Page 41 of A Dress for the Wicked
“Well done,” Madame Jolène said. “Your take on this challenge was refreshing.”
Even though my sketches were still crisscrossed with pencil scars, I couldn’t help myself. I grinned at Madame Jolène. She stared impassively at me, but there was a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. She abruptly turned away, declaring, “Ky is next.”
She moved on, but I couldn’t focus on Ky’s critique. I’d done something right. Possibly even found my footing in the competition. I grasped my sketchbook tightly with both hands. Thecover was still flipped back, revealing the maids’ uniform.
I stared at it, wanting to enjoy the image, but the pencil lines gouging through the page demanded my attention. My breath was tight in my throat again. Whoever had done this had failed—this time.
Once again, I looked around the room. I knew most of the girls and certainly Madame Jolène didn’t want me here. But I’d never imagined any of them would try to stop me. At least not this way. Another thought occurred to me. When I’d first arrived, I didn’t have a welcome letter. Had someone been trying to sabotage me from the very beginning?
Abruptly, I closed the cover of my sketchbook, banishing the sight of my destroyed sketches. I clutched the sketchbook to my chest, as though it could protect me. But deep down, I knew nothing could protect me here.
Chapter Nine
THE NEXT MORNING,we assembled for the announcement of the challenge. I went to the meeting with a bitter taste in my mouth, the remnants from yesterday. Not only would I need to succeed at the challenge, but I now had to guard myself and my work.
Before walking into the sewing room, I glanced at the rankings. Sophie was at the top, but Ky and I were tied just behind, separated from her by one point. Cordelia was next. Kitty wasn’t at the bottom—Alice was—but she wasn’t far from it. It was exciting to see my name so close to the top, but I couldn’t shake the unease that hung about me.
In the sewing room, Alice, Ky, and Cordelia stood in a companionable cluster. Kitty was with them, but when I entered, she came to stand next to me. Sophie was near the other girls and chatted with them, yet, as always, she somehow distinguished herself.
“How are you doing?” Kitty asked.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Just a bit shaken.”
“You should have heard Madame Jolène talking to Francescolast night,” Ky suddenly said, leaning forward to look at me.
“What did she say?”
“She was furious about your sketches. She said you’ve made this year’s competition a joke.”
“I’vemade it a joke?”
Kitty murmured something sympathetic in my ear, but I brushed her off.
“Yes.” Ky smirked. I knew she was pleased by my response, and I tried to appear calm. “She said you’re a distraction and you undermine the credibility of the competition.”
“That’s enough, Ky,” Kitty interjected. She placed a protective hand on my arm. “I’m sure that isn’t the case.”
“Of course it is,” Cordelia cut in. “Our futures rely on this competition, but all anyone focuses on is Emmaline. You didn’t earn your spot here, but you get paraded around the city in new clothes.”
“Do you think I want this?” My voice bounced off the high ceilings of the sewing room. “To be treated like a press puppet when all I want is to be a designer?”
“Ladies, ladies!” Francesco swept into the room wearing a gray-and-white suit with pointed shoes embroidered with peacocks. “What on earth is going on?” He tried to look stern, but his eyes flashed with interest. He clasped his hands together, as though he was about to devour a sumptuous meal.
“It does not matter.” Madame Jolène entered from the opposite door with her designers. She held one of her little dogs, Calliope, and another, Clio, trotted along next to her. “There is no time for petty nonsense.”
She was dressed in a champagne gown covered in a variety of ivory lace that formed an intricate patchwork across her skirt. Though her gown was made entirely of neutrals, a huge necklace in bright pinks, teals, and corals sparkled at her throat.
The mood of the room changed to nervous excitement, as it always did when she arrived. But as everyone quieted in anticipation, I felt like I was watching from outside Madame Jolène’s powers of enchantment.
“The next challenge is one of the biggest,” Madame Jolène said. “It will test all your skills: design creativity, workmanship, and client management.”
Despite myself, I was intrigued. A big challenge. My fingers twitched in anticipation of cutting, threading, and sewing.
“We have a titled client who is engaged to be married, and she has agreed to let her wedding gown be the subject of the challenge,” Madame Jolène continued. “You will have a bit of time to ask her about her preferences and vision. You will each have three weeks to make your gown, and she will wear the winning dress at her wedding. Of course, the final version of the dress will be revised and edited by me and my design board.”
A wedding gown!Those two words sent tingles down my spine. Back in Shy, brides wore simple white dresses to their nuptials, but in the city, weddings were exhibitions of extravagance and style. Whenever there was a big wedding, it was reported in the fashion pages with elaborate spreads detailing the bride’s attire.
“Contestants,” Francesco said, stepping forward, “meet Lady Angelica Harrison.”
