Free The Duke of Snow and Apples by Elizabeth Vail

fingers over the gown. “My darling, it’s gorgeous . Stunning. You will thoroughly outshine me in this, you naughty girl. You should have warned me.”
    There had to be some mistake. She’d given Lamonte express instructions that dress was never to be removed from her trunk. She couldn’t wear it. Not now. Not ever.
    “ Encah , it is lovely, no?” said Lamonte. If her voice possessed a slight edge, Lady Balrumple didn’t notice. “At first Miss Charlotte refused to wear it, but you must have spoken some sense to her, ra’Viscountesse. Her footman, Frederique , explained to me that she had changed her mind.”
    Frederique? Charlotte’s mind whirled. Impossible. She’d never said anything to him about wanting to wear a red dress, much less that she had one stowed in her trunk. “What about my pink muslin?”
    “ Veleo , Miss Charlotte, I could not finish it in time,” the lady’s maid replied. “I had to prepare your red one, not to mention help ra’Viscountesse with her own clothing. I am always very busy, very fuchou , so I put it aside for another day.”
    “I am in awe of this dress,” said Aunt Hildy, voice hushed. “I worship this dress. If I wasn’t such a very loving, doting, and compassionate aunt, I would steal this gown for myself. Put it on right away, Charlotte, before I forget how loving I really am.”
    “Turn around, if you please,” said Lamonte, holding the dress up by its shoulders. Charlotte flinched away. If she touched the fabric, she would burn. She was sure of it.
    “My darling, what’s wrong?” asked Aunt Hildy.
    Lamonte misread Charlotte’s hesitation. “Old, bitter Allmarchian madames, they say bright colors, they are a sign of decadence, and that they tempt the same Blight that devoured Selence . I do not think a pretty slip of a gown would be enough to anger God and his Maiden in that way.”
    Charlotte shook her head, panic rising in cold waves. How could she tell her? How could she tell anyone? Of her shame? Her presumption? Her ultimate foolishness?
    When she’d ordered the gown from the cleverest modiste her saved pin-money could afford, she’d imagined wearing it at her most triumphant moment. The crimson fabric would flare and ripple across the floor as she strode boldly to meet her destiny. The intricate gold embroidery would glimmer seductively by the light of hundreds of candles.
    And Mr. Peever’s hand would be on her sleeve as the Maiden’s priest began the wedding service.
    How stupid to order a wedding gown before she’d known for certain. And in such a daring, audacious style. A proper, unmarried woman with such precarious prospects as herself risked everything if she wore it in public.
    What choice did she have? The pink muslin remained unsuitable. Lamonte had put it aside to prepare the red gown that Frederick had told her to choose.
    Frederick . A hot coil of rage unwound in Charlotte’s stomach as she recalled their conversation at the ruins. Was this revenge for throwing the apple? Did he believe she’d make a fool of herself? Charlotte clenched her jaw. If she missed this ball, she’d be throwing away one of the few opportunities she had left to her, and that meant letting Sylvia, and Frederick , win. She turned around and lifted her arms.
    “Go ahead,” she said to Miss Lamonte—although, in her mind, she said it to Frederick, Sylvia and Peever as well, to everyone who thought they could humiliate her and get away with it.
    Do your worst.

Chapter Seven
    Charlotte stared into the mirror. Lamonte had braided her hair with a bit of gold chain studded with garnets borrowed from Aunt Hildy, coiling the whole thing into an elegant crown about her head. Also thanks to her generous great-aunt, clusters of borrowed garnets sparkled alluringly at her ears and neck. Charlotte’s fair skin shone against the luster of the deep red fabric and jewelry.
    Aunt Hildy beamed. “Give us a twirl, love!”
    Charlotte obeyed, her spirits lifting against her