“Lovely,” Em approved. “You put me in mind of that poem by Mr. Wordsworth.”
“Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in a spritely dance,” Thea quoted softly.
“And then my heart with pleasure fills,” Polly chimed in, “and dances with the daffodils.”
Grinning, Vi swung this way and that in front of the looking glass. “This daffodil definitely plans to waltz the night away.”
“Now, Vi, you do know the rules about waltzing—” Em began.
Violet directed her tawny eyes at her hairline. “Not to worry, mother hen. ’Tis only a figure of speech.”
Emma exchanged looks with Thea, who shared the other’s concern. As a young girl, Vi’s high-spirited nature had landed her into plenty of scrapes; luckily, most had proved harmless. Now that she was older, however, and circulating in London’s higher circles, her impulsiveness could lead to more damaging consequences.
“Even so, you must have a care, Vi,” Thea said. “You know how sticklers can be.”
“If sticklers are anything likesisters, I’ll be in suds for certain.” Violet snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll be so proper and demure they’ll mistake me for my shrinking namesake.”
She trotted off to change, snatching a biscuit along the way.
“Who would like to go next?” Madame Rousseau waved at the second dressing screen.
Emma volunteered, and when she returned Thea and Polly applauded her appearance. The modiste had transformed their eldest sister into a sleek feline with luxurious ermine trimming the bodice and hem of her dove grey gown. The cleverly designed headpiece gave the appearance of two small pointed ears protruding from Emma’s dark curls.
“How adorable you look,” Thea said.
“It was Strathaven’s idea.” Emma blushed. “But never mind me. It’s your turn, Thea.”
Thea took her turn behind the dressing screen. Madame helped her to don her outfit, and when they were finished, she regarded the image in the looking glass. She’d seen the unfinished costume before at previous fittings and approved the elegant design.
Yet looking at herself now, emotion hit her like a wave.
A tear leaked and slipped down her cheek.
“Alors, what is this?” the modiste said, frowning. “You do not like the ensemble,mademoiselle?”
“N-no. It’s l-lovely.”
In vain, Thea tried to control the quiver in her voice. But it was as if a hidden dam had broken inside her and the tide of emotions she’d been holding back came rushing to the fore. She thought of her sisters so vivid and hale in their costumes, and despair filled her.Why can’t I be like them?Her own feathery white image blurred.
Instead, I’m a stupid swan. Pallid and useless. An ornamental creature.
“Ah,je comprends. The dress, it is not how you envision yourself, Miss Kent?”
Looking into Frenchwoman’s shrewd eyes, Thea said helplessly, “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. You’ve done a splendid job, and I am ever so grateful—”
The modiste cut her off with a hand. “We must begin anew.”
“Oh no,” Thea said, horrified, “there’s nothing wrong—”
“If it is not right, then it is wrong,” Madame Rousseau said simply.
“Thea,”—Em’s voice drifted from the other side—“is everything all right? Shall I come and help you?”
Why do I always need help? Why can’t I be strong? Why can’t I even kiss a man without my lungs giving out on me?
One after another, thoughts tumbled through Thea’s head. Heat pushed behind her eyes.
The modiste murmured, “I’ll be right back.”
