Dawn was breaking over the skyline. The sunlight streamed into her room through the wide double balcony doors, as if it wanted to blind both of her eyes. Evelina sighed wearily, then did what any normal, sane, "in her mind" person would do: She opened her eyes.
"Good, you're up at last."
Evelina's eyes darted quickly to the waist-high window at the far end of her bedroom, where the dark-skinned Scotswoman - Peggy - was pulling open the curtains to let in more light. "You're usually up a lot earlier than this," the woman went on in her thick accented voice. "Anyway, word on the street is you had a busy night."
"What do you want?" Evelina said dryly, her voice still groggy from sleep.
"I had a feeling it would be obvious by now that I am only here to dress you," said Peggy with a touch of whimsy as she ran her hands over the satin-textured curtains. She was the Countess's personal couturier, and as far back as Evelina could remember, waking up to Peggy's soulful smile was always a bad day.
Evelina shifted in her sheets, and sat up on the bed. "Unless it's really important, I don't see why my own stylist can't afford to be useful." she said.
At that, Peggy did a quick turn and said: "Well, would you consider the privilege of breakfast with the Queen a light affair?"
"What do you mean? I don't understand."
Peggy started for the door, talking as she went: "At 4.30 this morning, a letter arrived from the prince that..."
She didn't need to say any more. Evelina flew past her as soon as she'd opened the door, bumping shoulders with one of the girls rolling in the clothes hanger. The girl was barely able to keep her balance.
"Lady Eva!" Peggy cried out, but it was to no avail.
Evelina had broke out into the hallway, made a beeline for the shorter staircase and burst into her mother's room in no time at all.
"How could you do this to me?!" Evelina said, gasping.
Breanna, caught up in grooming her hair, looked up. Her eyes were still fixed on the mirror.
"If it isn't the prodigal daughter…" Breanna sighed then waved off her many assistants. She turned a corner, her gaze on Evelina. "What are you doing here instead of dressing up in the comfort of your bedroom? Oh, right. Peggy! Please tell me you are not giving her a hard time with your dress choice."
"I will not be the prince's wife!"
There! She had said it. Defiantly so. If going round in circles hadn't got her message across, hitting the nail on the head would.
"The royal carriage –" Breanna signalled for her assistants to continue working on her hair – "should arrive at seven forty. That gives you just over half an hour to get dressed."
If her mother had already accepted the engagement of the prince on her behalf, there was only so much she could do to stop it.
Evelina fought to control her ragged breathing. Her pale fists clenched and unclenched.
"I will not be part of this union!"
"Language, Evelina. No need for condescension. We're only visiting the palace for breakfast, your nuptials is still weeks away. And given the scandalous move you made just last night, shouldn't you thank me for somehow managing to help you save face?"
"I didn't ask for your help!" Evelina wanted to say, but bit her tongue. For Violetta's sake, she was grateful that the rumour had been kept quiet. "Did father agree to this?" Evelina's brow raised in suspicion. If her mother was preparing to go on this expedition, then her father would certainly make an appearance. If he wasn't already back from his trip...
"The Earl, your father, will not be bothered by such trifles as your refusal to marry at all. He has faith that you will take advantage of this opportunity," advised Breanna.
This was a bit of a sting in the tail, as Evelina had been under the impression that her father would be there for her. Although his silence on the issue so far should have been enough to dash any hope.
Why did Prince Laith take an interest in her at all?