Chapter Seven
The next morning, Thea and her sisters arrived for an appointment with Madame Rousseau, a fashionable modiste. The shop on Bond Street had recently expanded its premises in order to accommodate its ever-growing legion of devotees. The spacious atelier, done up in fresh shades of spring green and pale bronze, was brimming with patrons rhapsodizing over Madame’s exquisite creations. An assistant dressed in black led Thea and her sisters back into a large private dressing room.
Thea and Polly shared the cozy loveseat while Em occupied the cream velvet chaise longue. Not one for sitting still, Violet wandered around the room, inspecting things.
“Madamewill be in shortly,” the assistant said. “May I bring some tea while you wait?”
They all declined, except for Violet, who asked if a biscuit could be had as well.
“Didn’t you have breakfast this morning?” Thea said after the assistant left to fetch the refreshments.
“That was ages ago.” Violet sifted through bolts of fabric on the worktable. “I get hungry.”
“I wonder why,” Emma said in dry tones. Their middle sister had moved on, investigating a grid of colorful bobbins that hung on the wall. “Sitting still isn’t a crime, you know.”
Vi spun a spool on its hook. “But it feels like punishment. It’s so boring.”
If there was anything Violet couldn’t abide, it was boredom.
“You’re about to have your final fitting for a masquerade,” Em said in exasperation. “That should be exciting enough, even for you.”
This Friday night, Emma, Thea, and Violet were to attend a costume party given by the Marquess and Marchioness of Blackwood. The annual event coincided with the winding down of the Season, and, with unattached ladies and gentlemen still searching for mates, it was guaranteed to be a crush.
For once, Thea was looking forward to a social event. She was determined to get her mind off Tremont and start afresh. Mama had always said that the important things in life were worth working for. If Thea wanted love and marriage, she couldn’t let one disappointment stop her from pursuing her goal. She refused to rot away like forgotten fruit. No, she would dedicate herself to meeting possible candidates and, if necessary, learn to play the marriage mart game.
But why did the notion make her heart feel as heavy as lead? Tremont, for his part, seemed unaffected by what had passed between them. Actually, he’d been avoiding her; she hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning in Freddy’s room.
“I wish I could go.” Polly’s aquamarine eyes were wistful. “The costumes will be so beautiful.”
“You’ll get to go next year, dear. After you’ve had your come out,” Emma said.
Now that their sister was a duchess, the Kent girls were being introduced at Court. It was a far cry from their previous lives, where the most esteemed personage they’d met had been the local mayor. Polly bit her lip, her gaze lowering to her hands. Guessing her youngest sister’s fears, Thea set aside her own turmoil and gave the other’s arm a reassuring squeeze.
“It wasn’t all that bad, Polly,” she said. “It’s mostly standing around waiting. The actual presentation itself only takes a minute. And since Rosie will be making her curtsy too, you’ll have her by your side.”
“Rosie’s not afraid of anything,” Polly said with a relieved nod.
“Exactly. Between her exuberance and your gentle charm, the two of you will take Court by storm,” Thea said.
Polly’s slow smile transformed her little face into a thing of beauty.
The door opened, and themodisteentered. A slight French woman with dark coloring and pale skin, Madame Rousseau managed to look utterly chic in severe black. The pair of assistants behind her scurried over to the dressing screens and carefully hung up the dresses.
“Bienvenue, Your Grace. Misses Kent.” Madame Rousseau’s skirts rustled crisply as she curtsied. “I am most eager for you to view my finished creations.”
“Thank you, Madame,” Emma said. “We’re grateful that you expedited our order.”
“You are family to Mrs. Kent,” the modiste said simply.
Marianne Kent, their sister-in-law, had been one of Madame Rousseau’s first patrons, helping to launch the dressmaker’s star. The two women were confidantes, and Marianne had brought the Kent sisters into their realm of high fashion and impeccable taste.
Which had been no small feat, Thea thought with amusement. Growing up in Chudleigh Crest, she and her siblings had not only been lacking in Town polish, they hadn’t even known what polishwas. For most of their life, they’d sewn their own clothes, many of which had been passed down, patched over, and remade.
Yet here they all were now, looking as shiny as buffed apples. The fact never ceased to amaze her. How far her family had come; she had so much to be grateful for.
“Who would like to go first?” Madame said.
Violet jumped at the opportunity. When she emerged from behind the dressing screen in a bright yellow gown, Thea smiled. Madame had made Violet into a daffodil. Exquisite leaves of emerald green decorated the bodice, matched by long satin gloves of the same shade. The bold, fresh colors perfectly captured Vi’s vibrant spirit and the long, clean lines clung to her lithe figure, emphasizing her femininity.
