“Managed?” Izzy shook her head. “I feel more akin to a puppet, Rosie. Every move orchestrated, every smile rehearsed. And now with them coming...” She hadn’t told her sisters how she felt in her marriage, and she knew now was the time.
Rosie took Izzy’s hand. “You’ve talked about how lovely it is in bed with him. Certainly, he loves and appreciates you.”
Izzy laughed softly, but the sound wasn’t one of amusement. “That’s the only time he’s truly himself. Well, and one lovely Sunday afternoon that feels as though it never happened.”
“Perhaps it’s just for show,” Ana suggested.
“Show,” Izzy echoed hollowly. “That’s all we are to them, aren’t we? Props in a grand play of wealth and power.”
Ana shook her head. “That’s not how my marriage is. William has me help him in the infirmary, and he tells me I’m doing a wonderful job quite often. I feel that we have a good marriage, though I do wish he’d tell me he loves me.”
Izzy set her tea down and frowned. “It’s not like that with us. Albert is always concerned about my appearance and tells me how I’m representing him.”
“Let’s not borrow trouble from tomorrow,” Rosie said softly. “We’ll face this together, as we always have.”
“But you won’t be there with his parents all the time. I will,” Izzy said, wishing her sisters would be there. Their presence made everything easier for her.
*****
WHEN ALBERT ARRIVEDhome that afternoon, he mentioned his plans for his parents’ visit. “We’ll be hosting a grand party in honor of my parents’ visit,” he stated. “It will be an opportunity for them to see the life we’ve built here.”
Izzy’s fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of her skirt, the rough texture grounding her.
“Your sisters are to attend as well,” he continued, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that felt like scrutiny. “They must present themselves fittingly. I shall arrange for dresses to be made for each of them. Our family’s image must remain impeccable.”
Izzy wanted to scream at him that he could control her, but her sisters weren’t his to dress and command. “I’ll ask them if they’d mind attending and wearing the dresses you prefer.”
“You’ll need to convince them if they are unwilling,” he said shortly.
“I’ll do my best,” she said.
*****
THE NEXT DAY, SEATEDat Ana’s worn kitchen table with her sisters, Izzy relayed the news. “Albert insists you both need new dresses for the party,” she said. “He’s going to have the modiste that made my dresses make them for you.”
“New dresses?” Rosie’s brow creased with concern, but there was resignation in her posture, a silent acceptance of the role they were all forced to play.
“Does he think us dolls to be dressed up for his amusement?” Ana’s voice crackled with frustration. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I shouldn’t have said that. You have to live with his control every day, and I have to do it once, and I’m complaining.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Izzy replied. “I hate it as well, but we’ve little choice in the matter.”
“Then we’ll wear the dresses,” Rosie declared after a moment. “For your sake, Izzy. We stand together, always.”
Ana nodded in agreement, though her lips were a tight line, betraying her inner turmoil. “Of course we will. We love you, Izzy!”
As the conversation turned to lighter matters, Izzy’s mind wandered to the party. She imagined the opulence, the laughter that would ring hollow in her ears. Yet beneath the dread, a spark of resolve took hold. For now, she would don the silk and smile through the charade.
*****
THE MODISTE’S PARLORwas a small, suffocating room embroidered with the incessant hum of the sewing machine. Heavy drapes trapped the light and the air, lacing the atmosphere with the musty scent of fabric and mothballs. Izzy stood on an ornate pedestal. Her sisters flanked her, forms draped in unfinished silk and taffeta.
She was happy they were no longer forced to always dress alike, but at that moment, the idea of presenting a united front with her triplets seemed to be the only answer. Together, they could dress alike, and maybe she could blend in with the sisters she loved so dearly.
“Keep still,” the modiste chided gently as she pinned the hem of the pale blue gown, her fingers deft.
“Does it have to be so tight?” Rosie murmured, her voice muffled behind the pins held between her lips.
“Beauty knows discomfort,” the modiste replied. “And these gowns must speak volumes.”
