Page 13 of A Dress for the Wicked
“So, what did you think of the orientation?” Sophie asked, glancing at me once more in the mirror from under her black lashes. She picked up a pencil and began to draw long, harsh lines on the paper in front of her.
“I was quite impressed,” I said finally, with a touch of derision. It seemed like the safest response. One that wasn’t weak or threatened. “It was terribly exciting for me, especially since I’m a ‘different type of contestant.’”
Sophie picked up her sketch and tucked it behind the vanity mirror. I was still standing in the doorway, as though I were a guest in my own chambers, waiting for permission to enter. Hastily, I crossed the room to my vanity and sat down on its cushioned stool.
How could this be happening? Of all the contestants, I was rooming with Sophie, a girl who already seemed to hate me, a girl who didn’t think I should be in the Fashion House Interview just because I was poor and from the country.
I realized I was sitting motionless on the stool, staring at her. I needed to look busy, occupied, not intimidated. Quickly, I opened the top drawer of the vanity. Its shiny glass knob was odd beneath my fingers. It was so much smoother than the brass latches on my drawers at home, the ones that were so badly warped that I had to develop a complex strategy for opening each one.
“I saw you looking at Princess Amelia’s gown with Kitty.”
I twisted around on the stool so we faced each other. She had been watching me? I hadn’t even seen her. The thought of those black eyes following me sent a chill through my bones.
“There hasn’t been a ‘big’ dress since then,” she said. “Or at least, not one that has shaped society and fashion in one swoop. I’m going to design the next one.”
“You are?”
“That’s why I’m here.” Sophie spoke in such a deliberate tone, it sounded as if it had already happened. She had already created the next big gown. The public had already loved it. She already was a celebrated designer. There was no bravado in her manner, just frankness.
“How are you liking the city?” She picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry from a silver platter on a nearby end table and nibbled at it. “It must be quite a change from Shy.”
I looked down at the contents of the vanity drawer, trying to think before I spoke. Corsets of pink and white, each one adorned with delicate lace and gems. Clearly everything was beautiful at the House, even the garments no one would see.
“You’ve heard of Shy?”
Shy was so small, it wasn’t on most maps of Britannia Secunda. Since most of it was rural, travelers always had a hard time knowing where it began and ended. It simply rose out of the farmlands, built into a few simple buildings and forests, and then faded away into roads leading to other places.
“Of course not.” She gave a smug little smile and licked a smear of chocolate off the back of her hand. “I researched the other contestants. Where they came from. What they want.”
Her black eyes focused on me the way our cats stared at mice before devouring them. I turned away from her to reexamine the corsets in the drawer. I pulled one out to inspect the stitching.
“Why did you research everyone?”
I ran a finger over the corset, my body as stiff as the strips of whalebone lining its seams.
“Madame Jolène is only accepting two girls to apprentice as designers. And that’s only if they’re good. I am going to be one of them. I wanted to familiarize myself with the other contestants. I have to say—overall, I was impressed. Oftentimes, it seems like the contestants for the Fashion House Interview areonly in it for the prestige. This time, though, it looks like it’ll be a real competition.”
“Really?” My voice faltered. What if the other contestants were already so much better than I was that I didn’t stand a chance? Sophie seemed to think as much. “How so?”
“Well, Alice’s mother hired a former Fashion House designer to tutor her, and Ky has spent years studying fashion in Japan. Cordelia’s family petitioned for her spot before Madame Jolène even began making her list of girls to invite.” Sophie rattled off each girl’s background with ease. “I’m not too worried about Kitty. I’m sure she’ll be strong with the technical skills, but she hardly seems to have any creativity, and I bet her parents bought her entry into the competition.”
“Bought her entry?”
“Yes. She’s from the Quincey family, and they lost their title some time ago after Kitty’s grandfather led the Crown into an illegal investment. They’ve been trying to regain their social capital ever since. But their money can only get them so far—it certainly can’t buy Kitty an imagination. So you aren’t alone.”
“Excuse me?”
“You and Kitty.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well.” Sophie’s eyes flashed with something. Something I knew too well from the families who would give my mother and me bags of used clothes back in Shy. Pity. Sophie didn’t continue, but she didn’t have to. I knew what she was saying. Kitty and I weren’t real competition. Not in her eyes.
That’s fine. Let her underestimate me.Yet even as I told myselfthat, I faltered. Maybe I really was outmatched. Maybe I really was beaten before I even began.
“Oh, don’t look so glum,” Sophie said. “Perhaps you can get hired as a private seamstress to an aristocrat once the competition is over.”
Her tone reminded me of the maid’s from earlier. Too sweet. She was still watching me, her hand still over her sketch. I forced my face to relax, my eyes to soften. It made sense that she didn’t consider me real competition... but it also made sense that she would want me to give up. I’d never considered that there might be another aspect to the Fashion House Interview. I’d never considered that the other contestants might just try to slip into my head and defeat me before I’d even sewn a stitch.
