The next morning came too early for Evelina Ashford.
She had barely slept.
The palace ball loomed like a storm cloud, and every time she closed her eyes she saw Noel Hartwell with his careless smile, his sharp tongue, and the way he had almost walked away from her at the theatre without a backward glance. The memory burned.
"Noel doesn't care about me anymore." She whispered to herself.
She stood in front of the tall mirror in her bedroom, the gas lamps turned high. The room was spacious, decorated in a pale blue and gold palette. There were still posters of Noel everywhere, and a vanity covered in perfume bottles and powders.
She wore only her chemise... a thin white cotton, tied loosely at the waist. Her golden hair hung loose down her back, curls from yesterday still holding. She turned sideways for what felt like the hundredth time, sucking in her stomach, running her hands over her ribs.
'Is my waist snatched enough? Is it slim enough?'
She exhaled slowly.
