Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

T he curtains in Eva's room were thrown back dramatically, letting a shaft of sunlight in that hit her square in the face. Instinctually, she groaned, putting up a hand to block the intrusion, and flopped over on her side, curling up against the light.

"Up, Eva, up!" Lady Stanton cried jovially, pulling back the blanket that Eva had pulled up over her head.

"M-Mother?" Eva said blearily, cracking her eyes open. Lady Stanton was indeed in Eva's room at the very crack of dawn, the maid puttering around behind her. "What on Earth—what time is it?"

"Time for you to be up, you silly thing!" Lady Stanton chided her.

Obediently, Eva sighed and sat up, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Is everything alright? Are you quite well?"

"What sort of question is that for your mother? Honestly, Eva, you have become nearly unmanageable lately," Lady Stanton sighed, exasperated.

The maid appeared next to Eva's bed, and Eva automatically pushed the blanket the rest of the way down and swung her legs down. A chill made her shiver and clench her teeth the moment her feet touched the floor.

"Best get all of your shivering out of the way now," Lady Stanton warned. She had turned and was going through the cedar closet and chest that housed the bulk of Eva's wardrobe. "I don't expect it shall get any better for a while."

"Why are you—Mother, what is all of this? You must have been awake before dawn," Eva said, allowing herself to be herded by the silent maid to an adjoining chamber where a low fire was lit.

"No time for chatter!" Lady Stanton clapped her hands, and the maid began to help Eva out of her nightrail.

Eva could be forgiven for not immediately understanding what was happening, given the unusual turn the morning had taken so far. Seeing Lady Stanton up and about before the clock struck nine was about as likely as the queen doing cartwheels down the aisle at St. Paul's, and just as confusing. She had also not felt the need to supervise Eva's toilette since…

"Oh, good Lord," Eva groaned. She's found some poor old codger to introduce me to, one likely with a bigger fortune than life expectancy. There was always a pattern to these days, with Lady Stanton hovering and dressing Eva like an oversized doll.

True enough, right before the fireplace was a low hip-bath, which the maid hustled Eva onto. Unceremoniously, she dumped a bucket of water over Eva's head, and then attacked her hair, scouring her scalp with such ferocity that Eva was nearly knocked over.

"Oh for—were you a badger in a previous life? You cannot actually dig up my scalp, you know," Eva groused. The maid did not respond—couldn't respond, as she was mute, which meant that she was a bargain—but did scrub Eva's head a bit harder.

"Leave the poor girl alone," Lady Stanton called. "We are going out, and it is high time that you were made presentable."

Eva was about to demand to know when she ever looked less than presentable, but was prevented from doing so by a pitcher of absolutely frigid water being poured over her head. Unbidden, Eva squealed and leapt up, too cold for even her teeth to chatter. The maid, clearly expecting this, had Eva wrapped up in a drying cloth faster than a poacher clearing a trap. A quilted dressing gown was added, and the maid helped Eva into a pair of fur-lined slippers.

Even so, it was all Eva could do to get back to her room for shivering, where the fire had been built up a little. Lady Stanton had placed the chair from the dressing table before the fire, and encouraged Eva to sit. Working in tandem, both she and the maid began to meticulously comb out Eva's copious hair, working the jasmine-scented pomatum through it that would enable styling later.

Eva closed her eyes, letting herself drift far away. It was easier this way, easier to ignore the pain of her hair being yanked this way and that, easier to ignore what was to come next. It was a stark reminder of the reality of her life; she had allowed herself to live inside a dream forged by dancing for weeks now. She honestly did not know how to put off any more of these questionable suitors, either, especially not when the house was growing colder and darker.

When Eva's hair had been combed out thrice, she was left to sit with it drying over the back of the chair toward the fire. She was allowed a few moments to eat breakfast, which was surprisingly sturdy: An egg and cheese pie, currant buns, a thin slice of ham, and a strong blend of tea. Eva did her best not to feel like a lamb being fattened for slaughter.

"Men don't want a thin stick on their wedding night," Lady Stanton reminded Eva when she pushed the food about on her plate dubiously. This did absolutely nothing to dissuade Eva's feeling of being a piece of glorified livestock.

Once breakfast was dispensed with, Lady Stanton began to assemble Eva's ensemble for the day. She had pulled out a gown of bright blue polished cotton with a gathered line down the bust, pulling it into a sweetheart style. Eva frowned at the daring neckline, which would surely raise some eyebrows at being worn during the day. To her relief, there was also a cream-coloured chemisette to fill in the neckline, but it was not enough to completely dispense with the suggestive nature of the gown.

Stockings, chemise, and jumps were all assembled, as well as a sash of satin in a dark wine colour to go about Eva's waist. Eva obligingly allowed herself to be dressed, still feeling pleasantly distant from all of it. The whole time, Lady Stanton kept up a litany of admonitions, a kind of light sermon as to the importance of marriage for young ladies.

"It's high time you were married, high time ," she emphasised. "You've been allowed your head for too long; honestly, this past year, you've been running about like a wild boy."

And whose idea was that, Mother ? Eva had to bite her tongue not to retort. Lady Stanton had long hoped that Eva would snare Lord Tom Chester for herself, or at least one of his fashionably rich friends. Others had certainly commented on the fact that Eva was moving with a fast set, but Lady Stanton had brushed it off. Eva wasn't sure which was more condemnable in the eyes of the ton: The fact that Eva had behaved in such a brazen manner, or that her mother had turned a blind eye to it, doing nothing to check her.

Once dressed, Eva was powdered, scented, and then the arduous battle with her hair commenced. The maid proved a dab hand with the curling tongs, expertly arranging Eva's tresses into an artful pile at the back of her head. They carefully wrapped a matching length of silk about Eva's crown, just behind her ears, securing it with hair pins. From this, locks of shorter hair were pulled through, then curled until the pomatum sizzled.

When they were done, both Lady Stanton and the maid stepped back, admiring their work. For the first time since they started, Eva was allowed to see herself. She could not deny that they had done good work; the colours were exceedingly flattering, and her neck looked longer than ever. She tilted her head this way and that, looking at her coiffure. Not for the first time, Eva thanked Fortune that she had been blessed with dark eyelashes and brows, lest her mother be tempted to darken them with burnt cloves or little lead combs.

"Well?" Lady Stanton demanded.

"I think whatever you are paying this girl is not enough," Eva said with a glance to the maid, who preened under the praise. Eva frowned. "Do you know her name yet?"

Lady Stanton shrugged. "I've been calling her Sally. She seems to like it well enough."

Eva looked to the maid, who shrugged and bobbled her head about in a "good enough" gesture. "Fair enough," Eva sighed.

"Now, stop wearing your face under your feet, and let's be off," Lady Stanton announced. "And I mean it, Eva, no moping!"

It was not particularly reassuring that Lady Stanton's destination seemed to be the fashionable shops at the arcade. Eva knew that their purse had nearly run dry, but Lady Stanton was perusing as if she had money to burn. She had worn a silk-lined bonnet and had taken one of her sables out of storage. Though it was not yet evening, she had put diamond earbobs in as well. It would have been humiliating if Eva had not been so practised at appearing aloof and separate from everything.

They did not seem to have a particular destination once at the arcade, meandering slowly from storefront to storefront. Their route was so circuitous that Eva began to wonder if perhaps the entire point of the trip was simply to be seen. It wasn't outside of the realm of possibility, perhaps an attempt at reassuring the ton that they were still worthy of notice.

"Why look, it's Lady Cluett! And her charming son, too, he must be down from school," Lady Stanton said, tipping her head in their direction.

Of course , Eva groaned inwardly, but carefully kept her face impassive. Her mother took her arm, her face also a deliberate mask of pleasantness. Under the guise of holding onto Eva's arm, Lady Stanton pinched her, not entirely gently.

"Smile, Eva," she muttered between clenched teeth. "It would not do to make a bad first impression."

Eva wondered, not for the first time, how exactly she got here. Nonetheless, she put on her most demure smile, and smiled at the approaching young man and his mother, her heart divided between duty and dreams.