near the wall at balls, always chose the lesser of two options when given a choice, and refused to ruffle feathers or oppose opinions.

Being invisible was far more favorable than being hurt and disappointed, and she was quite certain she could not survive any more pain.

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