Cordelia, who had been seated at the vanity table brushing out her hair, sighed. She had cried half the night, horribly aware that she had embarrassed her brother. She certainly didn’t feel she deserved a gift, or an excursion to the Hell Ruelle in the evening, for that matter. “It’s probably from Lucie—”

Her mother already had the wrappings off and the box open. Risa had stepped back, plainly finding Sona’s excitement alarming. As Sona tore through a delicate layer of paper, she gasped aloud. “Oh, Layla!”

Curiosity getting the better of her, Cordelia came to join her mother at the side of the bed. She gaped. Out of the box had tumbled a dozen dresses: day dresses and tea gowns alongside gorgeous evening wear, all in rich colors: kingfisher-blue lace, cotton in cinnamon and wine, silks in Prussian green, claret, and burgundy, shimmering gold and dark rose.

Sona held up a silk dress the color of bronze, with a soft chiffon edging at the bodice and the hem. “It’s so lovely,” she said, almost reluctantly. “They’re from James, aren’t they?”

Despite her surprise, Cordelia knew exactly who they were from. She had seen the small card signed A tucked among the tea gowns. But if believing they were from James meant her mother would allow her to wear them, she would let her mother think what she liked.

“It’s very kind of him,” she said. “Don’t you think? I can wear it tonight—there’s a gathering at the Institute.”

Sona smiled in delight, the smile like a weight on Cordelia’s heart. The dresses were so very extravagant: her mother would surely believe now that James’s imaginary romantic intentions toward Cordelia were serious indeed. It was a sort of irony, she thought, that for once both she and her mother wanted the same thing. And that neither of them was going to get it.

Anna fetched Cordelia at precisely nine o’clock that night, in a black carriage that resembled dark leather. Cordelia hurried out the door, bundled in her coat despite the warmness of the evening. She clambered into the carriage, ignoring her mother calling after her that she should bring gloves, too, or possibly a muff.

The interior of the carriage shone with brass fittings and red velvet bench seats. Anna had her long legs carelessly crossed before her. She was dressed in elegant black menswear, her shirtfront starched and white. There was an amethyst pin, the color of her brother’s eyes, winking in her cravat, and her coat fit sleekly along her narrow shoulders. She seemed entirely composed. Cordelia envied her confidence.

“Thank you,” Cordelia said breathlessly, as the carriage began to move. “The dresses are absolutely lovely—you didn’t have to—”