his leave, his thoughts swirling. What had happened to Beatrice demanded justice in one form or another. And it appeared that he’d have to be the one to dole it out.
BEATRICE TURNED TO the side and then the other before the cheval glass in Caroline’s bedchamber, hardly able to believe her appearance.
“Margaret, your talent amazes me,” she declared.
Margaret grinned. “My work is easy when I have an attractive person to dress.”
Margaret had modified a gown she’d already been working on to fit Beatrice. Though Beatrice had protested, Caroline insisted, saying her first social event was special and required the proper attire.
The green was a shade deeper than was normally considered fashionable, but the darker tone brought out Beatrice’s golden hair and grey eyes. At least, that’s what Margaret said. Beatrice already knew she had excellent taste based on Caroline and Annabelle’s attire.
Life in Beatrice’s small village hadn’t been spent worrying about fashion, but the circles in which Lord and Lady Aberland moved meant it was a necessity.
“It isn’t about how much money one spends on gowns,” Margaret said, “but about how they fit and enhance one’s appearance.”
“I don’t pretend to understand how you know, but you do.” Beatrice couldn’t help but admire the gown in the mirror once more. “I only wish I could tell everyone that you designed it.”
“Unfortunately, such things are frowned upon.” Margaret shook her head. “No one can be seen working. There’s a reminder that you’re not the only one keeping a secret.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Beatrice began.
“It is, actually,” Caroline interjected as she joined them with a length of white ribbon in hand. “If anyone knew Margaret designed and sewed our gowns over the years, she’d be ruined. One does not dally in trade.”
“She’s right.” Margaret gave a single nod. “It’s one thing to admire fashion but a completely different thing to actually partake in creating it.”
“The same is true for Annabelle.” Caroline held Beatrice’s gaze. “If people knew she wrote books, let alone the sort of mysteries she pens, she would be ruined as well.”
Beatrice stilled as that truth sank in. Caroline had lent her a copy of Annabelle’s book, but after spending a sleepless night, she’d come to the conclusion she could only read it during the day. The story had held her from the start, forcing her to turn just one more page to find out what happened. The idea that Annabelle, who was so kind and friendly, wrote the mystery came as a surprise.
Why should following one’s passion, like Margaret and Annabelle did, ruin a person just as Beatrice had been ruined for being held in a brothel? Society’s rules were difficult to understand and seemed especially unfair for women.
“Everyone has secrets of one sort or another.” Margaret held her gaze in the cheval glass. “That’s why it’s so important to surround yourself with those you can trust.”
“And those you love.” Caroline stepped forward to wind her arm through Margaret’s. “The people in your life make an incredible difference.”
“True.” Margaret nodded, though a shadow lingered in her eyes.
From what Caroline had told Beatrice, their father, Sir Reginald, was failing mentally. That had been another secret they’d done their best to hide, fearful it would adversely affect his shipping business along with their place in Society. Now that Caroline was Lady Aberland, the worry had lessened because her husband was involved in the business and held a title.
Mayhap everyone truly did have a secret. The thought bolstered Beatrice’s confidence almost as much as the gown.
“I shall keep that in mind this evening.” Beatrice wiggled her brows. “And I will do my best to discover others’ secrets without revealing my own.”
Caroline chuckled. “That’s the spirit. It will be an entertaining night. I shall watch for you to nod, indicating you’ve uncovered one.”
“As long as you do the same.” Beatrice shared a smile with Caroline before turning to Margaret. “I wish you were going as well.”
“Alas, I am needed at home. Mother is having dinner with our aunt, the Marchioness of Whirlenhall, so I am spending the evening with Father.”
“I’d be happy to trade places with you,” Caroline offered.
“You’ve done more than your share with him this week as has Annabelle. I’m happy to spend time with him.”
“You’re certain?” Caroline’s eyes narrowed.
“Absolutely.” Margaret turned to Beatrice again, looking her over from head to toe. “I only wish I’d be there to witness the reaction of those you meet. I have no doubt you’ll shine.”
“Thanks to you and your beautiful creation, at the very