A few minutes later, when we arrived at the village, Mrs. Everard led the way across the cobblestones, pointing out her favorite bakeries, millinerys, and bookshops. On occasion, she peeked her head into the door of a shop and greeted the owner—all of whom instantly recognized her.
Young children flocked to the windows of sweet shops, pressing their faces against the glass to look at the displays. I smiled as I watched them, thinking of Peter and Charles and how much they would love to do the same. If I ever brought them here, I would have to check their pockets.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Everard said, stopping in front of a little dress shop at the curve of the road. She threw the door open and marched inside.
I followed, surprised and amused again at Mrs. Everard’s familiarity with this village. A woman appeared from around the corner wearing a smile so large and open-mouthed, that I imagined, had she been closer, I would have seen the back of her throat. “Harriet! It has been nearly a week since I have seen you! Much too long!”
Mrs. Everard met her halfway across the room with a warm embrace. She began saying something else to the modiste, but I couldn’t decipher the words.
The modiste crossed the room to me, making the old floorboards creak beneath her feet. Seeing her more closely, I noticed that she seemed to be a bit younger than Mrs. Everard, but not by much. Her eyebrows were extremely arched and thin, and she had a dark mole at the corner of her mouth. “My name is Madame Fareweather. I hear you require a new gown.”
I glanced at Mrs. Kellaway before nodding.
“Come, let us begin.”
Madame Fareweather grasped me by the arm and led me to the center of the shop. “First, I will need to acquire your measurements.” She fetched a measuring tape from a nearby table and instructed me to hold still with my arms outstretched. She stood shockingly close as she wrapped the tape around my waist, then my bust, then each of my arms. Upon closer inspection, I realized the mole on her cheek was in the shape of a tiny heart. She must have drawn it on, but I wouldn’t dare accuse her of such a thing.
Madame Fareweather took note of each of my measurements before directing my attention to the rack of gowns her assistant had rolled into the room.
“Mrs. Everard tells me this is your first garden party,” the modiste said in a singsong voice. “Do you realize what that means?”
“That I will surely make a fool of myself?” I guessed in a weak voice.
She laughed, and the other two women joined her. “It means that you must look more beautiful than you have ever looked in your life. She gestured at the gowns. “Half the work shall be mine,” she eyed my hair, “one fourth shall be your maid’s, and the last fourth depends on the manner in which you present yourself. The answer isconfidence, my dear.” She took me in from head to toe. “I perceive that you don’t have enough of it.”
Perhaps this woman could lend me some of hers. I gave a shy smile, looking down at the floor.
“Stop that,” Madame Fareweather said in a sharp voice. “Modesty is endearing and sweet, butconfidenceis how to acquire what you want in this world.” Her eyes glinted with that very thing when I looked up at her.
She took a step back and circled around me, eyes squinted in deep thought. “Not a long neck, but excellent bone structure, nicely colored lips, rosy complexion, very handsome eyes . . . Iknow the perfect gown for you.” She stepped aside and rifled through the row of dresses.
Dread dropped through me when I saw the pink gown she had selected. She waved it in front of me on the hanger, and I found myself rather breathless. It was exquisite. And it looked very expensive.
“I would prefer something in a different color,” I said in a quick voice.
Madame Fareweather simply blinked at me and gave me a look that said,you will wear what I say you’ll wear.“Are you certain? You mustn’t make your decision until you have tried it on.”
I had no plausible excuse, so I relented with a nod.
After escorting me to a private room, she and her assistant helped me out of my day dress. Madame Fareweather picked up her pencil and paper once again.
“Oh, I already have a chemise and stays,” I blurted out, reading the note over her shoulder. I was wearing them that very moment.
She gave an airy laugh. “They are ancient.”
My cheeks grew hot.
Madame Fareweather stepped up beside me. Wearing only my ‘ancient’ stays and thin chemise, I felt entirely vulnerable under her scrutinizing gaze. “Confidence may be found within,” she said, “but it may also be found in a set of well-structured stays and a daring neckline.”
I held my breath as her assistant helped me into the gown. When she fastened the final button, she turned me toward the large mirror that rested against the wall.
I stared at my reflection in awe. The dress was stunning. A lace overlay covered nearly the entire thing, dotted with ivory beads and embroidered pink flowers. The pleated hem must have taken days to complete. Ribbon, one shade darker,trimmed all the edges—the bustline, the sleeves, and the hem. The soft pink satin would only require a few alterations to fit me perfectly.
I had always dressed conservatively, but this—this was elegant and mature, new and thrilling. I met my gaze in the mirror. I looked like a lady. I had never been in a ballroom, or witnessed firsthand the trends in Town, but I had seen fashion plates and paintings. I knew enough to realize that this gown was perfection.
Dread flooded my stomach. Why had Madame Fareweather insisted that I try it on? I could never part with it now. If she could have afforded it, my mother would have worn this. She would have loved it. My heart stung with longing so sharp I couldn’t draw a breath.
I hadn’t noticed Mrs. Kellaway and Mrs. Everard enter the room until they appeared behind me in the mirror.
