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Authors: Grace Callaway
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the dresses.
“ Bienvenue , Your Grace. Misses Kent.” Madame Rousseau’s skirts rustled crisply as she curtsied. “I am most eager for you to view my finished creations.”
“Thank you, Madame,” Emma said. “We’re grateful that you expedited our order.”
“You are family to Mrs. Kent,” the modiste said simply.
Marianne Kent, their sister-in-law, had been one of Madame Rousseau’s first patrons, helping to launch the dressmaker’s star. The two women were confidantes, and Marianne had brought the Kent sisters into their realm of high fashion and impeccable taste.
Which had been no small feat, Thea thought with amusement. Growing up in Chudleigh Crest, she and her siblings had not only been lacking in Town polish, they hadn’t even known what polish was . For most of their life, they’d sewn their own clothes, many of which had been passed down, patched over, and remade.
Yet here they all were now, looking as shiny as buffed apples. The fact never ceased to amaze her. How far her family had come; she had so much to be grateful for.
“Who would like to go first?” Madame said.
Violet jumped at the opportunity. When she emerged from behind the dressing screen in a bright yellow gown, Thea smiled. Madame had made Violet into a daffodil. Exquisite leaves of emerald green decorated the bodice, matched by long satin gloves of the same shade. The bold, fresh colors perfectly captured Vi’s vibrant spirit and the long, clean lines clung to her lithe figure, emphasizing her femininity.
“Lovely,” Em approved. “You put me in mind of that poem by Mr. Wordsworth.”
“ Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in a spritely dance ,” Thea quoted softly.
“ And then my heart with pleasure fills ,” Polly chimed in, “ and dances with the daffodils. ”
Grinning, Vi swung this way and that in front of the looking glass. “This daffodil definitely plans to waltz the night away.”
“Now, Vi, you do know the rules about waltzing—” Em began.
Violet directed her tawny eyes at her hairline. “Not to worry, mother hen. ’Tis only a figure of speech.”
Emma exchanged looks with Thea, who shared the other’s concern. As a young girl, Vi’s high-spirited nature had landed her into plenty of scrapes; luckily, most had proved harmless. Now that she was older, however, and circulating in London’s higher circles, her impulsiveness could lead to more damaging consequences.
“Even so, you must have a care, Vi,” Thea said. “You know how sticklers can be.”
“If sticklers are anything like sisters , I’ll be in suds for certain.” Violet snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll be so proper and demure they’ll mistake me for my shrinking namesake.”
She trotted off to change, snatching a biscuit along the way.
“Who would like to go next?” Madame Rousseau waved at the second dressing screen.
Emma volunteered, and when she returned Thea and Polly applauded her appearance. The modiste had transformed their eldest sister into a sleek feline with luxurious ermine trimming the bodice and hem of her dove grey gown. The cleverly designed headpiece gave the appearance of two small pointed ears protruding from Emma’s dark curls.
“How adorable you look,” Thea said.
“It was Strathaven’s idea.” Emma blushed. “But never mind me. It’s your turn, Thea.”
Thea took her turn behind the dressing screen. Madame helped her to don her outfit, and when they were finished, she regarded the image in the looking glass. She’d seen the unfinished costume before at previous fittings and approved the elegant design.
Yet looking at herself now, emotion hit her like a wave.
A tear leaked and slipped down her cheek.
“ Alors , what is this?” the modiste said, frowning. “You do not like the ensemble, mademoiselle ?”
“N-no. It’s l-lovely.”
In vain, Thea tried to control the quiver in her voice. But it was as if a hidden dam had broken inside her and the tide of emotions
“ Bienvenue , Your Grace. Misses Kent.” Madame Rousseau’s skirts rustled crisply as she curtsied. “I am most eager for you to view my finished creations.”
“Thank you, Madame,” Emma said. “We’re grateful that you expedited our order.”
“You are family to Mrs. Kent,” the modiste said simply.
Marianne Kent, their sister-in-law, had been one of Madame Rousseau’s first patrons, helping to launch the dressmaker’s star. The two women were confidantes, and Marianne had brought the Kent sisters into their realm of high fashion and impeccable taste.
Which had been no small feat, Thea thought with amusement. Growing up in Chudleigh Crest, she and her siblings had not only been lacking in Town polish, they hadn’t even known what polish was . For most of their life, they’d sewn their own clothes, many of which had been passed down, patched over, and remade.
Yet here they all were now, looking as shiny as buffed apples. The fact never ceased to amaze her. How far her family had come; she had so much to be grateful for.
“Who would like to go first?” Madame said.
Violet jumped at the opportunity. When she emerged from behind the dressing screen in a bright yellow gown, Thea smiled. Madame had made Violet into a daffodil. Exquisite leaves of emerald green decorated the bodice, matched by long satin gloves of the same shade. The bold, fresh colors perfectly captured Vi’s vibrant spirit and the long, clean lines clung to her lithe figure, emphasizing her femininity.
“Lovely,” Em approved. “You put me in mind of that poem by Mr. Wordsworth.”
“ Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in a spritely dance ,” Thea quoted softly.
“ And then my heart with pleasure fills ,” Polly chimed in, “ and dances with the daffodils. ”
Grinning, Vi swung this way and that in front of the looking glass. “This daffodil definitely plans to waltz the night away.”
“Now, Vi, you do know the rules about waltzing—” Em began.
Violet directed her tawny eyes at her hairline. “Not to worry, mother hen. ’Tis only a figure of speech.”
Emma exchanged looks with Thea, who shared the other’s concern. As a young girl, Vi’s high-spirited nature had landed her into plenty of scrapes; luckily, most had proved harmless. Now that she was older, however, and circulating in London’s higher circles, her impulsiveness could lead to more damaging consequences.
“Even so, you must have a care, Vi,” Thea said. “You know how sticklers can be.”
“If sticklers are anything like sisters , I’ll be in suds for certain.” Violet snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll be so proper and demure they’ll mistake me for my shrinking namesake.”
She trotted off to change, snatching a biscuit along the way.
“Who would like to go next?” Madame Rousseau waved at the second dressing screen.
Emma volunteered, and when she returned Thea and Polly applauded her appearance. The modiste had transformed their eldest sister into a sleek feline with luxurious ermine trimming the bodice and hem of her dove grey gown. The cleverly designed headpiece gave the appearance of two small pointed ears protruding from Emma’s dark curls.
“How adorable you look,” Thea said.
“It was Strathaven’s idea.” Emma blushed. “But never mind me. It’s your turn, Thea.”
Thea took her turn behind the dressing screen. Madame helped her to don her outfit, and when they were finished, she regarded the image in the looking glass. She’d seen the unfinished costume before at previous fittings and approved the elegant design.
Yet looking at herself now, emotion hit her like a wave.
A tear leaked and slipped down her cheek.
“ Alors , what is this?” the modiste said, frowning. “You do not like the ensemble, mademoiselle ?”
“N-no. It’s l-lovely.”
In vain, Thea tried to control the quiver in her voice. But it was as if a hidden dam had broken inside her and the tide of emotions
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