Free Miss Goodhue Lives for a Night by Kate Noble

said. “Mr. Hudson was, I mean.”
    â€œDid he not know you would do what was necessary to find your cousin?”
    â€œIt wasn’t that. It was more as if he thought I would absolutely do what was necessary—and that I was somehow a master of deception.”
    Phoebe seemed to snort—if countesses snorted, that is. “Any teacher is a master of deception,” she replied. “She has to be, to be able to catch her students out when they try it.”
    Cecilia smirked for the first time all afternoon.
    â€œI have little knowledge of Mr. Hudson,” Phoebe mused, pointing to a certain gown in the pile, having the ladies’ maid pull it. “But what I do know is that he is considered quite honorable, smart . . . and very closed.”
    â€œClosed?”
    â€œHe’s polite, and deferential, but my husband said he never suspected in a million years that he would have taken over the investigation himself. He thought he would have handed it off to runners.” She peered at Cecilia closely. “Mr. Hudson holds to himself very tightly. Only someone important to him could have made him do it.”
    â€œI didn’t make him do anything,” Cecilia protested. “I certainly didn’t ask anything of him.”
    â€œOf course you didn’t,” she reassured.
    â€œI’m just here to find my cousin. That is all. I’m grateful for Mr. Hudson’s help—and yours and Lord Ashby’s of course—but I’m not here for this!”
    â€œThis?” Phoebe’s second eyebrow joined her first high on her forehead.
    â€œDancing, and balls,” she replied, flustered. “And Mr. Hudson and gowns . . . oh, goodness.”
    Cecilia suddenly lost the power of speech. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, and the gown the ladies’ maid was holding up made her breath hitch.
    The cut was fairly plain, letting the beauty of the light pink silk shine forth. The neckline and sleeves were square, with a single ribbon as a trim. The bodice was tight, stiff through the ribs, then the gown fell in gentle waves to the ground. The color of the gown put warmth in her cheeks and cream in her skin. Her hair seemed to shine like a river of molasses, and when the gown was on, there was no doubt that she would be transformed.
    Cecilia stood in the mirror, frozen, as the girl she was ten years ago looked back.
    â€œThe length can be easily pinned. But still, with her height,” the ladies’ maid said, “there will be a bit of a train.”
    â€œI think this gown could use a train, don’t you, my dear?” Phoebe asked, coming to stand next to her, the baby still asleep in her arms.
    Cecilia could only nod, dumbstruck as she was.
    â€œShe cannot wear a corset,” the ladies’ maid added.
    â€œShe won’t need one in that gown.”
    Cecilia’s head cocked to one side, but she could say nothing. It was too beautiful a gown, and she was too in awe of its possibilities, corset or no.
    â€œAnd if I may proffer one more opinion,” Phoebe said, “perhaps tonight, while you are looking for your cousin, you can allow yourself a moment.”
    â€œA . . . a moment?”
    â€œA moment to wonder. To wonder what it would be like if you had come to London for balls, and dancing. And Mr. Hudson.” She met Cecilia’s eyes in the mirror. “To wonder what that life would have been like.”
    Cecilia looked at herself in the mirror again. And let her mind drift to what it would be like to be in London for herself, and not for her cousin. If neither she nor Eleanor had been foolhardy in love, Cecilia could have been in London now, under entirely different circumstances.
    She would be dancing because she had been invited to a ball. She would be having an afternoon tea and gossip session with Lady Ashby not because she was helping her, but because they were friends. And Theo Hudson