“Thank you.” Julia was happy to avoid spending the next few hours smelling like a damp cellar.
“But there were more gowns in a wardrobe on the next floor up. Mrs. Bowman said they’d be all right for you to use. I’m thinking the blue, what with your eyes and fair hair.”
“Perfect,” Julia agreed, until Emily opened the now-full armoire and drew out the first dress.
Dear God!The size wasn’t bad and the length would suit so she wouldn’t trip, but...
“I know they’re a wee bit out of fashion, miss.”
Wee bit?Emily had a flair for understatement. Julia nearly laughed except she feared she would look absurd. It was like dressing for a masked ball except instead of a costume, she was choosing something from a time when King George was still young and perfectly sane, or his father before him.
“Are they all ... of a similar look?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Very well. Let’s get on with it. The longer we wait, the more outdated the gowns will become.”
Apparently, this struck Emily as hilarious, for she dissolved into laughter before going about her duty and helping Julia into first a clean but well-worn and thus extraordinarily soft shift, and then her own stays —thank goodness! —before holding up a—
“What the devil!” Julia exclaimed before she could tame her tongue.
“Pocket hoops, miss. Mrs. Bowman recalled her mother wearing them and said you’ll need these for the sides of the gown. We’re just lucky they were kept in the trunk.”
Luckywasn’t exactly the word Julia was thinking.
After letting Emily tie the infernal contraption around her waist, Julia had a three-tiered cage of striped fabric attached to each hip. Then she held up her arms and Emily draped the blue gown over her head and shoulders before tugging it into place.
“Come have a look, miss,” the maid invited cheerfully, indicating the four-foot tall cheval looking-glass in the corner. Emily tilted it accordingly and waited.
“I’m afraid to do so,” Julia said.
The maid giggled. “You look a vision, miss.”
Julia believed she did — a nightmarish vision of lace and pouffiness.
She glanced at herself and winced.
The first thing that took her attention was the low-cut bodice, fringed in sheer silk lace, then the ample floppy sleeves which somehow poofed once, twice, three times before ending just past her elbows in another fit of lace. The bodice was the last-century style coming to a point below her waist and then the skirt billowed out on either side.
Julia swallowed. “Perhaps if we took off the pocket hoops, it would hang a little more naturally.”
“Oh no,” Emily protested, suddenly a fashion expert, as if a modiste from the heart of London or Paris. “There would be far too much fabric, all shapeless hanging down on your hips.”
“You mean like our usual gowns,” she said wryly.
The maid, now having fun at Julia’s expense, seemed to be the most good-natured giddy girl. “No, miss. Not at all. You know what I mean.”
“It could be worse, I suppose,” Julia conceded, taking another look as she turned slowly before the long mirror. “A decade or so earlier, and the skirt would be as wide as a sofa. Why, I would have to turn sideways to get through the door. At least, I shall fit into the dining room with this one. But just barely.”
“Of course, you will fit, miss. Shall we dress your hair?”
“Will my hair get its own cage, too?” Julia asked rudely. She’d seen some incredible creations in fashion plates from the seventeen-hundreds with stuffed birds, little buildings, or even miniature horse and carriages built in, and the entire monstrosity held together with pomade so it wouldn’t come down in a typhoon.
Emily actually appeared to be thinking about it, and Julia feared if she didn’t quell any such thoughts, she would also end up with a fake beauty mark on her cheek and a white-powdered face.
“I was speaking in jest,” she assured the maid. “A regular tidy plait pinned up with a few curls will suffice, if you please.”
“Yes, miss.”
