Page 58 of A Dress for the Wicked
“No. I just wanted to... be nice when I asked.”
She didn’t seem to pick up on that lie. I’d wanted to wait before asking her, to see if I could trust her.
“Good. I can hardly be bought for such cheap sundries. Who is the gown for?” Even though her face was impassive, there was a note of intrigue in her tone.
“It’s for Duchess Cynthia Sandringham. I want her to wear it to the Parliament Exhibition.”
“And why are you asking me to help?”
“I... well, you are talented and quick and think for yourself. Also, Tristan Grafton thought it was a good idea.” It was awkward to mention him. But Sophie didn’t even seem to register his name.
“And the collection?” She was all business.
“I—” There wasn’t a way to undo things now. I pushed aside my worries about Tristan. “I want to debut it just after Cynthia attends the exhibition.”
“Debut it? To whom?”
“TheEagleand some members of theAvon-upon-Kynt Timeswho are loyal to the younger Parliament members. I’ll send invitations just a few days before... I was thinking you’d know who’d be best to invite.”
“And then?” Her questions came out agilely.
“Then hopefully we can start our own fashion house somewhere here in the city. We’ll have to get funding outside of any banks. It’ll be hard, but the city is divided, and this is the perfect time to strike.” My hands were slick with sweat as they grasped the chocolate box, their moisture catching in the velvet. She played with the ends of her hair and twisted a single strand around her finger. Other than that small motion, she might as well have been made of stone. “What do you think?”
“I will consider it.” Abruptly, she turned away. “You should go now. Don’t forget the wine.”
“Wait—what do you need to consider?” I sputtered. I’d assumed yes and no were the only two answers. This nonreply sent my head spinning.
She bent down, picked up the bottle of wine by its neck, and held it out to me. Slowly, I took it from her, and she walked briskly over to the entrance to her fitting room, drawing back the curtain with a sweep of her arm.
“Sophie,” I entreated, clutching at the wine bottle and chocolate box. “At least tell me what you think.”
“I think it’s late,” she said. “I will let you know.”
“When? Tomorrow?”
“Soon.”
There was sharpness in her tone. She stood by the entrance, waiting for me to leave. When I got to the entryway, she followed close behind me, her toes nearly clipping the backs of my ankles with each step, shooing me out. I stopped and turned around to face her one last time.
She’d come to a stop right behind me, and I found myself closer to her than I’d ever been before. The scent of her perfume filled my head with its heavy scent, and I could see every one of her black lashes, and the almost translucent nature of her fair skin. Though many things are distasteful up close, Sophie was stunning. She didn’t seem unnerved by my proximity. Her unfathomable black eyes remained evenly on mine, and she regarded me calmly.
“You won’t tell Madame Jolène, will you?” I hated how pleading and small I sounded.
“Of course not.” As she spoke, she angled her chin up and planted her hands on her hips.
When I was little, my mother had read meParadise Lost. I’d been mesmerized by the passages about Satan. He sounded like the most beautiful creature in the world: proud, unrelenting, an angel of light. If I ever drew him as a girl, Sophie would be the only inspiration I’d need.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Please let me know soon. I’m meeting Cynthia at the gazebo outside the gala. Will you let me know before?”
She didn’t respond. She simply stepped back into her dressing room, whisking the curtain shut behind her.
I didn’t see Sophie again until the next morning at breakfast. The dining hall was one of my favorite rooms. Three chandeliers in the shapes of swans hung from the ceiling, their wings extended and their necks stretched downward. The ceiling was painted varying shades of blue, making it feel like we were underwater, watching the swans dive for fish.
Sophie sat at an angle across from me, in between Alice and Ky. I tried to catch her eye, but she didn’t seem to notice me as she stirred milk into her tea and remarked on Alice’s new ribbon bracelet.
I swallowed a bite of crunchy toast and it caught in my throat. Coughing, I picked up my own tea to wash it down. It dislodged the toast, but my throat was still tight. Probably because the tightness didn’t have anything to do with the toast. It had been that way since last night.
I stared at Sophie, still trying to make eye contact, desperately trying to read her thoughts. If she didn’t agree to help me, I’d have to drastically rework my collection—and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I wasn’t worried she’d tell Madame Jolène. That wasn’t like her.
