Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

glad and grateful you are here. Please, please let me give this to you.’

Millie turned towards the dress and with careful, almost reverent, movements, touched the gossamer silk. Frances’s eagerness was so warm and genuine, it seemed unkind to refuse.

‘It is beautiful. I have never had anything half as lovely.’ A lump formed in her throat and tears prickled in her eyes. It seemed impossible that such a dress could be for her.

‘And it’s even suitable for mourning. You’ll wear it tonight?’

A dress would not magically change her, Millie reminded herself. It would not make her elegant, witty, or in charge of her feet and arms and elbows.

‘Yes,’ Millie said, with a tiny shiver of excitement.

This, naturally, encouraged both Lil and Frances to suggest that they spend some extra time on Millie’s hair. Again, Millie would normally have prevented such fuss and excitement about her appearance, except she could see Frances’s eagerness. Indeed, it was Frances who arranged with Lady Wyburn to lend her maid, Heloise, to them.

‘I have heard that she is masterful with tongs,’ she explained.

Lady Wyburn had been more than happy to lend Heloise and by the middle of the afternoon the diminutive French maid had arrived, complete with scissors, curling tongs, ribbons, combs and all manner of other items.

‘I generally do not much suit frippery or ringlets,’ Millie told her with some apprehension.

‘Moi, Heloise, I wouldn’t do that to you,’ the maid assured her. She was as short as Millie, her speech characterised by a French accent, the strength of which varied considerably. ‘However, I do think a fringe would be beneficial.’

Millie eyed the scissors with some apprehension. ‘A fringe? You are certain?’

‘Absolument. One can have too much forehead. I will add some curls.’

‘Curls? That is more something that Lillian would have.’

‘Mademoiselle, you need curls. Beauty is about contrasts. Too many curls with blonde hair and blue eyes is de trop. But curls with those severe eyebrows—perfection.’

‘I doubt anyone’s called my eyebrows perfection before,’ Millie muttered.

‘That is because the brows with the forehead is too much, mademoiselle.’

‘They are somewhat hard to separate.’

‘Which is why we will have curls, mademoiselle,’ Heloise said firmly, as though explaining the issue to a wayward child.

Heloise worked diligently. She cut a delicate fringe across Millie’s forehead, creating a few loose curls while scooping the remainder of her hair into a low bun. Occasionally, Frances or Lil would come in, providing assistance and encouragement.

‘Now we will be putting on the dress and we will be seeing how very, very beautiful you are,’ Heloise announced, drawing out the syllables.

Millie questioned this. She doubted very much that she looked even close to beautiful. Indeed, she only hoped she did not look too odd.

‘Do not be grimacing until you have the opportunity to look at yourself,’ Heloise said, tutting irritably.

‘I was only thinking that I have never aspired to beauty. Just to blend in and avoid attention.’

Heloise shook her head. ‘The key, mademoiselle, is not to blend in. It is about confidence. It is about knowing your value, oui? Now we will dress you in your gown. And then you will see a miracle.’

Millie acquiesced, although she somewhat thought it might take something of biblical proportions to provide the transformation the woman seemed to anticipate.

The dress was a shimmering waterfall of a gown. It was in the newest style and had a low neck and no corset, the cloth cascading to the floor in loose folds. Heloise walked around her, adjusting the odd curl or ruffle as she went.

‘It is not bad,’ she said, at last, with a sniff, stepping back with a satisfied expression.

Frances and Lillie were more exuberant with their praise.

‘You’re beautiful, Millie,’ Frances said with such a happy smile that Millie did not care if she looked like a primped China doll. ‘Look.’

Millie stepped in front of the floor-length looking glass. The reflection gazing back at her was quite different from anything she had anticipated. She appeared fashionable and...almost attractive. Soft curls covered her high forehead, making her face less angular. Delicately curled tendrils furthered this effect, framing her cheeks. Her eyes had always been big, but now they sparkled with excitement, their colour enhanced by the lavender gown.

Almost shyly, Millie stared into the glass. The improvement was amazing, indeed almost miraculous.

‘Is this quite decent?’ Her hand touched her throat. ‘The neckline seems quite low.’

‘The style is everywhere in London,’ Lil assured her. ‘Have you been under a mushroom this last week?’

‘I go out as infrequently as possible,’ Millie said, wryly. ‘But I do look nice.’

‘What did you expect, you goose?’ Frances said, giving her a hug. ‘Besides, you always look nice. We have merely made it more noticeable.’

‘You will do,’ Heloise announced when she saw the women dressed for the evening. ‘Almost you are a credit to me. Now, I trust you will not get yourself untidy?’ She directed this question to Millie, pulling her brows together formidably.

‘I promise I will do nothing worse than read.’

‘Good, at least you are not like Viscountess Wyburn, who invents things.’ She gave a sorrowful shake of her head before leaving.

‘Invents things?’ Millie asked.

‘Yes, one of Aunt Tilly’s former protégées,’ Frances explained. ‘She likes to invent things like butter churns. She married Aunt Tilly’s stepson. You will like her.’

Millie looked somewhat sceptical.

‘You do not believe me?’ Frances asked.

‘My mother made me come to London when I was younger. I went to these dreadful tea parties with other girls my own age and everyone talked about shopping, fashion or gossip. I find it hard to believe that I would have anything in common with a viscountess.’

‘You will like Rilla. Besides, one’s early adolescence is never the best time for anyone. Perhaps you should stop judging us all by those tea parties,’ Frances said.

‘I—’ For a moment Millie was going to argue, but then shrugged, laughing. ‘Perhaps you are right.’

Sam stood within the entrance hall. Millie jerked to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs, her hand tightening on the banister and her