Page 38 of A Counterfeit Engagement

Grand events have a momentum of their own.

Though Sophie had not known it before, she soon found it to be true.

She was grateful that the planning for the Haverly ball did not fall on her shoulders alone, for it seemed all that the combined powers of Mrs Jennings, Sarah, Isabel, their mother, and herself could do to see that everything was ready in time.

Nor had the busyness of the past weeks been limited to themselves.

Madame Duvall had exultantly told them she had not been so full of custom in years.

The Italian theme seemed to have caught at everyone’s imagination, and every lady who could afford it was having a new dress made — ideally with a little Italian flair, and in the simple, elegant style popularised by the Duchess of Belford.

Mrs Jennings had outdone herself in decorating Haverly House.

Sophie had learnt to be cautious in expressing her ideas, for even those she considered too outlandish or extravagant for serious consideration, such as framing the entrance with a row of potted cypresses in the Tuscan style, had been swiftly implemented.

Though a momentary spirit of mischief had tempted her to try the theory, perhaps by musing that they ought to ornament the gardens with topiaries in the shape of mythical beasts or Roman columns brought from Rome itself, she had resisted the urge.

Now, scant hours before the ball was to begin, the final preparations would take place without her. Sophie returned back to her room to dress, pausing only to take Mrs Jennings by the hand and offer a few words of sincere praise and admiration.

Her own dress for the ball had required some thought, though more on the part of Isabel and Madam Duval than of Sophie herself.

Sophie had intended to choose another fabric with a pattern woven into the silk.

She liked them exceedingly, and had learned to her astonishment that her patronage had caused such fabrics to become something of a trend.

That was a strange thought, but if Sophie could not entirely appreciate the thought of herself as a leader of fashion, she could at least enjoy the greater selection of such fabrics that Madam Duval now stocked in consequence.

To her surprise, Sophie had no sooner expressed the preference than Madam Duval objected in the strongest terms.

“No, Duchess, it must not be. Of all things, no! To simply follow the fashion that you yourself have created at the finest event of the year? It cannot be. You must give me the opportunity to showcase the best of my art.”

“I believe you have been doing exactly that,” Sophie protested. “Each of the dresses you have made for me has been lovely. Surely no one could think anything wanting.”

“I am an artiste , Duchess,” Madam Duval said firmly. “I do not simply repeat myself. Not for you, at least, Duchess! For such a client, for such a night, there must be something entirely new.”

Sophie had not had the heart to protest, and upon seeing Isabel’s face light up at Madam Duval’s description of her plans, she had ceased even to wish that she might.

The result was before her now, a gown quite unlike any she had seen before. Indeed, Madam Duval had not used the patterned silk Sophie liked so well. Nor had she used so much as a touch of embroidery or an inch of lace.

Instead, the magic of the gown was all in its combination of fabrics.

Madam Duval had made an underdress of almost shocking plainness, all in white silk without the slightest ornamentation.

It needed none, for it was meant to be worn with a loose over-robe in three layers of diaphanous silk, a palest ice blue, a vibrant aquamarine, and a royal blue so rich it seemed almost to glow.

The layers shifted as Sophie moved, revealing new combinations of colours and catching the light from moment to moment.

When she had first tried on the completed ensemble, Madam Duval and Isabel had fallen silent.

“Oh, Sophie,” Isabel said at last. “You look wonderful. Perfectly correct, perfectly modern, and yet everyone will look at you and think of Roman goddesses. Madam Duval, you have outdone yourself.”

“Thank you, Miss Anderson,” Madam Duval said a trifle smugly. “It shall start another fashion, I have not a doubt of it.”

“Nor I,” Isabel said, grinning. “And I can hardly wait to see what you have made for me.”

But there was no more time for losing herself in memories. With the help of her lady’s maid, Sophie quickly put on her gown and sat at the dressing table to have Emily arrange her hair.

Though Sophie had hesitated, the choice of her jewellery had really been no choice at all. For such a magnificent evening, nothing could be better suited than her ruby necklace and the diadem Jonathan had given her to match it.

Strange to think of — she had not touched it since he had first given it to her.

There had been no occasion to wear it, and after the rift had sprung up between them, looking at it and remembering that first night would have been too painful.

But she was his duchess, even if she could not be his love, and Sophie would not insult Jonathan by refusing to wear the piece he had given her.

“How do you like it, Your Grace?” Emily softly murmured, calling Sophie back to the present. She looked into the mirror to find herself transformed.

The woman looking back at Sophie seemed as though she might truly be a duchess.

The lavish gown did not seem like mere dressing-up.

The precious necklace did not seem like a family heirloom too good for her to wear, but as though it might truly belong about her neck.

And the hairstyle about which Emily had intended to inquire, though more elaborate than any Sophie could have imagined wearing a few months ago, seemed natural.

The diadem nested into it perfectly, catching and reflecting the light.

For occasions when you should not only be beautiful, but also magnificent, Jonathan had said to her that night.

“Duchess?” Emily murmured, a question.

“I like it very well indeed,” Sophie said warmly. “Thank you, Emily. You have outdone yourself.” She was amused to see that Emily blushed a little at the praise.

“Thank you kindly, Duchess,” she said shyly. “It is a pleasure to work for you.”

And at the depth of sincerity in her voice, Sophie found herself blushing a little in her turn.

∞∞∞

Shortly before the guests were to arrive, Sophie made her way to the smaller western sitting room, where they had decided to gather before the ball.

She hoped that Sarah and Isabel might be there — perhaps even her mother, too.

When Isabel and Sarah had expressed a wish to get ready for the ball together, Sophie had suggested that they simplify matters by coming to Haverly House early in the day, and staying the night after the ball.

Mrs Anderson had promptly agreed. There was every chance that they would be there, and she would not have to face Jonathan alone.

But no sooner had Sophie opened the door than she found it was not to be. Her husband was already there, while the rest of their family was not.

Worst of all, he looked so devastatingly handsome that her breath caught in her throat.

This was the Jonathan she had seemed to know even before they had spoken — that look of uncanny understanding, as though she might tell him anything, and that warmth in his eyes, as though he truly loved and wanted only her.

Sophie had already learned to her cost that she had been wrong on both counts.

With an effort, she offered Jonathan a warm smile. “Jonathan. I think it will be a marvellous ball, do not you? Isabel and Sarah are very excited.”

His eyes swept quickly over her. “If the ball yields nothing but the opportunity to see you in such a gown, it will have been well worth it. I was not aware that I had married Minerva.”

For a moment, Sophie hardly knew what to say. He had sounded so much in earnest. But, of course, Jonathan had always been generous with his compliments. It was the absence of any deeper feeling that was the problem.

“Thank you,” Sophie said, with her best attempt at brightness. “You are too good, surely, but I am obliged all the same. You are looking dashing as well — a veritable Neptune among men.”

He smiled crookedly. “I shall attempt to be somewhat better tempered.”

“And perhaps you ought to avoid the fountains, as a precautionary measure,” Sophie added, and surprised him into a laugh.

At that moment, Isabel and Sarah joined them. “Must we avoid the fountains? We will not go far into the gardens, of course, but I think they will be very pretty,” Sarah said.

“No, Sarah, I was only being foolish,” Sophie said quickly.

Sarah regarded them thoughtfully. Sophie was rather afraid that she saw too much, but mercifully, Sarah only smiled and changed the subject. “That is a relief. I can hardly wait for the ball to begin. Though it is a shame that Nathan didn’t return in time.”

“I miss him too, little sister,” Jonathan said, “but mind you do not mention him so informally in any company but ourselves. He is not actually your brother, you know.”

Sarah’s expression was indecipherable, but she agreed readily. “No, indeed he is not. I will not forget, Jonathan. Ah, Mrs Anderson! Good evening. You look lovely.”

Mrs Anderson, who had joined them only moments before, smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, Sarah! You are in marvellous good looks yourself. I hope I have not kept you all waiting.”

“No, Mama, it is not yet time to go down,” Sophie reassured her.

Her mother was every inch the elegant matron in a deceptively simple gown of rich navy blue.

Hiding a smile, Sophie wondered if Mr Davis would accept the invitation that had been sent to him.

It would be interesting indeed to see if he would ask her mother for a dance — and more interesting still to see what Mrs Anderson might say if he did.

“Well, good! Then I shall have the chance to admire my girls thoroughly, before we are all separated in the crush of the evening.” Sarah was on the point of moving away from Isabel and Sophie when Mrs Anderson forestalled her.

“I hope you do not think me too bold, Lady Sarah — or if you do not object, I shall say, ‘Sarah’ — in counting you as one of my girls. You are my Sophie’s sister-in-law and my Isabel’s closest friend, you know, so you are dear to me on two counts. ”

“I would be honoured,” Sarah murmured, and on seeing the slight sheen of tears in her eyes, Sophie abruptly thought that she had never loved her mother more than at the moment of such kindness to their motherless friend.

Though she could not say so aloud, she subtly caught up her mother’s hand and squeezed it, and from the smile Mrs Anderson gave her in return, Sophie had not the slightest doubt that her message had been received.

Mrs Anderson was lavish in her admiration and her compliments. Sophie joined her in admiring the two younger girls. Though she had suggested that Madam Duval make each of them a dress in the same magnificent style as her own, she had refused.

“No, Duchess, no, that style must belong to you alone for the full effect. But have no fears, I shall make lovely dresses for such lovely girls.”

She had fully lived up to her word. Sarah’s dress was a simple column of pink silk so pale it was nearly white, with a lace over-jacket of petal pink.

Against it, her mother’s pink pearl necklace reflected the light with delicate perfection.

Isabel’s dress was dazzling white silk, ornamented only by a broad embroidered belt in a riot of colours.

Mrs Anderson had not yet looked and admired her fill when Mrs Jennings entered the room. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, it is time,” she said breathlessly, and with that, they all made their way to the entrance hall, where the guests would be received.

Time indeed, Sophie thought. Time to find out whether I am truly the duchess I thought I saw in the mirror tonight, or merely the trembling, foolish girl I still feel myself to be.