“Is it too tight around the bust?” Sophia’s mother stood back with one hand under her chin as she observed her daughter. “I don’t want all the attention to be focused on her chest.”
“I am able to loosen it a fraction,” the modiste said. “And perhaps raise the neckline by an inch?”
“See it done,” her mother said with a firm nod. “And be quick about it.”
“At once, my lady…” The modiste swooped into Sophia and began the necessary adjustments.
Sophia stood calm and poised, arms stretched out, her back straight, her stomach taught. Before her was a full-length mirror, and she studied her outfit with a discerning eye, as if there was a chance that she might have some say in what she wore and how it was to be styled.
I might as well ask the modiste to sew a pair of wings on the dress so that I can fly, for all the good it will do. The dress is indeed beautiful, but it is not one that I would have chosen for myself. Not that this has ever made a difference…
She made sure to hold her smile, nonetheless, because she did not want her mother to see her frown.
It was early in the afternoon and, as was planned, Sophia, her mother, and her younger sister, Eliza, had made a trip into London so that they could collect the gowns that had been designed specifically for tomorrow’s event. Last week was when the orders were placed, and today was supposed to be a quick affair, as the dresses were expected to be ready.
They were ready too, or at least Sophia thought so. Naturally, they were tried on a final time, and typically, her mother was able to find fault almost immediately.
“Eliza!” her mother snapped suddenly. “Sit still, please. Behave.”
Sophia turned her head sharply just in time to see her sixteen-year-old sister, Eliza, slumping in the chair in the corner. When Eliza saw Sophia watching, she double checked that their mother was turned away and stuck her tongue out.
Sophia giggled, only to notice her mother watching her, and sucked in the laughter because she was not to behave that way in public. Or ever, for that matter.
“How much longer?” Eliza asked from the corner.
“As long as it needed,” their mother said simply.
Eliza groaned and slumped in the chair… then sat herself back up and folded her hands on her lap, as she had been taught. Eliza was not quite as well behaved as Sophia, and she was more likely to push the boundaries of what she could and couldn’t get away with. But she also knew the consequences of taking things too far and was always careful not to upset their parents.
She is like me in so many ways… only, she is not as broken. I wish sometimes that I could rebel as she does, that I was brave enough to test our parents’ limits. Then again, if I did that, I wonder how much stricter our parents would be on both of us.
Is that why Sophia acted the way she did? Because she knew that to do otherwise would make things harder on her and Eliza? Or was she just so used to it by now that she didn’t know any better? Truly, she could not say.
“There…” The modiste stepped back to appraise her work. “How is that?”
Sophia looked herself over once more. The dress was an elegant gown of green and gold and silver. It was modest in design, withits long sleeves and puffy shoulders and now its higher neckline. Also, where earlier it had at least been cinched at the waist to show some curvature to Sophia’s body, now it was far more loose and much less flattering because of it.
Sophia clicked her tongue, so close to asking if it might be tightened again. A woman now, her body having come in, Sophia wanted to show it off… if for no other reason than it was her own, and she had so few things in this world that belonged to her.
Alas, she knew that she could not. What her parents wanted was elegance, and in their mind, a dress that showed too much skin and too much body was not that.
“Wonderful,” her mother said rightly. “That will do nicely.”
“We’re finished?” Eliza perked up.
“Not quite…” Their mother looked at the modiste. “Let us try on Eliza’s again. I am not happy with the body.”
“Mother,” Eliza groaned. “The dress looked perfectly nice.”
“Oh, is nice what we are going for?” Their mother raised an eyebrow at Eliza. “I was not aware that we were happy with nice? Why aim for perfect when nice is on the platter?”
Eliza slumped. “All right… I will try it on again.”
“I know that you will.”
Sophia frowned at the interaction, feeling a need to say something in her sister’s defense… but staying that urge, because she knew it would make no difference. She had spent her whole life doing as she was told, so why change things now? What would that possibly gain?
It was twenty minutes later when they exited the modiste store, breaching the crowded streets of London. Sophia’s mother was first out, followed by Eliza, and then Sophia. As she stepped onto the street, about to follow her mother, Sophia heard something that had her coming to a stop.
