Numbly, Thea heard the proprietress saying to Emma and the others that Thea’s fitting required more time. She instructed her assistants to show the Kents some accessories in the main shop.
“Are you certain you don’t need me?” Emma called out.
“Don’t worry about me,” Thea managed. “I’ll be right out.”
The doors closed behind the others, and Madame Rousseau returned.
“Thank you, Madame.” Embarrassed, Thea said, “I’m usually not a watering pot.”
“In my profession, tears are as common as pins. And like pins, they are useful if one knows what to do with them.” The modiste passed Thea a handkerchief, her manner matter-of-fact. “In your case,mademoiselle, tears may yet lead us to the truth.”
“The truth is that I’m being an idiot.” Thea dabbed at her eyes. “This dress is lovely. It will suffice, truly—”
“In my shop, sufficient is not a goal one aims for. Do you wish to tell me what troubles you, Miss Kent? A modiste cannot properly dress a client without understanding her. And of my discretion, you may be assured.”
“That is very kind of you.” Blowing into the linen, Thea wondered why it was easier to talk to the dressmaker than to her own sisters. Perhaps it was the lack of the judgement, the no-nonsense objectivity she sensed in the other. She exhaled a shaky breath. “There is… a gentleman.”
“Ah,chérie, there almost always is.”
“He thinks I’m fragile and weak,” she blurted.
Madame shrugged. An infinitely Gallic gesture. “Gentlemen, they like to believe we are the weaker sex,non?”
“I thought we had an attraction.” Releasing a breath, she said haltingly, “He’s a widower, you see, and his departed wife was a paragon. Everything a lady ought to be. I’ll never be as perfect as she was.”
“No two gowns can ever be alike,” the modiste said philosophically. “In fashion, as in life, the goal must be to accentuate one’s unique gifts rather than emulate another’s. That,ma petite, is true art.”
Her chest clenched. “But what if one doesn’t have any gifts?”
Madame arched a dark brow. “Then I would say begin with that belief.”
“Pardon?”
“If you see yourself as lacking, then the world will see what you see.”
Did she see herself as lacking? Was that the problem?
“Iwantto be strong,” she whispered.
“Alors,aspiration is the first step to success.” A glint in her eye, the modiste circled Thea slowly. “Go on. What else do you wish for?”
“I don’t want to be held back by my illness. I don’t want to be frail, to miss out on life while it happens around me.” Her voice grew steadier as she faced herself in the mirror. She saw a slender woman clad in ashen feathers, colorless cloth, and her hands balled. “I want to fall in love and have a family of my own.”
Madame Rousseau tapped a finger against her chin. “And?”
“I want to know passion,” Thea said in a rush.
To feel the way I do when I’m in Tremont’s arms. Dash it all, why can’t I forget him?
“Ah, I begin to understand. It is not the calm, serene waters you seek but a new adventure. You wish to feel alive, to be vibrant… aflame with thejoie de vivre.” The artiste’s eyes blazed. “Mais oui.I knowexactementthe costume for you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I shall make you the dress of your dreams, but only you can make your dreams become a reality.” The modiste’s gaze seemed to see straight through her. “If you wish others to see you as strong,youmust first believe that you are so.”
“I will try,” she said earnestly.
“Then I will promise you this: when you wear my creation two days hence, the world shall see you as you were meant to be seen. As for the feat of transforming yourself truly into this vision,chérie,”—the modiste lifted her brows—“that will be up to you.”
