Read Online M Is for Marquess by Grace Callaway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Callaway
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she’d been holding back came rushing to the fore. She thought of her sisters so vivid and hale in their costumes, and despair filled her. Why can’t I be like them? Her own feathery white image blurred.
Instead, I’m a stupid swan. Pallid and useless. An ornamental creature.
“Ah, je comprends . The dress, it is not how you envision yourself, Miss Kent?”
Looking into Frenchwoman’s shrewd eyes, Thea said helplessly, “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. You’ve done a splendid job, and I am ever so grateful — ”
The modiste cut her off with a hand. “We must begin anew.”
“Oh no,” Thea said, horrified, “there’s nothing wrong—”
“If it is not right, then it is wrong,” Madame Rousseau said simply.
“Thea,”—Em’s voice drifted from the other side—“is everything all right? Shall I come and help you?”
Why do I always need help? Why can’t I be strong? Why can’t I even kiss a man without my lungs giving out on me?
One after another, thoughts tumbled through Thea’s head. Heat pushed behind her eyes.
The modiste murmured, “I’ll be right back.”
Numbly, Thea heard the proprietress saying to Emma and the others that Thea’s fitting required more time. She instructed her assistants to show the Kents some accessories in the main shop.
“Are you certain you don’t need me?” Emma called out.
“Don’t worry about me,” Thea managed. “I’ll be right out.”
The doors closed behind the others, and Madame Rousseau returned.
“Thank you, Madame.” Embarrassed, Thea said, “I’m usually not a watering pot.”
“In my profession, tears are as common as pins. And like pins, they are useful if one knows what to do with them.” The modiste passed Thea a handkerchief, her manner matter-of-fact. “In your case, mademoiselle , tears may yet lead us to the truth.”
“The truth is that I’m being an idiot.” Thea dabbed at her eyes. “This dress is lovely. It will suffice, truly—”
“In my shop, sufficient is not a goal one aims for. Do you wish to tell me what troubles you, Miss Kent? A modiste cannot properly dress a client without understanding her. And of my discretion, you may be assured.”
“That is very kind of you.” Blowing into the linen, Thea wondered why it was easier to talk to the dressmaker than to her own sisters. Perhaps it was the lack of the judgement, the no-nonsense objectivity she sensed in the other. She exhaled a shaky breath. “There is… a gentleman.”
“Ah, chérie , there almost always is . ”
“He thinks I’m fragile and weak,” she blurted.
Madame shrugged. An infinitely Gallic gesture. “Gentlemen, they like to believe we are the weaker sex, non ?”
“I thought we had an attraction.” Releasing a breath, she said haltingly, “He’s a widower, you see, and his departed wife was a paragon. Everything a lady ought to be. I’ll never be as perfect as she was.”
“No two gowns can ever be alike,” the modiste said philosophically. “In fashion, as in life, the goal must be to accentuate one’s unique gifts rather than emulate another’s. That, ma petite , is true art.”
Her chest clenched. “But what if one doesn’t have any gifts?”
Madame arched a dark brow. “Then I would say begin with that belief.”
“Pardon?”
“If you see yourself as lacking, then the world will see what you see.”
Did she see herself as lacking? Was that the problem?
“I want to be strong,” she whispered.
“ Alors, aspiration is the first step to success.” A glint in her eye, the modiste circled Thea slowly. “Go on. What else do you wish for?”
“I don’t want to be held back by my illness. I don’t want to be frail, to miss out on life while it happens around me.” Her voice grew steadier as she faced herself in the mirror. She saw a slender woman clad in ashen feathers, colorless cloth, and her hands balled. “I want to fall in love and have a family of my own.”
Madame Rousseau
Instead, I’m a stupid swan. Pallid and useless. An ornamental creature.
“Ah, je comprends . The dress, it is not how you envision yourself, Miss Kent?”
Looking into Frenchwoman’s shrewd eyes, Thea said helplessly, “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. You’ve done a splendid job, and I am ever so grateful — ”
The modiste cut her off with a hand. “We must begin anew.”
“Oh no,” Thea said, horrified, “there’s nothing wrong—”
“If it is not right, then it is wrong,” Madame Rousseau said simply.
“Thea,”—Em’s voice drifted from the other side—“is everything all right? Shall I come and help you?”
Why do I always need help? Why can’t I be strong? Why can’t I even kiss a man without my lungs giving out on me?
One after another, thoughts tumbled through Thea’s head. Heat pushed behind her eyes.
The modiste murmured, “I’ll be right back.”
Numbly, Thea heard the proprietress saying to Emma and the others that Thea’s fitting required more time. She instructed her assistants to show the Kents some accessories in the main shop.
“Are you certain you don’t need me?” Emma called out.
“Don’t worry about me,” Thea managed. “I’ll be right out.”
The doors closed behind the others, and Madame Rousseau returned.
“Thank you, Madame.” Embarrassed, Thea said, “I’m usually not a watering pot.”
“In my profession, tears are as common as pins. And like pins, they are useful if one knows what to do with them.” The modiste passed Thea a handkerchief, her manner matter-of-fact. “In your case, mademoiselle , tears may yet lead us to the truth.”
“The truth is that I’m being an idiot.” Thea dabbed at her eyes. “This dress is lovely. It will suffice, truly—”
“In my shop, sufficient is not a goal one aims for. Do you wish to tell me what troubles you, Miss Kent? A modiste cannot properly dress a client without understanding her. And of my discretion, you may be assured.”
“That is very kind of you.” Blowing into the linen, Thea wondered why it was easier to talk to the dressmaker than to her own sisters. Perhaps it was the lack of the judgement, the no-nonsense objectivity she sensed in the other. She exhaled a shaky breath. “There is… a gentleman.”
“Ah, chérie , there almost always is . ”
“He thinks I’m fragile and weak,” she blurted.
Madame shrugged. An infinitely Gallic gesture. “Gentlemen, they like to believe we are the weaker sex, non ?”
“I thought we had an attraction.” Releasing a breath, she said haltingly, “He’s a widower, you see, and his departed wife was a paragon. Everything a lady ought to be. I’ll never be as perfect as she was.”
“No two gowns can ever be alike,” the modiste said philosophically. “In fashion, as in life, the goal must be to accentuate one’s unique gifts rather than emulate another’s. That, ma petite , is true art.”
Her chest clenched. “But what if one doesn’t have any gifts?”
Madame arched a dark brow. “Then I would say begin with that belief.”
“Pardon?”
“If you see yourself as lacking, then the world will see what you see.”
Did she see herself as lacking? Was that the problem?
“I want to be strong,” she whispered.
“ Alors, aspiration is the first step to success.” A glint in her eye, the modiste circled Thea slowly. “Go on. What else do you wish for?”
“I don’t want to be held back by my illness. I don’t want to be frail, to miss out on life while it happens around me.” Her voice grew steadier as she faced herself in the mirror. She saw a slender woman clad in ashen feathers, colorless cloth, and her hands balled. “I want to fall in love and have a family of my own.”
Madame Rousseau
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