“This is still too big,” Ophelia said.
“If I take it in any more, I’ll have to start unstitching the bodice designs.” Justine lifted her arms, where the spangles scratched the sensitive flesh on the underside of her bicep.
Ophelia considered. “Padding?”
Justine looked at her as if she were suggesting wearing live chickens under her frock. “Maybe we should get Eleanor in here. She’s a master at knots, maybe she can think something up?”
“Do you think a ribbon can help that much?” Ophelia’s face wrinkled in concern.
“Might as well try. It is a better option than unstitching all those spangles.”
Eleanor arrived, cheeks flushed and hair mussed. Ophelia cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows drawing together. “Are you well?”
“Hm?” Eleanor asked, somehow a bit breathless. “Now who needs what?”
Justine stood up, letting the gown sag away from her.
“Oh my. Yes.” Eleanor considered the green gown that was now very much tent-like.
“I didn’t realize I’d lost so much weight. But the sleeves are tight on my arms.” She raised her arm, demonstrating how the sleeves restricted her movement.
“They’ve always been like that,” Ophelia said, slipping ear bobs on.
“Not this bad, surely.” Justine raised and lowered her arms again, feeling the pinch of strained fabric around her biceps.
“It never mattered to you before.”
Meanwhile, Eleanor had pulled and stretched the fabric of the bodice in different ways, pulling at the waist, and then the loose bodice. “I think our best option is the window shade.”
“I beg your pardon?” Justine said.
Eleanor worked her magic with some pins and the longest black velvet ribbon in the room. The three of the working in tandem, they used the extra fabric of the bodice to create an internal channel for the ribbon, then looped it around the front,allowing the skirts to billow out along the ballooned crinoline, but raise the green outer skirt and expose the white underskirt.
“Won’t I be uncouth, exposing my underskirt?” Justine asked, already wary of what Lady Rascomb might say.
“They did it all the time in the fashions of yesteryear. I’m sure Mama wore things far more scandalous.” Ophelia waved off Justine’s concern as she gathered up Justine’s jewelry from the table and handed it to her.
“I like this,” Justine said, ignoring the jewelry and playing with the ribbon that raised and lowered her skirt, exactly like a window shade. “This is really fun.”
Eleanor smiled. “You are welcome. I have been thinking about it for when we climb the Matterhorn.”
Ophelia’s eyes locked on Eleanor, like a hunting dog realizing he’s scented his prey. “How so?”
“I noticed on Breithorn that we often end up holding the front of our skirts up as we walk, to avoid them getting trod under on steep grades. And even as we tramp through snow, the hems get wet and make our woolen skirts very heavy. What about if we implemented something like this for our walking dresses?”
Justine stared. “I think you are the smartest person I’ve ever met, Eleanor. And that’s saying something because I know Ophelia.”
Eleanor blushed, and it was easy to see why Tristan had fallen for her. Smart, unassuming, very clever, and her blush made her very pretty indeed. She smiled at her friend, and then realized why Eleanor had been out of breath. And why her hair was an absolute mess. Tristan had been mid-expressing his appreciation for his new bride when they’d summoned her. Because Eleanor was Eleanor, she came right away instead of finishing up and then arriving.
“Do you need help getting ready for dinner?” Justine asked. “There isn’t much time left to dress.”
Eleanor blanched and looked at the clock sitting on the dressing table. “Oh dear.”
“We can help you dress,” Ophelia said.
Justine noticed Eleanor’s brief hesitation before she invited them back to her room. On they traipsed, and luckily discovered that Tristan had dressed and wandered over to Francis’ room.
“Did I not get an invite?” Prudence popped her head in Eleanor’s room. “I heard the commotion.”
