Page 55 of Waiting for Love

Mrs. Byrd sighed with relief. “I’ll get this one off to the embroiderer. Would you like to see the yellow next or the blue?”

Olivia winced. They had done this already with a dozen day dresses and now it was time for the ballgowns. Mama had ordered six. The white was the most important and had been done first. But now there were fittings again. And so many choices to be made. Sleeves and collars and beadwork. A million tiny buttons or a half-million slightly larger?

“Bring out the yellow,” Mama said for her. “Yellow is a difficult color with Olivia’s hair. We may need some contrast about the neck.”

Mrs. Byrd turned to bustle about in her boxes. Vanessa and Tansy helped Olivia out of the white silk.

“This is unbearable,” Olivia muttered for Vanessa’s ears only.

“Stay strong,” Vanessa whispered back. “I told Georgiana to bring Arthur in if we were more than three hours.”

Olivia smiled at that. Mrs. Byrd would pack up her wares in an instant when a baby with a tendency to spit entered the vicinity.

If not for little Arthur, Olivia didn’t know how she would have gotten through the month. It wasn’t simply that February was dreary. She still managed to ride most days, although she had to keep the rides short and stay close to the house unless she was visiting a tenant. She enjoyed being with her family. Parlor games after tea. Billiards with her brothers or the Duke of Hovington and Alice. A few brief conversations with Vanessa—not strategizing, but becoming more comfortable with one another. Olivia wasn’t bored. Rather she was sad. This would all come to an end, and she was already nostalgic for it.

Mrs. Byrd held up the yellow ballgown for scrutiny. A pale slip of a satin dress was covered by a white tissue overdress. The sleeves puffed and the neckline dipped, but not too much. Olivia fought her way into it.

“Those are the wrong undergarments,” Mrs. Byrd said, biting her lip. “More substantial stays will help with the fit.”

Mama came closer and circled Olivia while scrutinizing her from all angles. Then she sighed.

“I can’t help thinking we made a wrong choice with that yellow.”

Mrs. Byrd fingered the gauzy overdress. “I could have this dyed blue. Or perhaps green. That would change the look considerably.”

“Vanessa,” Mama said, “what do you think?”

It was grand that Mama and Vanessa were finding common ground. Olivia only wished that not so much of it involved dressing her.

Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t believe it is salvageable. It’s a beautiful dress, but wrong for Olivia. Do you know, though, it would be perfect for Alice.”

“You’re right,” Mama said, scowling. “Take it off. Let’s see about the blue. And, Mrs. Byrd, we’ll have it refitted for Alice.”

Oh, bosh. That meant starting over with something else. Unless five gowns were enough. But they wouldn’t be. She would be going to more than five balls. Many more. They would have to visit a modiste in London after all. They had already overtaxed poor Mrs. Byrd.

She wiggled into the blue. Better. It had a floral print and fit loosely. Olivia could move in it.

“You’ll have to tighten the neck and those sleeves,” Mama said.

Mrs. Byrd nodded. “Hold up your arms, please, Lady Olivia.”

Olivia dutifully held out her arms while Mrs. Byrd put pins everywhere, making what had been comfortable less so. Then they helped her out of the dress, pricking her here and there with the pins.

“Are we finished?” she asked.

“I have the pink day dress back again,” Mrs. Byrd said. “I’ve lengthened the train as you asked.” She nodded to Mama. “Would you like to see?”

“Oh, yes, while you are here. Let’s have a look.”

Olivia held her breath and counted to ten. Surely they had been at this for over three hours. Tansy and Mrs. Byrd dropped a pink cotton dress over her head, then fussed with the buttons. Olivia had agreed to pink under the condition that there be no ruffles or bows. She had worn a dress she hated that Mama called “very pretty, very feminine” to tell Benjamin that she loved him, and he’d run off to Canada. She would never wear anything resembling it ever again. And this one had too many ribbons. She looked like Jilly Byrd.

Mama said, “Oh, yes, that’s much better. It’s quite lovely.”

“Yes, it is,” Vanessa said. “Olivia, you will cause a stir.”

Olivia made herself smile. This was awful. That pink-clad girl in the mirror did not look like her either.

This was all artifice. The beautiful gowns. The elaborate hairstyles. She was supposed to walk with mincing steps. Keep her voice low. Laugh quietly without growing breathless. She should not talk about horses unless she was prepared to agree with whatever idiotic thing the man she was talking to might say. She was not allowed to make jests at her brothers’ expense in company—people might misunderstand.