“I’m sorry,” Camelia mouthed to her, but she just shook her head and grinned.
“Pamela, you have to tell me everything!”
“I… I’m not sure what you’re asking for.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I have a bad habit of babbling about things without explaining. I meant you have to tell me everything about the type of gown you want for your birthday. Do you love lace? Satin? What’s your favorite color? Are you nervous?”
Camelia feared that her darling little sister would make the Pamela run for the hills.
“Margaret, give her a break. As you said, we just escaped from the Brentmere fortress.” Camelia tried to save Pamela, but Margaret glared at her like a cat with its favorite new toy.
Pamela blinked next to her, overwhelmed but seemingly comfortable. “Um… I like lace. And blue, maybe? I’ve never beento a seamstress before, so… yes, I’m nervous,” she responded shyly.
Camelia squeezed Pamela’s free arm. “Pamela, don’t mind her. We’re not even at the seamstress’s yet, and you’re hounding already. Iris, help me rein in our sister.”
Pamela held her own, but Camelia knew how overwhelming Margaret could be.
Iris laughed quietly, nudging her. “You and I both know that there’s no hope for Margaret. Pamela, don’t worry. We’ll find you a gown fit for a birthday princess. Blue lace sounds perfect, doesn’t it, Camelia?”
“I agree, blue lace would be nice.” Camelia and Iris linked arms and walked behind the younger girls.
“Pamela, what’s something you’re nervous about for your sixteenth birthday? It’s a big moment. Any fears you want to share?”
Leave it to Margaret to ask odd questions.
“I… I guess I fear tripping over my own dress in front of the guests. Everyone will laugh.”
Margaret gasped, her voice dramatic. “Tripping? That’s nonsense! You’ll glide like a swan, like you are now. And if anyone laughs, I’ll trip them myself. Right, Camelia?”
“You got that right, Margaret. No one’s mocking this girl on our watch!”
“And especially under the Duke’s watch,” Margaret added.
Camelia still couldn’t believe that Raph let them out on their own. She looked around the marketplace, wondering if she’d catch a glimpse of him. Her skin prickled at the thought of him protecting them even then.
“Pamela, you’ll have us there, and you won’t trip. You’re too graceful, like you were with the horses in the stables.”
“You think I’m graceful? Really?”
“Of course!” Camelia said confidently.
Iris nodded in agreement, her voice warm. “You’ve got a natural poise that we all struggled to get right when we entered Society.”
All the sisters mumbled in agreement, causing Pamela to blush profusely.
“Now, come on, let’s get to Madame Lefèvre’s shop before Margaret starts designing your gown herself.” Camelia led the way.
They wove through the marketplace until they arrived at Madame Lefèvre’s quaint shop, its windows displaying bolts ofsilk and lace. The French seamstress, a petite woman with sharp eyes, greeted them with a warm smile.
“Bonjour, mesdames!Welcome to my atelier.” Her gaze lingered on Pamela.
“Madame Lefèvre, how long has it been?” Camelia asked warmly.
“Ah! Camelia darling, how I have missed you bringing your sisters here almost daily.” Madame Lefèvre air-kissed Camelia’s and her sister’s cheeks, but when her gaze landed on Pamela, her brow furrowed slightly. “She looks so familiar. Those eyes, that face… where have I seen them before?”
Camelia stepped forward and proudly introduced her. “This is Pamela, the Duke of Brentmere’s daughter. She’s turning sixteen soon, and we’re here to buy a gown that makes her shine on her special day. I want her to feel like royalty on her birthday.”
Madame Lefèvre nodded, but her eyes stayed on Pamela, curious and searching. “The Duke’s daughter…oui, of course. But you look so familiar,ma chère, as if I met you years ago, or someone who looks like you.” She tilted her head, studying Pamela’s features.
