That afternoon Dylan did held the door to my room open as Irene walked in with boxes adorned in bows and patterned with stripes and polka-dots.

I watched the two different faces, different in ethnicities but similar expressions to that of nobility. Dylan and his sharp cut face reminded me of Irene, and both had rather long eyes and eyelashes that slanted down to look like a curtain. While Irene moved mechanically to the point she seemed to be reading lines from a script, without talent, Dylan was more human. Unlike Vaughn, he fumbled and showed that he was pleased with a small smile.

"You're still smiling—you really are pleased you made Scarlett embarrassed," I said as I watched him. He composed himself before speaking.

"No, you need something, worthy of your title and to be part of upper society and the extravagant parties they throw."

"This is too excessive," I murmured. "I would've been fine with one evening gown."

"I am investing in you as Blanche. Think of it as my payment."

Those words echoed and something in me appeared, like a cold heart that froze my body and made my fingers numb. The boxes suddenly seemed like ones from women posing with artificial smiles in magazines, probably in those envious dresses. Once those presents from men were desired, but now I thought of the burden and strings that were attached, how present wasn't even a word for me—it was an investment.

I smiled wryly. "Such a cold answer. You could've said it was a present."

"The dresses aren't, and I don't make lying a hobby, but these are."

He had two small boxes piled in his arms from Julie. He nodded and thanked her as she left, closing the door. In the room only Dylan and Irene were left.

"Leave the room," I told Dylan, "I'm trying on the dresses." He placed the boxes down.

"You'll be wearing a nightslip. It shows just as much skin," Dylan said in the monotonous way he discussed business.

"No!" I hissed. "Leave!" He obediently opened the door and sighed.

Irene took off my green wool skirt and blouse. Instead she put a girdle on me, making me suck in my breath by holding my stomach in. I had my brassiere on as well as underwear, but she took off my nightslip and put on a dress, the folds opening to reveal red and black. I held in my feelings, or so it felt as I crushed my hands into a fist and gave an overused smile. Irene zipped it from behind me, fixed the shoulders, and then we allowed Dylan in.

"We finished, sir."

Dylan turned and he gave a nod as I turned left and right to showcase the dress like a model, avoiding eye contact.

We repeated the process, one dress was pink with little flowers. It made Irene hide a laugh because I looked like a doll, then there was another raspberry red dress, a tight pencil dress of grey, and two more of black. Finally Irene got me ready for my evening gowns.

The first one was royal blue and so long it dragged to the floor with my current heeled slippers. It fell off my shoulders and was extremely tight on my bosom. The skirt had a simple fold that made my legs slim, all things men desired. The next one was red, once again, but more burgundy, with a pleated skirt and tight bodice with two flowers for decoration.

"How do you like them, Blanche? You've been quiet," Dylan asked.

"I love all of them," I said as I ran my fingers over the satin dress. Once I'd only dreamed of wearing these dresses with fancy labels inside of some French name in cursive.

"If that really is the case I'm pleased—if you're sure." He watched me, and I thought of his acceptance for my identity. Why was I being so petty? He had gone so far to try and get me dresses I liked, hadn't he? "I don't know which ones you would like and I had the store attendants direct me as well as the maids, Irene chose the black ones, Julie the pink, and Gwendoline the blue one."

I turned to the maids who were in the hall, and they had been peeking at me each time I emerged in a new outfit, and now they smiled, even Irene, quite bashfully.

"Thank you, Irene, Gwendoline, Julie. And thank you, Dylan."

I leaned forward for a hug but stopped myself. Not noticing my awkward lunge Dylan turned to the two smaller boxes.

"You haven't seen my presents." Dylan bent down and opened one. It was a pair of red heels.

"Oh," I said, forgetting my words. It was what it meant to be shocked speechless—Dylan didn't seem like someone who remembered such trivial things for a girl. He seemed like he would forget wedding anniversaries and rather spent his nights digging graves with Vaughn.

He came over and before I realized, took off my black pumps. I pulled back my feet and he put the heels before me.

I tried it on. It was high as expected, but I was Blanche, after all.

"I suppose you don't like it," Dylan said.

"No, that's not it," I said quickly, but my face must've shown my anxiety. The heels reminded me of that time I was unable to run away.

"It's fine, I had many heels ordered, but you don't have to wear it. I got this for you, after all." He opened the next box and brought it to my feet. I gasped.

They were oxfords, slightly heeled, but like my favorite boots. They were beautiful—white and black, laced, with wingtips, and went with every outfit.

"Can I wear it? In this house?" I asked.

My feet reached out and Dylan held it to me, the laces unlaced. Only when my foot was in did he begin to tie it.

"Of course, where else would you wear it? It's better for spring than your boots. For summer we can find some low heeled shoes." He smiled and on habit, patted my hair. "How is it?"

"I love these!" I stepped around with one foot in my new shoes, and giggled. "I've always wanted these! Such lovely holes and patterns. Oh, I love them, Dylan! Thank you, thank you!"

He laughed a little. "One day I'll buy you some perfume, but I did think you ought to choose yourself. Let's make Caralette unable to say anything about you, Blanche."

Irene, who heard, didn't say anything as Dylan and I grinned at one another.

"Yes, I'll make them sorry for making Ruby scared and turning it into a fault-blaming game."

"Now you say it, I hope Calvin got Ruby dresses," Dylan said.

"He doesn't?"

"Well, Ruby's usual maid is back at their estate, and Ruby doesn't like fancy dresses."

"I'll ask Irene for something." I looked at her. "Would that be fine?"

"Yes, Miss Blanche."

"With the dresses figured out, do help me plan the ball—I've never been to one." He sat down on my bed, faced away, and taking off the current dress I spoke.

"I've seen some," I said, "when I worked in a hotel, but they were called evening parties. Many well-known politicians, actresses, and even novelists came. They all have waiters and waitresses walking with a trays of champagne as they socialized and went off in pairs or threes."

We walked into my room and without question Irene led the maids away as Dylan closed the door. "There's also a big buffet area with cut sandwiches, napoleons, desserts of all kinds. They have champagne towers, too. Some parties require a masquerade mask."

Dylan's face fell. "Maybe we should do a simpler uh, evening."

"Yes, I agree." I snorted at his troubled face.

"But if you don't mind, would it be fine to invite the Whitecrosses back? As well as the other families that man deemed fit for you."

I leveled my eyes to his, and he seemed ashamed, maybe, of that. I wondered why; was it something Austen wanted, or had I embarrassed the family that day with Abraham, or was he egging me on to find a man?

I was too good an actress—so I had to act the role I made for myself.

Raising my head I brushed my hair out of the way.

"Perfect. This time I'll be leading the party. Fashionably late, do they call it? Like in the novels I'll storm in with a beautiful dress and take the men by storm."

Dylan snickered, albeit quite awkwardly. He walked over and when I thought of his words, he touched the dress, and pulled me close from behind him, only his nose landing on the back of my hair.

"I'm sorry, Rose," he said in a husky voice. It didn't sound like him. "In the end, everything I've done was for myself. To get this damned inheritance and not have him have the last laugh."

"I know," I said, mood also going downwards. He said it then: I'm investing in Blanche.

It had hurt.

"Let's make the day go well, not only for me, but for you, I'll make sure you're safe this time."

"Thank you."

"Can I hug you?" He whispered, eyes down. I was struck by surprise and couldn't find an answer for a while.

"Yes."

Without words, he hugged me with his arms on my waist, face in the crook of my neck. I tilted my head slightly to him, and wanted to cry.

Why are you hugging me? Is it because I'm Blanche? Because I'm convenient?

"Rose—" he whispered, "I will definitely not let it repeat."

His hands tightened around me and his lips murmured against my neck.

But it was too late, Dylan. It had already repeated.

Like father, like son.