“We can do that later! Come on,” Agnes wheedled. “We need to get you something to wear to all these events you’re bringing me to!”
May said nothing as she followed Agnes inside, trying not to stare. Rolls of fabric were stacked along every wall: butter-soft silks and crisp taffetas, deep velvets for winter day dresses and floral poplins for spring. One entire wall held selections of lace, which glimmered like enchanted snowdrifts.Toward the back, glass display cases revealed neat arrangements of buttons—mother-of-pearl buttons, brass buttons, even enamel ones—as well as leather gloves, brooches, feathers. An arched hallway led to what May assumed were private fitting rooms. It was all so bright, and new, and beautiful.
May and her mother never shopped at places like this. When they did purchase new dresses, they ordered them from Madame Renault, a wizened old Frenchwoman who took their measurements at her house and smelled like she hadn’t bathed in weeks. She and May’s mother inevitably haggled over the prices in angry French before they finally settled the bill. Once, Mary Adelaide had even brought the dressmaker a pheasant that May’s father had shot, insisting that its feathers could be used in a hat. The end result had looked atrocious. But then, feathers were expensive.
“Miss Endicott!” A salesclerk emerged from the back of the store, her arms laden with bolts of fabric. She hurriedly set down her burden and adjusted her apron. “My apologies, we didn’t know you were joining us today.”
Agnes smiled and gestured to May. “We’re not shopping for me right now; we’re here for Her Serene Highness, Princess Mary of Teck.”
Predictably, the salesgirl startled at the use of May’s title. “It would be an honor, Your Serene Highness.” She hesitated as if uncertain whether to curtsy—it wasn’t required, since May wasn’t a true royal—then apparently decided to err on the side of caution, and curtsied anyway. “Please, right thisway.”
“I’m thinking a lot of blues for Her Serene Highness,” Agnes declared, as she and May followed the salesgirl intoa fitting room. “A deep blue velvet for a riding habit, a blue-gray for a day dress. And then something different for a tea gown—what happened to the carnation-colored silk you showed me last week? With the Alençon lace?”
The salesgirl nodded frantically. “The Alençon has been rather overdone this Season, Miss Endicott. Might I suggest the guipure?”
“Why don’t you bring both. With a few silks for formal evening gowns, of course.”
May ran her hands nervously down her skirt, an old serge gray one that she’d paired with a simple white blouse. Surrounded by all this luxury, it felt even dowdier than usual. “We won’t be needing so many things. I’m only here for one gown,” she explained to the salesgirl, who cast a bewildered glance at Agnes.
“Why else did we come, if not to try different dress options?” Agnes said blithely. “This is the fun part!”
The fun part.May couldn’t remember the last time she had done something for fun, instead of obligation or guilt or her own desire for self-improvement. The very idea felt childish, selfish.
And yet…maybe she could afford to have a little bit of fun, just this once.
“Onedress,” she repeated.
“One dress, with a matching hat and gloves,” Agnes negotiated. May threw up her hands in defeat, and Agnes laughed and ducked out of the fitting room.
When May was standing there in nothing but her petticoats and corset, the salesgirl pulled out a cloth measuring tape and knelt to wrap it around May’s waist, then her torso,then on and on from her elbow to wrist, knee to ankle. She took far more measurements than Madame Renault ever did.
“Tell me about Lady Wolverton’s at home,” Agnes asked through the curtain that separated them.
“She’s an old friend of my mother’s.”One of the pillars of London society,May should have said. “If you can win her over, the invitations will keep coming.”
“Do you think the Princess Maud will be in attendance?” Agnes asked, naming Prince Eddy’s younger sister.
“Maud?” Surprised, May twisted her neck to look at Agnes’s silhouette. “Why do you ask?”
“She’s your cousin, isn’t she?”
“A distant cousin. Technically a second cousin once removed,” May explained, though Agnes probably didn’t care.
The salesgirl took one last measurement and stood, disappearing into the back of the store. The moment May was dressed, Agnes tugged the curtain aside.
“I think you should spend more time with Maud. Getting closer to her can only help you with Prince Eddy.”
May froze. It had been strange enough discussing Eddy at the investiture party, but here at the dress boutique, in broad daylight, the topic made her feel foolish. And very exposed.
“Oh, don’t be bashful!” Agnes exclaimed. “Can’t we talk about it? I want to help see you happy.”
“I don’t think womencanbe happy.”
May immediately winced; she shouldn’t have said that aloud. Yet Agnes was staring at her with something like approval. “Why not?”
Perhaps it was the look in Agnes’s eyes—a look of intelligence that she was forced to stifle, of eager curiosity she waswise enough to keep hidden—a look that May knew all too well from glancing in the mirror. Whatever the reason, she admitted the truth.
“Safety, position, money: these are the reasons a woman should marry. Not for something as fleeting and insubstantial as happiness, which can evaporate at any moment, leaving you with nothing.”
