The ball gown was even better than she had imagined. The underdress, of midnight-blue satin, reflected back the blue of her eyes. The skirt that fell from the high waist was overlaid with silver net, which matched the gleam of her silver-gilt hair, caught up now at the back of her head and allowed to fall in a cascade of ringlets. The miraculous Sophie had found a thin silver braid to trim the neckline and the tiny puffed sleeves. The dress was exactly what Emma had wanted—elegant, sophisticated. It was also the most beautiful dress she had had for a long, long time. Arabella peeked around the half-open door. “He’s here,” she said. She was as excited as if she, and not Emma, were the one being presented to the Wareham family and the ton tonight. In fact, Emma wished she could restrain her excitement a bit; she was making her nervous. “Oh, you look perfect!” the older woman exclaimed. “I told you Sophie is a genius with cloth.”
