Mrs. Crestmont tugged sharply at her husband's necktie, huffing when it refused to sit as neatly as she wanted. "When will she come out?" she muttered, turning toward the door with a stomp of her foot. "Is she planning to make us all late for the ball?"
"Maybe we should just go," Serena sighed, as though she were the one suffering most from the delay. Her feigned patience broke, however, the moment the door creaked open.
Evangeline stepped out and instantly the three people who saw her went quiet.
She wore a gown of pristine white, the fabric soft as moonlight against her pale skin. The faint curls at the side of her hair had been clipped back with a single black feather— an elegant contrast that framed her face in gentle waves. Her green eyes seemed brighter beneath the glow of the candlelight, her lips a soft, natural red that drew the eye before anything else.
For a moment, even Serena forgot to breathe.
