Page 9 of Fairest of Heart

“You don’t understand!” Mildred grabbed the bodice in both hands and waved it under Penelope’s nose. “I’ve altered this neckline three times. Square to scoop. It didn’t lay right. Then I added darts, but it pinched under her arms. Then I lowered it to make the most of her assets, and now she accuses me of making her look like a strumpet. The only way to ensure a perfect fit is to tailor it to her while she has it on, but she refuses. She says she’s already wasted too much time with pointless fittings.”

“Do you have a dressmaker’s dummy? Can we work with just her measurements?”

“There wasn’t room to pack such a large item. I had to leave it and my Singer machine behind in Chicago. I didn’t think we would need them since all of the costumes were already made. I was just supposed to take care of mending and the occasional alteration. It’s hopeless.”

Penelope looked around the tent, seeking inspiration. Surely there was a way to make this work. They didn’t have a dummy but maybe . . . “We can use a stand-in.”

“What?”

Penelope grinned. “I stand in for Madame during rehearsals sometimes when she doesn’t feel up to practicing. I can do the same thing with the dress.”

“That’s a nice thought, but you don’t have the same . . . assets.” Mildred eyed Penelope’s shapeless dress. “You don’t even have a waist. It’d never w—”

Mildred’s voice faded as Penelope drew the fabric of her dress tight from behind and allowed her true figure to show.

“Oh . . .” Mildred’s whisper heated Penelope’s cheeks. She circled Penelope, her dressmaker’s eye taking in her natural hourglass shape and bountiful bosom. “This just might work. You’ll need a proper corset, though. Something of Madame’s so that we can match the shape.”

Penelope hurried to her mistress’s trunk and dug through the pile of colorful undergarments. So flamboyant, just like their owner. Penelope couldn’t bear to wear any of those. The dress itself was scandalous enough, but to don an undergarment specifically designed to entice men felt . . . sinful. Didn’t Madame have an old corset? Something simple and ordinary? Penelope caught a glimpse of plain white cotton at the very bottom of the trunk and pounced.

Pulling it out, she darted a daring look at Mildred. “We’ll have to hurry.”

Mildred grinned. “I’ll tie down the tent flap. You get out of those rags and into that ball gown.”

4

Loosen the neckline of your camisole and tuck the cotton down the front of the corset.” Mildred eyed Penelope’s bosoms as she studied the bodice’s construction.

“Can’t you just work around it?” Penelope asked. “I’m afraid if I undo the ribbon, I’ll spill straight out of the dress.”

How did Madame wear gowns like this and still radiate confidence? It was like walking along the edge of a cliff where, at any moment, a false step would send one plunging into shame and scandal. Gracious. An expensive ball gown should make her feel elegant and sophisticated, but all Penelope felt was naked. And Mildred wanted her to expose more skin?

“That’s exactly what I need to happen,” Mildred said as she armed herself with straight pins.

“What?” Penelope’s arms crisscrossed over her chest to dam up the spillway.

Mildred waved her arms away impatiently. “Be grateful I let you keep the corset cover on. Madame never wears one. She’s afraid a wrinkle in the undergarment will ruin the effect of her gown. And she’s probably right. The tight bodices currently in fashion require precise tailoring.”

Tired of waiting for Penelope to get up the nerve to comply, the seamstress took matters into her own hands. She untied the ribbon herself, yanked on the gathered fabric until it loosened, then tucked the excess into crevices that made Penelope cringe.

“No time for shyness, young lady. I need to see exactly where to position the décolletage, and to do that without being ‘vulgar,’ I need to see how much volume I’m expected to contain.”

Biting her lip, Penelope lifted her gaze to the tent’s canvas ceiling and did her best to ignore the indelicate poking and prodding going on below her neck. It didn’t help that the corset pinched in odd places. She’d gotten used to wearing simple supports built for practicality of movement. The over-the-shoulder straps she preferred kept her annoying bounty contained. Madame LaBelle’s corset, on the other hand, seemed designed for one purpose—to thrust as many curves out the top as possible. Thank heaven, no one besides Mildred was around to witness her exposure.

Imagine her mortification if that handsome cowboy with the intense eyes happened upon her in such a state! Mercy. She’d likely combust into a pile of ash on the spot. Then his big horse would get a tickle in his nose, sneeze, and blow her sooty remains all over creation. Penelope pressed her lips together to keep a giggle from escaping. She was such a goose. And her mystery cowboy was . . . not. He’d been stoic and serious during their encounter. Though that might have been due to the serious nature of his errand. His poor dog. Barely clinging to life.

Watch over them, Lord. Dog and man.

Penelope wasn’t usually one to daydream about men—she’d been doing her best to avoid their notice for the last six months, after all—but something about the cowboy she’d met today kept calling her back. She’d barely read two chapters of Oliver Twist, so distracted was she by questions that insisted on popping up in her mind.

Had he really been part of a shootout with bank robbers? Did that make him a lawman of some sort or maybe part of a posse who had been temporarily deputized? Or was he one of the thieves? No, he’d been too chivalrous to be a criminal. Besides, he didn’t strike her as lacking intelligence. Only a dimwit would bring up a crime he committed in casual conversation, and this man exuded authority and competence. The way he’d calmed his horse and controlled his own seat all while protecting the injured dog he carried—impressive. She was no expert in horsemanship, but if she’d been the one in the saddle when that horse reared, she would have ended up sprawled on the ground with a mouthful of dirt.

Something sharp jabbed the flesh under her left arm. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” Mildred mumbled around a mouthful of pins. “I’m almost done.”

Penelope glanced sideways toward the tent entrance, suddenly thankful for the painful prick that had brought her attention back to the present. Mooning over a man dulled a girl’s senses, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Keeping Narcissa LaBelle happy required continual adjustment and recalibration since the target remained in constant motion. The flamboyant nature that made Madame such a riveting actress on the stage created quite a challenge for those serving her behind the scenes, as Mildred had experienced firsthand this afternoon.

“Last pin,” the seamstress announced at the same moment a masculine voice boomed on the other side of the tent wall.