Penelope scoffed loudly. “You only want it because I said I liked it.”
“It would suit me better,” Joan demanded.
“It would suffocate you,” Penelope said, looking at Joan's figure, which made her gasp in offense.
“Girls,” Harriet gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest. “Must you quarrel before half of Mayfair?”
Irene sighed beside Charlotte. “I warned you this would happen.”
Elizabeth watched the scene with open delight from a cushioned chair near the mirrors. “Oh, let them argue a little,” she said cheerfully. “Young ladies ought to fight over gowns. It is practically tradition.”
Charlotte rubbed at her temple. “That is comforting, Your Grace.”
Joan held up a deep sapphire silk. “This colour would make my complexion radiant.”
Penelope snorted. “It would make you resemble a decorative curtain.”
Harriet looked moments away from fainting. “Penelope Brown, one day your sharp tongue shall destroy us all.”
“It has not yet,” Penelope replied brightly.
Charlotte stepped between her sisters before the gown was torn in half. “Enough. Joan, the blue silk suits Irene best.”
Joan gasped in betrayal. “You wound me.”
“I survive by wounding all of you equally,” Charlotte informed her calmly.
“Penelope, you dislike blue anyway.”
“I do not dislike it,” Penelope argued. “I merely think it beneath me.”
Irene quietly touched the fabric. “It is lovely.”
“There,” Charlotte said firmly. “Irene shall have the blue.”
Joan folded her arms. “Then I demand the green satin.”
Penelope immediately pointed. “I wanted the green satin.”
Harriet looked heavenward. “Lord, give me strength.”
Elizabeth began laughing so hard her shoulders shook.
Charlotte turned toward the dowager with mock accusation. “You are encouraging them.”
“Certainly,” Elizabeth replied. “This is most entertaining.”
A seamstress approached nervously, carrying measuring ribbons. “Perhaps we should begin fittings?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said quickly before another war began.
The sisters dispersed reluctantly while Harriet collapsed beside Elizabeth with theatrical exhaustion. “I raised wolves,” Harriet declared mournfully.
“You raised daughters,” Elizabeth corrected. “There is very little difference.”
Harriet barked out startled laughter while Charlotte smiled despite herself. The afternoon slowly settled into something far calmer as measurements were taken and fabrics discussed. Joan insisted upon rich jewel tones that made her look striking and lively. Irene chose elegant soft silks with perfect grace, while Penelope selected bold colours that scandalized Harriet every few minutes.
“Purple?” Harriet cried. “Absolutely not.”
