flung herself with abandon on the high, four-poster bed, first delighting over its luxurious softness, then feeling a touch of guilt, wondering how she could possibly be enjoying herself when Mama and the girls slept on straw mattresses. Still, she may as well enjoy herself while she was here. Who knew what might happen? Soon she might very well find herself back in County Clare.
A quick knock sounded on the door, followed by a pretty young woman in a maid’s uniform. In a thick French accent, she said, “I am Celeste, ma’am. Lord Trevlyn sent me to assist you in dressing for dinner tonight.”
In confusion, Evleen sprang off the bed. Years ago in Dublin, her family had servants, but her memories of them were faint. Now the idea of having a lady’s maid to help her dress was so foreign she could hardly comprehend. “I... thank you, Celeste, but I can do for myself.”
“Oh, no, Miss.” Celeste grew round-eyed. “Dinner at Aldershire Manor is always a very formal occasion. Mrs. Trevlyn would insist. She would have my head if you were not properly attired.” Celeste picked up Evleen’s small portmanteau, set it on the bed, and opened it. “We shall see what you have brought to wear.”
With a sinking feeling, Evleen replied, “Not much I’m afraid.”
“Mon Dieux, is this the best you have?” Celeste pulled out Evleen’s Sunday gown, a not-so-new bishop’s blue calico, and held it high. Nose pinched with distaste, she regarded it as if it had just been used to clean the stalls.
Evleen tried to cover her embarrassment but felt herself blush. “That is my very best.”
“Déplorable.” Celeste paused, appearing to ponder. Her eyes lit. “You and Miss Charlotte are about the same size. She has a gown she never wears that I am sure would suit you. It is perfect for you.”
“But do you think I should?”
“Miss Charlotte won’t care.”
“Are you sure?”
After a noticeable pause before Celeste replied, “I’m sure she won’t, and even if she does, I have strict orders from Lord Trevlyn to make you look your very best tonight.”
Although Evleen was suspicious, she decided not to argue. If Charlotte resented her wearing the dress, then she would explain and apologize later, and surely she would understand. “All right, Celeste. Now what do you think my brother should wear?”
“We don’t have to worry about clothes for Patrick. He will take his dinner in his bedchamber tonight, and every night.”
“But we’re accustomed to eating together.”
“Never. The English say children should be seen and not heard, most especially at dinner.”
Parents eat separate from their children? What a strange, heartless notion. Evleen remembered all those family dinners in County Clare when the air was filled with laughter and bright conversation with her lively little sisters and Patrick’s incessant questions. She could not imagine eating separately. Ah, well. She must keep reminding herself she was in a different country now and should stay silent, going along with whatever were the customs. Still, what strange habits these English had!
“Magnifique,” exclaimed Celeste when Evleen had finished dressing.
Evleen turned this way and that in front of the mirror examining herself. She loved her new upswept coiffeur, as well the borrowed gown. “I like the dark orange color,” she said as she admired the sleeves, covered with a network of satin, and the hem trimmed with white satin rouleau.
“Not orange, Miss, capucine.”
“Whatever you call it, it’s not bad.”
Celeste brought clasped hands to her heart in admiration. “Zee color is perfection for your dark hair and fair skin.”
Evleen agreed, although in modesty, didn’t say. Actually, she was feeling better by the hour, for a myriad of reasons. Not only did she feel she looked her best, but her fears had mainly been allayed. Lord Trevlyn, whom she feared might be some sort of ogre, was most pleasant and kind. Patrick could not ask for a better grandfather. Also, Aldershire Manor was a beautiful mansion, not nearly as formidable as she had feared. She laughed to herself, remembering how her mother feared she might be given a small, cold room in the attic, shared with a scullery maid. Instead, here she was in this beautiful bedchamber, dressed in this beautiful dress after—miracle of miracles!—she had luxuriated in a long, pleasurable bath. Imagine! Maids scurrying up and down the back stairway, hauling buckets of hot water, just so she could bathe. How wonderful it had felt to scour herself all over and finally wash her hair, all with a lady’s maid to assist. It was