“It’s perfect,” Marigold interjects before Madame Genevieve gets too defensive. “It hardly requires much alteration. Wear this one to the wedding.”
Lottie turns and looks over her shoulder to see the back of the dress in the mirror. “Do you think it will look good next to yours?” She’s asking about much more than color coordination. She’s asking if she will be left alone at the wedding, or if Marigold will keep her word and stay by her side.
“You will look perfect next to me.”
Lottie smiles, relieved. The modiste pins a few places before ushering Lottie back into the changing room to try on the second dress.
“I cannot do much to this dress before the masquerade tonight. If it does not fit, we will have to find a different garment. I have some lovely gowns from the summer season, and they—”
“I am sure that this one will work,” Marigold interrupts.
“It is a bit tight,” Lottie calls. “I am doing my best.”
The modiste turns sharply on her heels and walks toward other gowns, pulling a light blue dress with short puffy sleeves and butterfly appliqués. “Why don’t we try this one? It will look perfect with your red hair, Miss Burke.”
“That is truly unnecessary,” Marigold says, rushing to barricade the entrance to Lottie’s changing room. But she is not fast enough. She is a few steps away when Madame Genevieve opens the curtain and reveals Lottie, halfway into the dress, with her chest and shoulders exposed.
Lottie’s jaw drops as she wraps her arms around herself.
“Oh, my word!” Madame Genevieve’s eyes roam over Lottie’s body. Marigold steps in between them and closes the curtain.
“You sawnothing,” she says sharply, leaning in close to Madame Genevieve and baring her teeth. “You will alter the dresses and you will say nothing to anyone. Understood?”
Her smirk is devilish. “Oh, but, Miss Claude, I must. I cannot aid in covering a crime.”
She steps even closer, puffing up her chest. “Your eyes are playing tricks on you, Madame. It must be your age. You saw nothing but lace decorating her skin.”
The modiste narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “I saw a girl with sailor markings whom I have no reason to protect.”
Her grimace deepens. “What can we do to change that?”
Madame’s smirk widens into a wicked grin. “I do believe I have yet to share with you my amended pricing. The cost of dresses has gone up significantly since you left.”
She should have expected no less than blackmail from this woman. “How much?”
“Forty pounds,” she says.
Marigold swallows hard. That’s twice the amount it should cost for these four dresses.
“Each,” she continues.
She gasps. “You are mad.”
“That is nothing compared to the fine for such a crime.”
She is right, and Marigold is livid with both the modiste and herself. She failed to protect Lottie, and now she must pay the price.
Through gritted teeth, she says, “It seems I have no choice but to accept.”
“Excellent. You will pay before you leave, and you may have them picked up in a few hours’ time.” She extends her open palm. “It has been so lovely doing business with you, Miss Claude.”
In any other circumstances, a handmaiden would have been sent to retrieve their dresses. But this time, Marigold goes alone. She walks into the shop silently, holding a slice of fresh honey cake on a small porcelain plate. The honey is peach blossom from her own apiary, along with a few other ingredients that, when combined, create a perfectly vicious spell.
“Miss Claude, I did not expect you. I assure you, you need not worry.” She dangles her heavy change purse and drops it onto the counter. “I will respect our arrangement.”
“I came to apologize for my behavior earlier,” she says. “I brought you a piece of the wedding cake to make amends. It is from the finest patisserie in all of Bardshire.”
“Oh, you kind girl. I knew you would come to understand that I was doing you a favor.” She takes the cake, and Marigold hands her a small fork.
