“We could bribe the modiste to keep it a secret,” Lottie suggests.
“A bribe may only make it more scandalous.”
“Well, what do you suggest?”
“I think mine will be easy enough to hide beneath my stay, but for you, we will simply insist that she take your measurements over your dress. She will press us for information, I assure you. Give her nothing.”
“What would she do if she saw?” Lottie swallows hard.
“Do not even think of it. She will not see a thing.”
The driver stops the carriage and opens the door, helping them descend. The modiste shop is blessedly empty. Madame Genevieve eagerly greets them both at the door.
“Miss Claude, so lovely to see you! My, how long it has been. Where did you run off to?”
“I am here now,” she says, dodging her question.
The modiste welcomes them inside. “I have been working on your dress for some time now based on your former measurements. I increased them slightly, per your sister’s request, but I am eager to fit it perfectly for you.” She turns quickly and pulls the dress out of a pristine protective bag. It is a beautiful shade of dark orange, exactly like that of autumn leaves and peach blossom honey.
“That’s lovely.” She takes the dress and motions to Lottie.“Madame, this is Miss Burke. She will also require a dress for the wedding, and perhaps another for the evening ahead.”
“Splendid! Lovely to meet you, Miss Burke. From where do you hail?”
Lottie looks at Marigold, who gives the slightest shake of her head. “A small town far from here. Most have not heard of it.”
Even that is too much information.
“Ah, is that where you met Miss Claude? That is where the two of you are living? A town so small that you will not speak of it?” The modiste smirks, likely thinking of how she will narrativize this tiny tidbit of information to entertain the town. Perhaps something like “The talentless Claude girl has been forced away to a nameless village far away from her family. Oh yes, very sad indeed, but would you not have done the same if you were her parents? The girl never belonged here. They knew that as well as any. I believe they did her a favor.”
Lottie stammers as a response. Marigold swoops in and says, “We met some time ago. Pardon me, I must change. Do not speak of anything interesting without me!” she says, a warning to the both of them. In the changing room, she fights to escape her current dress so that she may pull on the new one. It’s been so long since she wore anything with such frill. Her favorite dresses now are hardly grander than the chemise she wears underneath. Her gown for the wedding has lace and appliqués and tiny jewels scattered over the whole thing. She cannot reach all the buttons on the back. She emerges and stands on the pedestal in the center of the shop. The gilded oval mirror before her allows her to see every inch of herself, and she is more pleased than she expected. The dress is nearly perfect, with only a small bit of slack in the waist. Madame Genevieve leaves to retrieve her pins while Lottie walks up and starts buttoning the dress, her fingers playfully skimming Marigold’s skin.
“What do you think?” she says, looking down at Lottie.
Lottie stares at her all over, her gaze burning. “I think you look perfect.” She looks up through her lashes and parts her lipsto say something else, but Madame Genevieve returns to her side before Lottie can speak further.
“As for you, Miss Burke,” she says as she pins Marigold’s dress, “there are limitations as to what I can provide on such short notice. Go and undress quickly so that I may take your measurements and assess what I can offer.”
Marigold turns, getting herself poked in the rib with a tiny needle. She yelps before saying, “Shall we save time by simply taking her measurements now with her clothes still on? We are all in quite a rush, are we not?”
“Nonsense. There is always time for proper measurements.” Madame Genevieve gestures to the changing room. “Miss Burke, please.”
Quickly, Marigold steps off the pedestal and walks to the many dress forms toward the back of the shop. There are a few dresses that should do well to cover Lottie’s tattoos—a white one with red appliqué, a solid black one with intricate opaque lace sleeves, and an emerald green gown made of heavy satin.
“Are these complete, Madame? Lottie can choose from these.” She motions for Lottie to come to her side and softly explains the details of the gowns.
“She must still be fitted properly,” Madame Genevieve calls after a few moments. “I will not have my designs worn incorrectly.”
“Of course.” She takes Lottie’s two choices off the dress forms. The modiste moves swiftly over to help her, ensuring that Marigold does not damage the garments with her lack of delicacy.
Marigold hands the dresses to Lottie. “She may take them into the changing room and try them on, and you can fit them to her form then. Yes?”
Sighing, Madame Genevieve says, “Of course, miss.”
The first that Lottie tries on is the emerald green. When she steps out, time stops moving. Her beauty is lethal. She looks to be floating as she moves through the shop and steps up on the pedestal.
She sees herself in the mirror and runs her hand along the finefabric. Tugging at the sleeves and the collar, she says, “I worry that this is too much.”
The modiste hurries over. “I beg your pardon?”
