The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the Covington estate, casting golden patterns across the polished marble floors. Lyra stood in the grand fitting room, surrounded by mirrors that reflected her image from every angle.
"Try these on," Old Mrs. Covington instructed, gesturing to the garment bags that had just been delivered. "Percival will be here shortly to try his as well."
Lyra unzipped the protective covering to reveal a stunning evening gown in deep burgundy. The rich color reminded her of aged wine, with delicate silver embellishments that caught the light. It was breathtaking—and nothing like the light blue dress Orla had taken.
"This isn't the dress we selected," Lyra said, running her fingers over the luxurious fabric.
Old Mrs. Covington's eyes twinkled mischievously. "No, it isn't. I had a special feeling about this one instead."
