Page 10 of A Dress for the Wicked
“They?”
“The Fashion House Interview contestants line up so Madame Jolène can review the rules of the competition. It’s in the main lobby.” She grinned and shook her head, as if deeply amused.
I knew exactly what she was thinking. That I was the only poor contestant, the only one from outside the city, the only “primitive” girl here.
All in a line? There would be no hiding it.
Chapter Three
ILINGERED ON THE LASTstair, peeking into the lobby. The white marble floors were speckled with black, and the walls were covered in mirrored panels and eucalyptus-leaf print. I recognized the ornate coral-and-green Morris & Co. wallpaper from ads in the newspapers and theFamily Friendmagazine. The magistrate’s wife, who was the richest woman in Shy, decorated her home with an older Morris & Co. wallpaper.
Five girls with coiffed hair, artful gowns, and perfect posture stood in a line. They hadit: fearless confidence in one’s own beauty. It exuded from them like a powerful perfume. Usually the Fashion House Interview had only five contestants. I was the odd one out, the one tacked on at the very last minute. I placed a hand over my chest. My heart pounded underneath the silk. With a deep breath, I slipped in to join the end of the line.
“Nervous?” the girl standing on my right chirped, tilting her head to the side to consider me. Her auburn hair pooled over her shoulder. “I’m Kitty. I heard Madame Jolène was taking on a girl from the country. Is it you?”
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t want to seem too desperate, but mywords came out in a grateful rush. One of the contestants was talking to me, and from what I could tell, she seemed genuinely sweet. “My mother owns a pub there.”
Kitty gave a soft, lyrical laugh.
“That must have been fun. Lots of men, no?”
I didn’t bother to tell her our pub was a sleepy place where customers came more for my mother’s blackberry pie than anything else. Our patrons were men who ambled in after a long day of work, eager to get back to their families after a pint or two.
Just beyond Kitty, two girls whispered to each other, glancing at me. Even as my toes curled inside my shoes, I stared back at them to prove I wasn’t unnerved. The first girl was on the shorter side, with thick black hair falling over her shoulders. Her lips were full and her eyes were dark. A few freckles sprinkled her nose, barely discernible in the dramatic chandelier light.
“That’s Ky,” Kitty said softly, following my line of sight. “Her father is our ambassador to Japan. Her mother is from one of the provinces there.”
Ky’s clothes were exaggerated and theatrical. She wore a gown covered in floral cutouts and a cuttleworm brooch. The hem rose above her ankles, showing white heeled boots and striped stockings.
“Who is her friend?” I asked.
“Alice. Her father passed away, but her mother is a well-known socialite.”
Alice’s skin was the color of skimmed milk, and her blond hairfell in ringlets. Her dress was layers of lace, each tier accented with a small purple bow. While both of their gowns had the full Fashion House skirt (Madame Jolène was known for using voluminous silhouettes and thick, structured fabrics), the girls didn’t look anything like each other. Obviously, Madame Jolène had distinct visions for Ky and Alice.
The rest of the contestants also had clear styles. Kitty was all ladylike elegance in a navy-and-ivory dress, while another girl was outfitted in dramatic black. The last contestant at the end of the line was wearing... trousers? Yes. Wide-legged trousers topped with a fitted blazer. I ran my fingers over the satin of my own gown. Was this Madame Jolène’s style for me? Certainly, the dress was classic. But it was made from such basic shapes—straightforward bodice sewn onto a full A-line skirt. In my chambers, I’d thought it was lovely, but in comparison to the other girls’ outfits, it suddenly didn’t seem like much of a style at all.
“They are so stunning,” I said. I fidgeted in the pink dress, my hands antsy against its skirts. I wanted to change its color to a brilliant ochre silk with hints of red woven into the fibers. I wanted to transform its silhouette to an overly dramatic mermaid or drape my neck in too many jeweled necklaces. Anything to make itsomething.
“Yes,” Kitty agreed, unaware of my thoughts. “Madame Jolène knows how to dress for both a woman’s body and her type of beauty. She is, after all, the world’s fashion maven.”
Both Ky and Alice, I noticed, had gold amulets around their necks engraved with letters:K & G,A & F.
Gifts from suitors.
My skin prickled around my bare neck, and I resisted the urge to cover it with my hand. The reporter’s image flashed in my mind.
Seeming to sense my uncertainty, Kitty touched my arm. A large stack of diamond bracelets encircled her wrist. They seemed cumbersome, but she wore them naturally, as though they were as much a part of her as her hair or eye color.
“Ladies, good afternoon!” The commanding voice of our employer and benefactress, Madame Jolène, rang out. The contestants immediately straightened into a perfect line as she glided into the room.
“Good afternoon,” a few girls chorused back. I didn’t say anything. This was only the second time I’d ever seen Madame Jolène.
She was wearing a sage evening gown styled in obvious reference to the Grecian goddesses. It had a long train that she draped casually over one arm like a wrap. A thick strand of black pearls wrapped around her hips and her hair was pinned with a peach brooch. The gown’s drama and fluidity contrasted with the round spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose.
The society pages had recently featured several illustrations of Madame Jolène’s glasses. The lenses were impossibly thin and set in intricate frames. Blue and red stones fanned out around the rims, cut to replicate the wings of a butterfly. When Madame Jolène had first started wearing them, everyone copied her, impaired vision or not. Ladies were said to be seen trippingup and down the streets of Avon-upon-Kynt, wearing glasses they didn’t need. I’d read about how an oculist had started producing frames with just glass in them, as opposed to magnifying lenses.
Of course, Madame Jolène’s eyeglasses had always been glass. She had kept that bit of information to herself. It was actually theEaglethat had broken the “news” by publishing an editorial calling Madame Jolène’s eyewear “pointless.”
