“A-man-dah, dear!” Mrs Belford tittered pleasantly as she entered the morning room, surrounded by her usual cloud of lilac perfume. “You have a let-ter! Isn’t that mar-vel-lous?” As she brought it to her cousin, Mrs Belford’s many silver bracelets tinkled musically. “The first all week; isn’t that the oddest thing? You usually have so many more, my love.”

A smile of recognition lit Lady Russell’s face as she read the direction. “My goddaughter is a wonderful correspondent, Thelma. I am never behindhand on any of the latest happenings in that family, thanks to Anne. May I?”

“Yes of course. Do tell, how is Anne?” Thelma Belford settled herself on a nearby divan and looked to her cousin with an air of expectation. “Not ill, I hope?”

Lady Russell broke open the seal and eagerly scanned the page. “No, thank God, all appear to be in excellent health. Although ...” Her smile of relief changed to a frown as she finished the letter. She began to read it again, this time more slowly.

“And so, how are the Elliot girls these days? I have not seen them this age.” Mrs Belford began toying with the fringe on her spangled shawl as she waited. “Has their dear, lovely father remarried?”

“No, dear Walt, er, Sir Walter has not.”

“I have always heard that he decided not to marry for his eldest daughter’s sake, although what he hopes to accomplish by that is beyond me!”

“I believe he did not wish to dilute his fortune with the expense of maintaining another wife.” Lady Russell answered without lifting her eyes from Anne’s letter.

“Poo! He should have considered that the wife might rather increase his fortune than otherwise.” Thelma Belford shot a look at her cousin beneath half-lowered lashes. “If I remember aright, you were the one we expected to become the next Lady Elliot, Amanda.” She gave her musical laugh. “It seemed the perfect match! Weren’t we silly, love? But you have not told me how it is with Anne.”

“Mmmm. Well, it seems Mary has come to Bath for a spell, quite unexpectedly. And Anne has been busy, although not necessarily because of Mary.” Lady Russell replied. “Yes ... she is very busy for one who ... mmmm.”

Lady Russell looked up at her cousin and back down at the letter. “This is most perplexing, Themla. Anne has a distinct aversion for Bath, so much so that I must confess, I was a little fearful to leave her behind. She had not yet become established socially; so crucial for a young woman of her age, as well you know. And yet ...”

She took another look at the page. “And yet, during my absence, Anne has been to at least four parties -- one at the home of the Dowager Vicountess Dalrymple -- and it sounds as though she has made some very desirable acquaintances.” Lady Russell shook her head in wonder. “In fact, she says she has organised a little society for the appreciation of poetry, which will meet in her home each Friday afternoon. Anne!”

“Well! And this is Friday, is it not?”

“Yes,” Lady Russell smiled. “And she tells me, here, ‘I am afraid you will not like it, my dear Lady Russell, for we have chosen to run our group along democratic lines ... and we all favour the Romantic poets.’ ”

“Romantical poetry! How mar-vel-lous!” Mrs Beldon absently twisted a large amethyst ring on her index finger. “Are there only ladies in this society, my love?”

“I believe not.”

"Most de-light-ful!"

“Yes ..." Lady Russell mused. "Thelma!” she said, with sudden energy, “Thelma, do you know, I believe I shall accept your generous offer after all! There is no reason to return to Bath; I can easily stay another week. Oh, I had planned on attending a concert of Italian music on Tuesday evening -- dear Sir Walter cozened me into purchasing a ticket, as his cousin is a patronness of the event. But I believe I shall write to Longwell and have him take it to Mary, instead. She will enjoy an evening out; I understand she has been miserably unwell this winter.”

“Oh?” Thelma Beldon brightened. “Do tell.”

But the one who was miserably unwell that particular afternoon was Elizabeth; Mary was having a delightful time. And when Penelope Clay touched her shoulder and relayed a message, Elizabeth was pleased beyond measure. Any excuse to escape the company in her father’s drawing room was a welcome one; it had been a truly horrible afternoon!

But of course, these are Anne’s friends, she reminded herself, as she rose and gracefully smoothed her silken skirts. This poetry group is by far the worst company I have been subjected to in Bath! If only Miss Carteret were not one of their number! she grumbled to herself. For that woman’s presence meant that Miss Elliot must be seen to be having a wonderful time. Of course, Elizabeth’s lovely smile betrayed none of these thoughts, as she quietly excused herself. But once outside the drawing room, Elizabeth continued to enumerate her sufferings.

First, that boring Benwick prosed on and on about Cowper and Scott and who knows who else -- while Anne hung on every word! And then what does he do but grill us with questions, as if we were schoolchildren! And that wretched Mr Turner kept interrupting, trumpeting the genius of his own verses ... lord! Elizabeth pressed a hand to her temple at the thought of Mr Turner. He had chosen to wear an oddly-variegated neckcloth of bright colours. When coupled with a kelly green waistcoat and vivid purple frock coat, the resulting combination was thoroughly nauseating!

And Anne! She must be completely addlepated! Elizabeth sniffed. Never had she seen her sister behave in this way. As though she were sharing some private joke all afternoon! Although heaven only knows what she found so amusing! And smack in the middle of it all, what should she do but cause the refreshments to be served, and in the most abrupt way!

Anne had chosen to use the silver tea service; Elizabeth was certain her sister had purposely made as much clattering as possible when she poured out. She even went so far as to loudly interrupt Mr Turner’s ravings to ask how he took his tea! Which was a godsend, actually, for it shut him up, Elizabeth admitted, but for an Elliot it was unmannerly in the extreme! And after everyone was settled, Anne had played for them -- probably the most boring pieces she knew. And Mary! Mary had insisted on singing two hideous country ballads, very poorly! Oh, it was outside of enough!

“Pardon, Miss Elliot?” Mrs Clay’s gentle voice intruded. “Your visitor is here in the library.”

Were she in a better frame of mind, Elizabeth would have noticed the mysterious smile which hovered about Mrs Clay’s lips as she opened the door to that room. She also would have realized that the name of the visitor had been withheld.

“Thank you, Penelope. I shall rejoin you shortly, I am sure. But not in the drawing room.” However, when she entered the library to greet her visitor, Elizabeth’s annoyance only increased.

“Mr Shepherd. What a surprise.” She forced herself to speak graciously to Penelope’s father. “When your daughter told me I had a caller, I must confess, you are the last person I expected to see.” Out of habit she gracefully motioned toward a pair of upholstered chairs. “Won’t you please sit down?”

“Miss Elliot. A-hem! Thank you.” Mr Shepherd bowed and lowered himself into the seat he had been occupying. Straightway he began shuffling through a sheaf of papers. “Thank you for, er, consenting to see me today.” He coughed once or twice and adjusted his spectacles.

“But, of course.” Elizabeth returned his polite smile with a stiff one of her own and waited for the man to state his business. As she watched him, she wondered if all solicitors were so hoveringly anxious; he reminded her of some sort of worried bird eyeing a dish of food.

As Mr Shepherd opened his mouth to speak, he realized that something was amiss and scrambled to his feet. “Miss Elliot, the door. Er, may I?” In response to her nod, he quietly shut it. But as he resumed his seat, his sheaf of papers fell; its contents were scattered on the library floor.

Elizabeth began to be amused as she watched him scuttle about to retrieve them. Mr Shepherd certainly was a funny one! From the top of his balding head to the toes of his slightly scuffed shoes, he looked to be exactly the same as he had appeared at Kellynch last summer. Indeed, she wondered if the man had a second set of clothes!

“Miss Elliot.” He climbed back into his chair and blinked at her for a moment or two. “You must excuse me for requesting to see you like this, alone. I have something to divulge to you which is of the most sensitive nature. I must ask for your solemn promise of confidentiality.”

“Of course, Mr Shepherd.” She raised her brows and smiled. “What is wrong? Have I overspent my allowance this quarter? Has Father sent you to scold me?”

“If it were only that simple,” he murmured and attempted another beginning. “A-hem! Miss Elliot.”

“Yes, Mr Shepherd!” Elizabeth snapped; she was rapidly losing what little patience she had. “Please state your business! I take it this is a matter of some importance?”

“Indeed, yes. I have here a letter for your father. I thought it best to bring it myself, to discuss the, er, ramifications of its contents. I understand he is out for the afternoon.” Mr Shepherd moistened his lips and leaned forward. “It is somewhat, er, against the code of my profession to be discussing this with you, Miss Elliot. Please understand, were it not for the dire nature of the circumstances, I should certainly never do so. But you alone, of all your family, have your father’s ear.” He blinked several times and continued. “You were my ally once before, Miss Elliot, in convincing your father to leave Kellynch. I must ask for your aid once again.”

“Certainly. What do you require?”

“You must convince your father to advertise.”

“To advertise?” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “To advertise what?”

“That I cannot say, Miss Elliot. But when he asks you what it is that he should do, you must say, ‘We must advertise.’ ”

Elizabeth was affronted. “Then I am afraid I am unable to assist you, sir,” she said sweetly, as she rose to her feet and ended the interview. “With all due respect, Mr Shepherd, you really cannot expect me to act in complete ignorance of any situation, no matter how dire the consequences!” She looked him straight in the eyes. “I am certain that under similar circumstances, you would not expect this of your own daughter. There are times when only complete honesty will serve. Good day to you.” And with that, Elizabeth swept majestically to the door.

“Miss Elliot!” Mr Shepherd called her back.

Elizabeth turned to face him with raised brows, careful to hide her triumph.

“I suppose you shall hear of this sooner or later.” With great reluctance, he drew out a page from his pile and held it out. His watery blue eyes looked directly into hers. “You understand, Miss Elliot, you did not hear of this news through me.”

“But of course. My memory is most adaptable, Mr Shepherd,” Elizabeth said smoothly. Her skirts rustled as she crossed the room and took hold of the letter. Her eyes went to the bottom of the page first. “Whose signature is this? I do not recognise it.”

“Admiral George Croft’s.”

“Ah yes. My father’s tenant.”

“You are quite acute, Miss Elliot. It is on the subject of his tenancy that he writes.”

“His ... tenancy?” Elizabeth’s eyes darted to Mr Shepherd’s face. Her lovely brows knit into a frown as she sank into the chair and began to apply herself to the letter.

Meanwhile, the meeting of the newly-formed poetry group had begun to break up. As the footmen removed the tea things, Captain Benwick brought the last of Tino Turner’s volumes to Anne.

“Well, that’s over,” he said in an undervoice, with a look at the group clustered around the pianoforte. “And we survived. My heartiest congratulations, Miss Anne. You are remarkably skilled at this sort of thing.”

“At what sort of thing?” Anne whispered back. “Being obnoxiously overbearing? My godmother would be mortified by my behaviour today!”

“How so?” he said, as he knelt to assist her with placing the books in the lowest drawer of a cabinet.

“You could not mistake, surely,” Anne groaned. “Mr Turner, you are not attending! How do you take your tea, sir? Oh, how could I have said such an ill-bred thing?”

“I, the ill-bred one, nearly cheered to hear it!” James grinned. “Only rough-and-ready tactics work with a saphead like him, you know. He was in the middle of, what, proclaiming himself the superior to Cowper?”

“Had I not a particular admiration for poor Mr Cowper, I would not have ... but that is no excuse!” A smile twisted Anne’s lips. “You, on the other hand, led the discussion very well. Although ...”

“Although none of the participants had a particle of interest in talking about poetry, other than Tino’s!”

“Oh dear, they didn’t, did they? And what was the name they chose for our group? The Insightful Poetic ...” The giggle which had threatened to bubble up all afternoon finally surfaced.

“The Insightful -- and Profound -- Poetical Aficionados of Bath, or some such thing,” he finished for her.

“If you objected to the name,” she chuckled, “you should have suggested an alternative.”

“Not I! What does it matter what they call us? Besides, it kept him from talking about ... uh ... Courage, Miss Anne,” James murmured. “Don’t look up, but I believe the man himself is coming to speak with you.”

Captain Benwick assisted Anne to rise as Tino Turner made his way across the room with Miss Carteret and Mary Musgrove in tow. He bowed grandly before his hostess.

“Miss Anne, it is with the greatest regret that I take my leave of you. May I say that your poetical society has exceeded my fondest expectations! Such a delightful afternoon! Or, as you would say, Captain, confrabuclation at its finest. Until next Friday, then?”

“Oh no, Thursday, Mr Turner,” Mary chirped. “Because of the Assembly! We changed the day, don’t you remember?"

Tino clapped a hand to his forehead. “So we did! Until Thursday, then, Miss Anne, Mrs Musgrove.”

“And please, won’t you then tell us the story of your beautiful neckcloth, as you promised?” Mary’s eyes were shining; she was obviously impressed to have such an important acquaintance.

“My dearest, most cherished Mrs Musgrove!” Tino Turner turned, siezed Mary’s hand, and impulsively kissed it. “There is absolutely no time like the present for such a story!” And without bothering to ask leave of the others, he promptly launched into a lengthy explanation of his exploration into the world of the textile arts.

“... for as you know, the artistically talented are never so only in one area of expertise. Before this epoch in my life, I had plunged myself into the painting of landscapes -- but that is another story. This neckcloth reminds me of my travels in the north country, where I did some experimentation with the method of expressive dying.”

“And what sort of expressions do the dying exhibit?” Benwick muttered.

Tino hastened to correct himself. “No, no, not dying! Dying! The colouring of cloth.” He tenderly stroked his silken cravat. “I specially ordered an entire box of white neckcloths and worked tirelessly to explore new ways to implode them with the vibrant colours I saw used in the plaids of the common folk.”

“And,” he gushed on, “I found that by using a process of tying the fabric in knots, winding it with string, and dipping it in wax -- and then oh, so carefully dipping it in the different vats of dye -- I accomplished this delightful effect.” Tino puffed out his chest in pride. “I call it Tie-Dye. What do you think?”

Mary stood open-mouthed. “Mr Turner,” she sputtered, breaking the silence. “I understand! I see it all!” She brought a hand to her breast. “At that poetry reading the other day, I simply could not comprehend your poem, about the pie from America and the old boys and all. It sounded so morbid and dreary. But now I do! And let me tell you, Mr Turner, it was no thanks to that printer! For he got the spelling all wrong, when he printed out your poem! You should perhaps consider legal action against him for his mistake! Here, let me show you.” And she snatched up her green volume and removed a square of paper.

With great drama she unfolded it. “I suppose they have levees and Chevys and whiskey in Scotland. For you were telling us about your travels in the north, indeed, about this very neckcloth, when you said: ‘This will be the day that I ...Dye'!”

Elizabeth’s silken skirts rustled as she paced. “We must present a united front,” she muttered. “It will be the only way to convince Father.”

Her interview with Mr Shepherd over, Elizabeth stalked up and down the back hallway, grumbling to herself. How she missed the dark, echoing labyrinth at Kellynch Hall. Ever an escape, those quiet passages were the perfect place to clear her mind and lay her plans. This house in Bath also lacked a spacious flower garden, another favourite retreat at the Kellynch estate. The thought of it, now brown and shrivelled, with her prized plants dug up and given to Lady Russell, brought a pang. It had been a world of trouble -- or rather, the gardener had been a world of trouble -- but it had been Elizabeth’s very own and sorely did she miss the solitude it offered.

Presently she heard her father’s voice in the entry hall; he had arrived as the last of Anne’s guests were departing. Elizabeth took a peek around the corner to see the group standing before the main door.

Whatever does she see in that man? she wondered, as she watched Captain Benwick make his bow to Anne and exit the house. He is not at all handsome. It must be the uniform. It does give an ordinary man an air of importance.

“Why did you never tell me of the Assembly, Father?” Never one to mince words, Mary demanded an answer as soon as Sir Walter had sent the butler for a glass of sherry. “It is not like you to be negligent when it comes to society news. And as soon as Friday night! It is indeed fortunate that I brought a proper gown with me.”

But Sir Walter did not share his daughter’s enthusiasm for the event, and said so. Elizabeth drifted into the entry hall and stood quietly at the rear of the group, intent on their conversation.

“You mean ... we may not attend?” Mary sputtered.

“I mean, it may not be in our best interest. It is a Public Assembly, daughter! Only consider!” Sir Walter raised his brows. “We have not been in Bath long enough to determine if it quite the thing to attend such an event,” he confided, with a smile. “A Private Ball is another matter, of course.”

“And besides,” he continued, “we are retrenching, Mary. To spend any amount on a less-than-worthy occasion is thoroughly wasteful! And now, if Burton is correct, I have a visitor waiting for me in the library.” And after the smallest of bows, Sir Walter turned and left his three daughters standing in the entry hall.

“But ... but ...” Mary’s face showed her incredulity. “We are ... not going? How ... how infamous! I am a married woman, not a child! How does he dare to forbid me ..."

Elizabeth stepped forward. “Do me the favour to kindly shut up!” she hissed in her sister's ear. “Must you be so obvious, Mary?” she added, lowering her voice further. “Of course we shall go ... if you do not ruin everything by getting his back up!”

“Well! That’s a fine thing to say to your own sister!” Mary turned and flounced angrily back to the drawing room.

During this whispered exchange, Anne stood by quietly, deep in thought. She now raised her head and spoke. “He said we were 'retrenching', Elizabeth. He actually admitted it. Do you suppose ... ”

“It was a convenient excuse,” Elizabeth interrupted. “It suited his purpose to say so, nothing more.”

“Yes, of course it did,” Anne agreed. “But to hear him say such a thing, even as a rationalisation ... It does give one pause to consider.” To Elizabeth’s annoyance, Anne’s eyes were bright with hope.

“Do you suppose he is coming to accept our circumstances, Elizabeth, in even a small way? If he has ... perhaps our retrenchment shall be successful after all.”

“If you think that, then you are a greater simpleton than I thought!” And in much the same manner as Mary, Elizabeth stalked off.

Left to herself, and with no desire to join Mary in the drawing room, Anne drifted over to the stairway. To have both sisters in the house, each of them angry and upset, was certainly nothing new. The occasion for such disagreements had subsided greatly since Mary’s marriage. The Assembly, of course, was the cause of it all. Why cannot anyone think rationally when there is the slightest mention of a ball? Anne wondered.

Once she gained the upper landing, Anne wandered down the hall and entered her tiny bedchamber, still thinking about the Assembly -- and about Mary, who had thought to bring a dress for dancing while she left her poor husband at home to be ill. What is it about a ball that brings out the worst in every woman? The demands for new clothing, the anxious attention to one’s gloves and slippers, the worry over hair and jewelry ...

She stood at her window, looking down over the barren courtyard. Anne had not been to many large parties of the kind which would be held on Friday; the last dancing she had seen was at Uppercross, the night before a wedding ...

Uppercross. Anne’s mind wandered back to that dreadful night, when she had played -- and when Frederick Wentworth had danced with his soon-to-be wife. “I have loved none but you ...” she murmured, but before she could repeat the lines of his letter, another voice, familiar and cheerful, sounded in her mind.

“Before you tell her what it is, Timothy, tell her what it is for.”

And he and I were caught in that storage closet together! Anne pressed her hands to her cheeks, yet she continued to smile. It seemed so long ago; could it have been only a few weeks? The sights and sounds of the party at the Great House converged in a kaleidoscope of memory: the light from the many candles, the happy chatter of the guests, the tinkle of glass and merry laughter, the music ...

The music. Anne closed her eyes and gave herself to thoughts of the music. Without her being aware of it, her feet began to move in the steps of an almost-forgotten country dance. Soon she was swaying, then twirling about in her bedchamber, at one with the melody only she could hear. Perhaps you should have danced, her thoughts whispered.

A brisk rapping at the door brought her to her senses. “Enter,” she called, a little shyly.

Elizabeth came into the room with a frown in her eyes and a look of disapproval on her face. “I hope I am not interrupting anything,” she said dryly, as she closed the door.

“Er, no, nothing, nothing at all.” Anne tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear; she blushed to be caught in the midst of such foolishness -- although she knew Elizabeth could not be privy to her thoughts.

And then Elizabeth did something she had never done before. She crossed the room and sat down on Anne’s bed. “We need to talk,” she said briskly. “Perhaps you would like to have a seat before we begin.”

Anne remained where she was. This did not escape her sister’s notice.

“Very well, Anne, if you prefer to stand, have it your way.” Elizabeth took a deep breath and began her speech. “As you may be aware, Mr Shepherd has come to call on Father today. They are together now. What you may not know is, before Father returned, I spoke with him privately, er, with Mr Shepherd, that is.”

Elizabeth waited for a reaction, but Anne remained silent.

“He showed me a letter, Anne, from Admiral Croft. I wonder, did the Crofts breathe a hint of their news when you saw them in the Pump Room the other day? No? I thought as much.” Elizabeth smiled grimly. “It appears your friends do not intend to renew the lease for Kellynch Hall. They will be leaving in September.”

“Leaving ...?” Anne groped blindly for the desk chair. In such a small room, she needed only to take a few steps to find it. She dragged it toward her and sat.

“So you see, our retrenchment in Bath will never work.” Elizabeth’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Then we must go back ...”

“To what? To your fine plan of restriction and economisation on every hand? To the same round of countrified dinners and card parties, without the pleasure of returning the invitations on a more lavish, noble scale? To face the pity of those beneath us? No, I thank you!”

Elizabeth leaned forward; her voice had a bitterness which Anne had never heard before, even in her worst fits of pique. “You may return to Kellynch if you wish, Miss Anne! You may live buried in the country, with only Father, and the Musgroves, and your charity work in the village as entertainment and society!” Elizabeth paused to compose herself; she could not, and so she continued speaking in a voice thick with emotion.

“Go ahead! Or no, you can do better for yourself; I forgot! You can become the companion to Lady Russell, much like Mrs Clay is to me! The two of you may grow old together, or at least you will; she is old already! You agree about absolutely everything, it will be most delightful!”

“No. Indeed, we do not,” Anne whispered.

“Well, I am not going back. I am going to find a husband for myself. As I have said before, I want my own establishment. This is my one chance and I do not intend to waste it.”

“Oh, Elizabeth. Our poor father ...”

Elizabeth looked at her sister for a full minute before she answered. “Poor Father? What about us? We have no future at all! You have said so yourself, and I would not believe it! And there is not a man alive who will meet Father’s requirements for ...”

She pressed a hand to her forehead and made another attempt to speak more calmly. “The lease does not expire until September; we must not give in to panic. It may be that we will find another tenant and stay on. But we must begin to implement our plans for independence now. Immediately.”

Elizabeth leaned forward and gripped the arm of Anne’s chair. “We must present a united front, Anne. It is the only way. We must attend this Assembly on Friday. All of us: Mary, Mrs Clay, myself, and ... you. He cannot prevail against us all, if we stand together.”

“You are wasting your efforts with me, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth gave a snort of derision. “Yes, you have quite given up dancing! How could I be so stupid as to forget that?”

Anne raised her eyes to meet her sister’s. “I simply meant that you should work to convince our noble cousins to attend, and Father will follow along happily. But I believe Miss Carteret is already planning to do so; she mentioned today that she is looking forward to dancing with Mr Turner.”

“Miss Carteret? Well!” Anne’s words worked like magic; Elizabeth’s countenance changed immediately. “And what about you?” she said at last, very quietly. “I want no room for failure in this, Anne. You must attend with us. Surely you would not be so selfish as to deny me this opportunity.”

Anne looked down at her hands; they were clenched tightly in her lap. She answered nothing.

“You needn’t dance, you know,” Elizabeth said, encouragingly. “You may sit in a chair and observe the crowd to your heart’s delight.” She bit her lip, then added, “Oblige me in this, Anne ... please.”

Again Anne looked up. “I ... I have no dress to wear,” she said simply.

“Surely not; you must have something. It cannot be so bad as all that! Why, I have said the same myself, many times!” Elizabeth smiled in sympathy. “Something from a past Season will do, perhaps. We can have Elise freshen it up, refurbish it, bring it up to date.”

“I have had no ‘past Seasons,’ as you have.” Anne found it difficult to speak. “See for yourself. My gowns are in the wardrobe. There is nothing grand enough for a ball.” She remained seated as Elizabeth opened it and wordlessly examined its contents. The silence was so great and so mortifying that Anne attempted to lighten the atmosphere by adding, “It is just as well that I have given up dancing, you know. For as you have said, there are no unmarried gentlemen to dance with at home. And I haven’t the proper shoes for it, in any case.”

“So I see.” Elizabeth closed the wardrobe and came to stand before her sister. “Do you mean to say that this is your sole reason? That if you had the proper attire, you would attend?”

“I would at least be able to consider doing so. But as it is ...”

“Very well, stand up,” Elizabeth ordered. “Turn ‘round.” She eyed at her sister critically and said, at last, “Yes, I do believe it will be just the thing for you.” She crossed the room and pulled the bell to summon Elise. “Why ever do you wear such pale, washed out colours, Anne? Your dark hair and eyes demand something more dramatic.”

Anne tucked another stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Er, how do you mean?” Elizabeth’s sense of style and colour was flawless, nevertheless Anne was reluctant to place herself wholly in her sister’s hands.

Elizabeth smiled archly. “Come and see, as you are so fond of saying. Elise will have a bit of work to finish by Friday, but I believe we may furbish up a proper ball dress -- and without adding any burden to our precious retrenchment, either.”

And so it was that a quarter of an hour later Anne found herself in Elizabeth’s beautiful bedchamber, staring at herself in a full length mirror. Elise was working feverishly to place the pins in the bodice of the elegant ball dress she wore. Elizabeth stood by, watching with a critical eye.

“S’il vous plait, Mademoiselle Anne,” Elise murmured softly. “Turn just this way. I finish here in a moment more and then the hem I adjust. It is fortunate that your sister, she is taller.”

“Yes, of course.” Anne could not tear her eyes from the reflection in the looking glass. For the gown Elizabeth had chosen was without a doubt the most beautiful one Anne had ever seen. It classically simple and made of silk; the fabric shimmered dully with each movement and change in the light. But most wonderful of all was the exquisite colour: it was a rich, deep blue, the colour of the midnight sky in summer.

‘The indigo gown’ Elizabeth had called it, but to Anne’s ears that name was far too common. Her sister complained that the colour had not looked nearly as well as when she had ordered it; she had worn the dress to several balls in London two years before, and then never again.

At last, Elise gave a tug to the back of the bodice and inserted the final pin. “It must fit perfectment, very snug and alluring,” she drawled. “And it shall be done, even if it means my death.”

Anne turned to face her, a little shocked at both of these statements.

“You have much the look of your mother, Mademoiselle, more and more as the years pass. This dress she would approve. For her sake, it must be perfect.”

Anne gazed at herself in the mirror. After the alterations were made, the bodice would indeed fit like a glove. She shifted uncomfortably, wondering if her mother would truly approve; the neckline was more daring than any she had ever worn.

Meanwhile, Elise had scurried away to the dressing room; she now returned with a fabric-covered box. “C’est ... that is to say, this is the adornement, Mademoiselle, for the shoulders.” And from the box she tenderly removed a delicate garland, which she proceeded to fasten to the neckline of Anne’s gown.

“And if I’m not mistaken, there is one like it for your hair.” Elizabeth said. She brought the box to Anne and allowed her a peek inside. “It looked rather hideous in mine, but I do believe it will be perfect for you.”

Anne removed the paper covering and gave a cry of delight. The head ornament exactly matched the garland. It consisted of a silken rope of flowers and leaves, in the exact shade of the gown. The small petals were cunningly made of deep blue velvet; the centers of the flowers were of tiny glass balls and silver beads, intricately wrought.

“It is on wire, inside the silk cord,” Elise explained, “and hair is arranged in and around. I curl the hair and pile it high and ...” she shot a look at her mistress, “she should wear les sapphires, for the sake of your mother, Mademoiselle Elizabeth. It is what milady would wish.”

Elizabeth regarded her maid fixedly. Elise had been the much-loved personal attendant of Lady Elliot for several years before her marriage and all the years thereafter. Fiercely devoted and as talented as she was plain, Elise would allow no one else to wait on her mistress, ever. Even during Lady Elliot’s final, most difficult months, she alone bore the burden of her care. Very rarely did Elise dare to assert the authority given her by this position, but she did so now, on behalf of Anne.

“I agree completely,” was Elizabeth’s only response.

And so it was decided, despite the stammered objections of Lady Elliot’s modest second daughter. The Elliot sapphire necklace, with its matching earrings, would be worn to the first Assembly of the Season in Bath, by Miss Anne Elliot -- a young woman who had quite given up dancing.

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