“Very well,” Lady Harrowden said, dismissing him with an irritable gesture. He did not know how Miss Lockhart could live with her.

The Twelfth Night ball was the next day, and near midnight, Selena was still sewing the last bit of silver trim on the bodice of her steel-blue dress—a color the shopkeeper called Mexican. He assured her it was the latest fashion, and it had certainly been many years since she had worn that. The fabric was pretty enough to make up for the fact that it was simply made.

Selena glanced at her pile of remaining trim on the small table and wondered if she should sew it into the hem. She had ordered enough of it, although she hadn’t been sure if she would have the time. It would probably take another hour, but it would give an elegant touch to the dress she couldn’t resist. The corner of her lips turned up. It would feel so good to wear something beautiful again.

Selena turned the dress, allowing the bodice to drop to the floor and the skirt to spread over her lap. She gathered the skirt and looked at it closely. It seemed as though the hem in one part had not been properly sewn, and as she examined it, she picked up the tallow candle and held it closer so she could see the stitching more accurately in the dim light.

A sudden sense of dread shot over her when she realized the tallow dish was tilted, and she looked down on the floor where melted wax pooled on the right side of the bodice.

“Oh!” Selena set the candle down rapidly, taking care not to spill more wax. She flipped the dress so that the bodice was once again in her hands and stared in horror at the melted wax that had left a dark stain on the fabric.

Hurrying over to her trunk, she pulled out some old cloths she kept in there and tried to blot the wax to remove the excess, but if anything, it only made it worse. Selena wracked her brain frantically for a solution. With the ball the very next day, Selena had neither the fortune to acquire a new dress nor the time to sew one.

The fatigue of the past few days of sewing in all her spare time oppressed her like a weight, and Selena laid the dress on her bed. Her fists clenched, she strode to the mantel of the chimney and grabbed it with both hands then pounded her fists on top of it. The tears did not stop flowing.

What do I do now? She had assured Lady Harrowden she knew how to dress and carry herself, that she would not put the countess to shame. And she had wanted to prove to Sir Lucius…

Selena breathed out and walked over to the bed, struggling for a solution. She squinted at the stain, willing her brain to accept the catastrophe and turn it to good account. What can I do? What can I do?