But then again, she knew many women—most women, even—who wore color, didn’t she? Marianne and Esme, for example, were both women she admired and they wore beautiful gowns that weren’t white. Why couldn’t she do the same? Why couldn’t she embrace her own style, rather than stick to the one her books had insisted she wear so she wasn’t putting fashion over elegance.
No, she couldn’t think like that. But nor would she show her upset to Miss Swanlea. It wasn’t the seamstress’s fault that Roderick had asked for the dress to be created. She would take it up with him later.
“Where should we begin?” she asked with a bright smile.
Miss Swanlea motioned to the low step she had already set and Hester came from the corner of the room. Together they helped Clarissa into the white gown first. They chatted, with Clarissa trying to stay focused as Miss Swanlea made little markings for final adjustments she’d make to the gown.
When that was finished, they moved to the pink dress. Clarissa squeezed her eyes shut as they put her into the silk, and tried not to revel in the softness of the fabric. She knew it was just silk, like so many of her other gowns, but it still felt different, it felt like temptation, itself, to put it on.
At last, though, she was in it and she opened her eyes and looked atthe full-length mirror Hester had drawn into the room so she could see the gowns herself. She caught her breath. Even with it not perfectly fitted, she could see it was the finest gown she’d ever owned.
The color was perfect for her skin. It made her cheeks look lightly rouged and her eyes dance, the little flecks of green within the brown standing out in a new way. She felt…prettyas she stared at herself and her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away as the same conversations were held about this gown as had been with the first.
When it was finished and Clarissa dressed again in her old gown—white, of course—and it felt so boring as she stared at it, she watched as Hester took her freshly lined coat away. She turned toward Miss Swanlea and smiled. “You do wonderful work, as always.”
“Thank you, my lady. And I must say that the pink truly does suit you. If you wish any other gowns with color, I have so many ideas for fabrics that will make you shine just as brightly.”
Clarissa’s heart lodged in her throat. She’d been going to Miss Swanlea for her clothing for a few years now and she’d never seen the woman so excited to make her something. She inclined her head. “You are too kind. Now I’ll excuse myself. Take your time collecting your things. Hester will escort you out when you are ready.”
“Good day, my lady.”
Clarissa waved and then stared downstairs. She’d been told Roderick was in the library before she’d gone to meet with the seamstress. Normally she wouldn’t interrupt him in his reading, but in that moment she had to have a conversation with him. Though what she would say, she wasn’t entirely certain.
The rotunda room was where the library was housed and it had always been Roderick’s favorite chamber of the home. The bedchamber was becoming his second favorite. But today he sat in his favorite chair beside the fire, reading the bound edition ofOthelloClarissa had gifted him a few days before. The lithographs included inthe volume were exquisite. Sometimes he spent a long time just looking at the details of one before he turned the page to continue reading the play.
The door to the library opened and he lifted his gaze to watch Clarissa come in. Storm in was more like it. Her dark eyes were alive with emotion and her hands were fisted at her sides.
“Clarissa,” he said, and set the book aside as he stood to greet her. “How was the fitting?”
“Why did you go to Miss Swanlea behind my back and order a gown?” she asked.
He stared at her a moment. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or sad or thrilled by the fact he had done so. She was so very good at hiding, perhaps even from herself.
“I wanted to give you a gift,” he said carefully. “Just as you did me. A surprise. The fabric was lovely, Miss Swanlea said you had admired it. I think it must look beautiful on you. I cannot wait to see it.”
Her lips tightened. “I can’t…a woman may, of course, wear color, but white is always a sign of an elegance of mind, not a dedication to the frivolity of fashion.”
He shook his head. “That is from your book, isn’t it? I recognize the turn of phrase too well.”
“My book?” She shook her head, her eyes wild. “What do you mean?”
“I readMirror of the Graces,” he said, and watched as the high color in her cheeks bled away. “The night you slept in your own chamber last week. You left it there and I needed to understand why my delightful wife feels she must turn herself inside out for rules that I cannot even fathom.”
“You read it only to dismiss it?” she asked, her hands dropping to her sides. “To dismiss what’s important to me?”
“Are you angry that I did?” he asked, and stepped closer. He saw her tense. “Be angry, Clarissa. I beg of you. Tell me to sod off. Tell me I violated your boundaries.”
“No,” she murmured. “You won’t make me forget moderation.”
“Moderation is for drinking,” he said, throwing up his hands since she wouldn’t. “Not for feelings. I have the deepest regard for what is important to you, Clarissa. And respect for how you comport yourself regularly. Not because of some book. I watch you in all your glory with those around you. What makes you a lady is how much attention you bestow when others speak. You make everyone feel as if they’re the center of the world when they’re near you. I admire your kindness to all, regardless of their rank. I definitely admire your wit, which occasionally cuts me and always makes me laugh.”
She lifted her chin and he saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes now. He moved closer again. “Noneof those things came from the bloody book. In fact, the only good advice I found in the wretched pages of that thing was that you ought not wear cosmetics with ingredients that might kill you. Otherwise, the rest is trash that not even a saint could live up to.”
She pivoted away with a gasping cry that cut him down to the bone. The pain seemed to radiate from her now, something she could no longer control.
He touched her arm gently, not turning her back, but letting her feel the weight of his support. His love, even if he wouldn’t yet name it.
“Why did your lock yourself to this?” he asked gently. “Please, I want to know.”
