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Lady Nolan frowned. “A fashion show?”

“Yes,” she said, the idea forming rapidly as she recalled an article she’d read a few weeks before.

“Wasn’t that just done by Digby Morton, Edward Molyneux, and some others? I read about it a few weeks ago in The London Lady,” said Mrs. Hartwell.

“Yes, but we would do it differently. We would focus on local dressmakers here in London. They don’t receive nearly as much attention as designers do.”

“Don’t dressmakers just copy what more talented designers do?” asked Claire with a scoff.

“Many dressmakers do have the skill and talent to design themselves,” Sylvia argued.

“Which, I’m certain, is why so many of your dresses are made by dressmakers no one has ever heard of,” said Claire with a conspiratorial wink.

“This dress was designed and made by a London dressmaker,” she said, waving a hand down the black dress her sister had designed and Miss Reid had sewn.

There was a wave of murmurs, and Claire lifted a brow. “I stand corrected. I thought you lived and died by your Hartnell.”

“What exactly is your proposal, Mrs. Pearsall?” asked Lady Nolan.

“We would invite a number of local dressmakers to each create an original ensemble that aligns with the Board of Trade’s new austerity measures and uses utility cloth. We can tell them we want them to show that, despite the restrictions, fashion is alive, well, and within reach.

“The show would be a ticketed event, with the proceeds going to the charity,” she continued. “We could invite an audience of women and let them know that they can purchase the garments at the end of the show if they choose. If we do that and invite the fashion trade publications, I imagine many dressmakers would be even more inclined to join because it would encourage patronage.”

“Since she took over as editor at Vogue, Audrey Withers has been keen to show women how they can keep up appearances and maintain morale even with rationing on,” said Lady Winman. “We could write to the magazine to invite them to cover the event.”

“But does Vogue really have any interest in a small group of seamstresses no one’s heard of?” asked Claire. “Their pages are filled with Molyneux and Jacqmar, not Mrs. Bloggins’s frocks from the shop down the road.”

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed at her friend’s continued criticism even as Lady Winman said, “I should think Miss Withers would be very interested. The magazine seems to have a real interest in covering all aspects of the war. They’ve been writing about the clothing ration extensively, and they’re keen on promoting domestic fashion in all forms. I would be happy to ask Miss Withers. We are both volunteers with the London Fire Brigade.”

Disloyal though it was to her friend, Sylvia couldn’t help but feel triumphant when Claire sank back into the chair looking mollified.

“What I want to know is who would be the models? Most young ladies are in the auxiliary services now,” said Mrs. Neil, a slight woman who wore silver glasses on a chain.

“The ladies of this committee,” Sylvia jumped in, causing a stir.

“Not all of us have a model’s figure any longer,” said Lady Nolan primly.

“This show would be about women of all ages, shapes, and sizes,” she explained. “Practical dressing for the practical—but fashionable—woman.”

To her great surprise, Lady Nolan turned to the other women and said, “Well, I hope that you have all come with ideas as robust as Mrs. Pearsall’s because her fashion show will be very hard to best. Mrs. Neil, you are next.”

As Mrs. Neil fumbled with her notebook, Sylvia sank back in her chair with a sigh of relief.

It took time to listen to all the ideas pitched for the committee’s next fundraising event, even with Lady Nolan ruthlessly cutting off anyone who seemed unprepared with a curt “I think we’ve heard enough.”

Reassured that the focus of the afternoon’s meeting had shifted safely away from her, Sylvia busied herself by making a list down the right side of her notebook of all the things she needed to do when she returned to Mrs. Shelton’s, starting with submitting the coupons they’d collected that week to the Board of Trade for cross-checking.

When Lady Nolan finally declared the meeting over, Sylvia shot to her feet. However, a light hand on her forearm stopped her.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but your dress is lovely,” said Lady Winman.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, a little taken aback. Before this meeting, the countess had hardly spoken to her. Now, in the space of a single afternoon, Lady Winman had not only offered up Audrey Withers of Vogue in support of Sylvia’s fashion show but she had a compliment for Sylvia’s wardrobe.

“Would you mind passing along the name of your dressmaker?” asked Lady Winman. “I’ve struggled to find one I like.”

“Oh,” she said as Claire slid into her field of vision. When she’d mentioned that she was wearing a dressmaker’s design, she hadn’t thought that anyone might want to know the name of the shop. Now she realized that it had been a risk to open herself up like that. Still, to have a customer like Lady Winman… Well, wouldn’t that be a coup?

“I would be happy to find the address and send it to you, my lady,” she said firmly.