“I am thrilled to see you! You’ve saved me from history’s longest dress fitting. What perfect timing!”
The girls cast sidelong glances at each other.
“That would explain your odd attire,” Ella said drily.
Alex looked down at herself with a groan. “I was in such a hurry to get out of that room, I forgot that I was still wearing the gown.” She sat up on the chaise and fluffed her skirts. “I’ll change in a bit. I’m not venturing back up there until Madame Fernaud has gone. She takes pleasure in my pain.”
“Your mother will have fits if she finds you lying about in your coming-out gown,” observed Vivi. “But since you’re here…stand up so we can have a look at it.”
Alex stood, curtsied, and twirled for her friends. Vivi smiled broadly. “It’s beautiful, Alex. The color is perfect on you. Cruelly or no, Madame Fernaud knows how to wield a needle.”
Alex grimaced at the memory of the needle in question and spoke wryly. “Alas…if only she were as careful with skin as she is with silk.” The girls shared a laugh—they’d all been on the receiving end of the modiste’s needle—and Alex looked down at the dress she’d been wearing for most of the afternoon.
She had to admit that it was beautiful. A rich emerald silk, the perfect color to highlight her bronze complexion, green eyes, and auburn hair, the gown was perfectly fitted to her body from shoulders to neckline to waist—a style Alex had never been able to wear before, her age prohibiting her from donning something so revealing. At the waist, the dress fell in rich waves of luxurious fabric down to the floor. What made it truly remarkable, however, were the hundreds of tiny handmade rosebuds that were meticulously affixed to the fabric in a diagonal cascade. The flowers, in the same green silk, appeared sparingly at the top of the bodice and gradually spilled down the dress, increasing in number. The design played on Alex’s uncommon tallness, elongating her form and accentuating her height.
It really was a masterpiece.
Ella interrupted her study of the gown. “If you think you’re going to be able to steer clear of marriage in that, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Alex cast a scowl at her friend. Ella never minced words. And she was almost always right. Unfortunately, this situation was no exception. The gown was designed for one reason only…to catch her a husband. For more than a year, her mother had been in a whirlwind of preparation for this, the spring of 1815, when Alex would turn seventeen and be “introduced” to the world. Not that she hadn’t been introduced to the world for seventeen years. But this was different. This was her first season, when she would be paraded like a piece of horseflesh in front of every unattached male in London who happened to have a sizable inheritance and an acceptable title. Her mother’s goal was to have Alex married off by autumn.
Did anything sound worse?
“I’m simply going to have to try not to do this dress justice.” Alex’s tone was filled with resolve. “My mother has her heart set on making my life as dull and boring as she possibly can. I mean…who on earth wants to end up married in Surrey? What a nightmare!” she said to no one in particular.
Ella leaned back against the soft upholstery of her chair and looked up at the ceiling with disdain. “No one. At least, no one with a mind to think for herself.”
“My brothers are all years older than I am—does my mother pester them to settle down and get married?”
Vivi interrupted, “Yes.”
“That’s because my mother enjoys pestering her children. But they don’t listen to her! The only reason they’ve agreed to attend any balls this year is because they want fodder with which to mock their little sister!”
Ella this time: “Well, you can’t blame them. You are exceedingly mockable.”
Vivi chuckled as Alex shot her friend a withering glance and carried on. “It’s atrociously unfair! Men our age aren’t even asked to attend balls. The idea of boys marrying at eighteen is unfathomable for our set. It’s what happens in the country! And yet, we are paraded around like…like…cattle…to be sold…to the highest bidder!”
Ella interrupted again. “Well, to be fair, perhaps it’s best men aren’t married off at eighteen. Have you met the average eigh teen-year-old male?”
Vivi’s dry remark followed. “Mmmm. I’m still trying to avoid taking offense at being compared to livestock. Go on, Alex…”
Alex sighed. “I’m just being silly, I know. But that’s how it feels. Especially when you grow up with three older brothers who seem to have an entirely different set of rules.”
“You’re right,” Ella spoke seriously, “but it seems that we don’t really have a choice. Our options are rather limited.”
And Ella would know. As the eldest in a family of girls, Ella had a familial obligation to marry and marry well, setting the standard for her younger sisters…unless she could figure out a way to take herself out of the running. Ella had considered any number of options to render herself unmarriageable. The girls had discussed every possibility and come to one conclusion: The fastest way to be set “on the shelf” and ignored was to have one’s reputation ruined.
Unfortunately, being ruined was not an option, however tempting it was, for it seemed that ruination was the punishment for anyone daring enough to try something exciting. Girls in London society could have their reputation destroyed in any number of ways, but the biggest offenses were clear: kissing (or something more scandalous) on the lips (or somewhere more scandalous); dancing three or more dances with someone at a ball; or visiting a man at his home unchaperoned.
The girls cast sidelong glances at each other.
“That would explain your odd attire,” Ella said drily.
Alex looked down at herself with a groan. “I was in such a hurry to get out of that room, I forgot that I was still wearing the gown.” She sat up on the chaise and fluffed her skirts. “I’ll change in a bit. I’m not venturing back up there until Madame Fernaud has gone. She takes pleasure in my pain.”
“Your mother will have fits if she finds you lying about in your coming-out gown,” observed Vivi. “But since you’re here…stand up so we can have a look at it.”
Alex stood, curtsied, and twirled for her friends. Vivi smiled broadly. “It’s beautiful, Alex. The color is perfect on you. Cruelly or no, Madame Fernaud knows how to wield a needle.”
Alex grimaced at the memory of the needle in question and spoke wryly. “Alas…if only she were as careful with skin as she is with silk.” The girls shared a laugh—they’d all been on the receiving end of the modiste’s needle—and Alex looked down at the dress she’d been wearing for most of the afternoon.
She had to admit that it was beautiful. A rich emerald silk, the perfect color to highlight her bronze complexion, green eyes, and auburn hair, the gown was perfectly fitted to her body from shoulders to neckline to waist—a style Alex had never been able to wear before, her age prohibiting her from donning something so revealing. At the waist, the dress fell in rich waves of luxurious fabric down to the floor. What made it truly remarkable, however, were the hundreds of tiny handmade rosebuds that were meticulously affixed to the fabric in a diagonal cascade. The flowers, in the same green silk, appeared sparingly at the top of the bodice and gradually spilled down the dress, increasing in number. The design played on Alex’s uncommon tallness, elongating her form and accentuating her height.
It really was a masterpiece.
Ella interrupted her study of the gown. “If you think you’re going to be able to steer clear of marriage in that, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Alex cast a scowl at her friend. Ella never minced words. And she was almost always right. Unfortunately, this situation was no exception. The gown was designed for one reason only…to catch her a husband. For more than a year, her mother had been in a whirlwind of preparation for this, the spring of 1815, when Alex would turn seventeen and be “introduced” to the world. Not that she hadn’t been introduced to the world for seventeen years. But this was different. This was her first season, when she would be paraded like a piece of horseflesh in front of every unattached male in London who happened to have a sizable inheritance and an acceptable title. Her mother’s goal was to have Alex married off by autumn.
Did anything sound worse?
“I’m simply going to have to try not to do this dress justice.” Alex’s tone was filled with resolve. “My mother has her heart set on making my life as dull and boring as she possibly can. I mean…who on earth wants to end up married in Surrey? What a nightmare!” she said to no one in particular.
Ella leaned back against the soft upholstery of her chair and looked up at the ceiling with disdain. “No one. At least, no one with a mind to think for herself.”
“My brothers are all years older than I am—does my mother pester them to settle down and get married?”
Vivi interrupted, “Yes.”
“That’s because my mother enjoys pestering her children. But they don’t listen to her! The only reason they’ve agreed to attend any balls this year is because they want fodder with which to mock their little sister!”
Ella this time: “Well, you can’t blame them. You are exceedingly mockable.”
Vivi chuckled as Alex shot her friend a withering glance and carried on. “It’s atrociously unfair! Men our age aren’t even asked to attend balls. The idea of boys marrying at eighteen is unfathomable for our set. It’s what happens in the country! And yet, we are paraded around like…like…cattle…to be sold…to the highest bidder!”
Ella interrupted again. “Well, to be fair, perhaps it’s best men aren’t married off at eighteen. Have you met the average eigh teen-year-old male?”
Vivi’s dry remark followed. “Mmmm. I’m still trying to avoid taking offense at being compared to livestock. Go on, Alex…”
Alex sighed. “I’m just being silly, I know. But that’s how it feels. Especially when you grow up with three older brothers who seem to have an entirely different set of rules.”
“You’re right,” Ella spoke seriously, “but it seems that we don’t really have a choice. Our options are rather limited.”
And Ella would know. As the eldest in a family of girls, Ella had a familial obligation to marry and marry well, setting the standard for her younger sisters…unless she could figure out a way to take herself out of the running. Ella had considered any number of options to render herself unmarriageable. The girls had discussed every possibility and come to one conclusion: The fastest way to be set “on the shelf” and ignored was to have one’s reputation ruined.
Unfortunately, being ruined was not an option, however tempting it was, for it seemed that ruination was the punishment for anyone daring enough to try something exciting. Girls in London society could have their reputation destroyed in any number of ways, but the biggest offenses were clear: kissing (or something more scandalous) on the lips (or somewhere more scandalous); dancing three or more dances with someone at a ball; or visiting a man at his home unchaperoned.
