Her white gown, what she might have worn had she been presented to the Queen, lovingly caressed her form, outlining the gentle swell of her breasts, the tuck at her waist, the rounding of her hips. Pearls adorned her throat. Miniature ones sewn in intricate patterns over the bodice caught the gaslight and winked as she strode into the room. A fan dangled from her wrist. Long white silk gloves traveled from her fingertips to just past her elbow, and he imagined a gentleman taking her for a stroll about the garden searching for a dark corner where he could roll them off and kiss the suddenly revealed flesh.

Her dark hair had been gathered into an elaborate coiffure, held in place with pearl combs that stood out in stark relief against the black background of her tresses. Her brown eyes seemed larger, more luminous. Her cheeks sported a bright pink, no doubt a result of her excitement for the evening ahead. She smiled warmly, softly. “I simply wanted to wish you all a good evening before I leave.”

“You . . . you look . . . uh, gorgeous, Miss Trewlove,” Mr. Tittlefitz stammered.

“Thank you, Mr. Tittlefitz. You’re most kind to say so. I do rather feel like Cinderilla after all the attention the kind maids gave me.”

She slid her gaze over to Matthew. Only then did he realize that at some point her arrival had stirred him to come to his feet. She was waiting for him to speak. He was rather certain of it, and yet no words he uttered would do her justice. Still he could not allow her to leave with even a pinch of her confidence shaken. “No woman there shall outshine you.”

Her cheeks turned a deeper hue. Her eyelashes fluttered, not in a teasing manner, but as though she were touched by his paltry compliment. Or perhaps embarrassed he should say such a thing. What had she wanted to hear from him? Whatever it was, he’d have spoken the words she yearned for—if he’d only known what they were.

She looked back at the younger man. “You will lock up when you’re done here tonight, Mr. Tittlefitz?”

“Yes, miss. You’re not to worry yourself. Mr. Sommersby and I have everything well in hand.”

“And you’ll see Marianne home?”

“Yes, miss.”

He couldn’t help but smile. Even on the most important night of her life to date, she was still thinking of others, striving to play matchmaker, and he wondered if she ever selfishly put herself first.

“Good night, then.” With poise befitting a princess, she disappeared from sight.