CHAPTER 19 - Do the clothes make the lady?
THE FOLLOWING DAY,a modiste and a lady’s maid descended on the house with the task of creating a wardrobe for Olivia. The housekeeper had produced some gowns from somewhere and now the modiste and the maid were talking about the alterations needed not only to make the gowns more fashionable but also to ensure they fit her.
Apparently, she was more ‘voluptuous’ than the gown's previous owner. As someone who didn’t like her voluptuousness and would have preferred to be slimmer, that comment rankled. But, more annoying than that, they kept talking about what styles and colors would suit her without even consulting her. She was not a doll to be dressed. She liked fashion!
Granted, she had no idea what was fashionable in 1872, but she had her own taste, and she was the one who would have to wear the dresses, so they should ask her about her preferences. After the modiste had suggested yet another ruffle and bow, she spoke up.
“I don’t think a ruffle and bow in the center of my butt would be very flattering, and I don’t care for that color.”
“But madam, it’s the height of fashion! All fashionable ladies are wearing it.”
“I understand, madam, and I wouldn’t dare to question your extraordinary fashion sense,” Olivia said, trying to smooth the modiste’s ruffled feathers, “but I’m not comfortable wearing that much adornment. I think the ruffles in the sleeves and around the edge of the skirt are more than enough. We wouldn’t want to clutter the elegant line of the dress.”
After that diplomatic speech, the modiste preened and became a lot more receptive to Livvy’s input.
She spent the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon likewise, deciding the style of dresses, taking her measurements, being fitted as well as selecting petticoats, corsets, chemises, and even pantalets. Personally, Olivia preferred her own undergarments, but apparently the entire ensemble was necessary to make the dress fit correctly. She would see about that when the time came.
By the end of the day, she had learned a ton about how people dressed and lived in these times. And she was exhausted. Now late in the afternoon, she wanted nothing more than to put on cozy loungewear and drink some wine by the fire... in Dale’s company. She had barely seen him all day, and she missed him.
At lunchtime, he had popped in to see how things were going, but upon seeing the explosion of ribbons, lace, bows and petticoats, he had turned around and left. But not before making some on-point suggestions about what he thought would suit her. The man had a good eye for aesthetics, even if the frilly and feminine ambiance in the room was too much for him to bear.
Now, the modiste was packing up with the help of the maid, leaving Olivia wearing one of the pre-made gowns that had required only a few alterations. It was one of the simpler gowns, with minimal ruffling, in a soft peach color that was both pretty and flattering. The neckline was quite open, and the sleeves perched right on the edge of her shoulders. She felt that with a strong shrug she could unmoor the sleeves, but for now they seemed to hold on.
The dress was not as uncomfortable as she had thought it would be. At her insistence, and much to the dismay of the modiste who wanted to create a smaller waistline, the corset was not tightly laced. The skirts were heavy and somewhat cumbersome with the petticoats, but at least they were roomy. She didn’t feel the constriction she sometimes felt with jeans and other modern pants. And she didn’t have to worry about how her butt looked in the outfit. She smiled. These Victorian ladies were sneaky. Nobody could tell the shape of her body under this dress because the dress created the body. It was almost like armor.
At long last, the modiste left Livvy in blessed solitude. She reclined back on the chaise, brought her feet up, and contemplated going to her room to take a nap when Dale entered.
Her sleepiness evaporated in a wave of heat. Every moment with him felt invigorating, electrifying.
“How did the meeting with the modiste go?” he asked.
“Very well, I think. You can see the results for yourself.” Livvy stood up and pirouetted to show off the dress. She had to admit, she felt as pretty as a princess.
Dale’s eyes warmed up. “Beautiful.”
“Thank you. It is different from what I’m used to wearing, but I think the dress is beautiful, too.”
“I didn’t mean the dress.” His voice was low, almost seductive.
“Oh.” it took only a moment for Olivia to understand he referred to her, the expression in his eyes one of unmistakable male appreciation. She blushed. “Thank you.”
As if realizing they inched nearer to uncomfortable territory, Avondale walked over to a cabinet, opened it, and lifted a decanter with amber liquid.
“Would you care for some cognac, sherry...?”
“I’ll have whatever you are having.”
“I am planning to have whisky,” he said with a daring quasi smile while lifting an eyebrow.
“Whisky sounds great. It is a favorite of my father’s, and he made me develop a taste for it.”
