Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

11. the five dresses

The engagement ball was happening in two days, and Geneva had a big problem. Despite the guilt, she had already made up her mind. She was going. Her companion Gwen, and the housekeeper Helene, convinced her to go.

"This might be the last time you can enjoy a Stratford ball, Miss," Gwen had said. "You know the mistresses would not go if they were here."

"We went to the last one," she had reasoned. "If I ask their permission, they may say yes."

"They only went last time because their friends went," Helene countered. "Now, all of them are not going."

"They aren't?"

"Yes. I made inquiries. Mrs. Newton is still a little resentful about the duke. You know she had been hoping for her granddaughter to snatch the man."

"There will be no one there to tell you attended," said Gwen.

"But I will be recognized."

"Not if you can deny it."

She frowned at her companion. "How?"

"Don't wear anything you own. Wear a different dress."

And that was her problem. She did not have one that would not make her unrecognizable. Everything she owned screamed Geneva Withers, the great-niece of three old women. No colorful dresses with ribbons and laces, no jewelries to match. And no money to procure a different one.

"Hm. That does indeed pose a problem," Damon said the following morning. They were outside Windsong, under the same oak tree. It was dawn, the sky a haze of bronze and yellow; his horse, Maple, not far away, enjoying the moist grass.

She stared at him and shook her head. "Do not even think about buying one. I will not accept it."

"Supposing I'm thinking about it—Whyever not?"

"Because I don't want anyone wasting money on me." She narrowed her eyes. "I know that look, Mr. Priest. Dare not do it."

"What look?"

"The look of someone coming up with a plan."

"I do have a plan."

"Oh, Lord, here we go again. What plan?"

***

"That's your plan?" Webster asked, eyes wide. "It's preposterous!"

"It can easily be done, brother," he said with confidence. "Tell him, Harry."

Harry was the only one standing on the birdwatching deck, and had been looking down the grounds that led to the woods as Damon laid out his plan. At his question, Harry turned and leaned back against the balustrade, glass of wine in hand. "She will not notice."

"She will!" Webster asked.

"She will not. She's preoccupied," Damon drawled.

"I will not be a part of this."

"Very well," Damon said, pushing himself to a sitting position. "Harry?"

"Only if you do not name me if you get caught. It will ruin my reputation in this household."

"I shall bear the consequences alone, of course." He stood with a grunt and smiled down at Webster who was looking at them with utter incredulity. "Enjoy the rest of your boring night, brother. You've changed so much since you started running the family business."

"I did not. I'm still fun."

Damon and Harry shared a look and they both scoffed.

Not five minutes later, Harry was at the end of the corridor in one wing of the manor, strangely sitting in a chair that should not be there, reading a book and keeping watch. The entire household was silent and if they listened enough, they might even hear Price snoring in his room.