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Naturally, Regina accompanied them. Sometimes Ella felt as if Regina had become a fourth member of the household, something the lady explained as due to her brother’s revolting behavior with his new wife.

“They kiss in public, where anyone might see them,” Regina said with disdain. “A duke and duchess, behaving like commoners! It is repulsive. And my sister-in-law Beatrice?” She shuddered. “I cannot express my feelings. They are too painful.”

“May I introduce Lady Regina?” Fulvia said to Mrs. Quimby when they arrived at the Emporium. “She is loyal to a French modiste on Turnball Street, but she has expressed much admiration of the garments you’ve made for me.”

Lady Regina greeted Mrs. Quimby by moving her chin slightly downward.

“It’s a pleasure,” the seamstress replied, looking unimpressed.

“I’ve never been fitted for a gown in a public establishment,” Regina said, looking about the room. “My modiste comes to me, of course.”

“Never mind that,” Fulvia exclaimed. “I forgot to ask whether you saw news that Theater Royal at Drury Lane has rejected Samuel Coleridge’s new play?” She sat down at the side of the room next to her mother, who was already resting comfortably with her feet on a stool.

“Zapolya,” Regina said scornfully. “What did Mr. Coleridge expect would happen after he gave the play that name? I hear it is nothing more than a hash of Shakespeare’s romances.”

Mrs. Quimby rolled her eyes at Ella and drew her into a dressing room.

Most days, Ella dressed hastily in a faded cambric cotton dress, running downstairs at dawn in order to give Cook access to the stillroom and the storeroom, the keys to which were kept on the housekeeper’s ring.

The gown hanging on the wall of Mrs. Quimby’s dressing room belonged to a different world than that of stillrooms and storerooms and housekeeper’s keys.

It had been sewn from clear blue silk that fell elegantly to the floor from a high waist. The wide trim around its low bodice was fashioned from white tulle embroidered with posies shaped from seed pearls and spangles. The narrow skirts fell to a padded hem that would flare slightly to dance around Ella’s ankles.

“It’s exquisite,” she breathed, leaning closer to look at the pearl trim. “You must have a true artisan working for you! This embroidery is dazzling.”

“I’d like to take credit, but I can’t,” Mrs. Quimby said, smiling. “I removed the trim from one of your mother’s gowns, my dear. I suspect it was made by French modistes. I think she would be happy that you will wear something of hers on the night you debut.”

Ella managed a wobbly smile. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Mrs. Quimby helped her to undress and then laced short stays over her chemise. Ella generally wore a corset that restrained her bosom, lacing in front so she could manage it herself. Mrs. Quimby’s stays were more comfortable, but they hoisted her bosom into the air.

“I’m not certain,” Ella said, straightening her shoulders. Her breasts seemed plumper than usual with the stays supporting them rather than confining them.

“The gown demands it,” Mrs. Quimby said firmly. “Arms up, my dear.”

A billow of sweet-smelling silk went over Ella’s head. She had bundled her hair into a hasty bun that morning, but Mrs. Quimby deftly piled it on top of her head, leaving a few curls brushing Ella’s shoulders. Finally, she produced a circlet of pearls.

“That isn’t mine,” Ella pointed out.

“It is yours,” Mrs. Quimby said. “I found this headpiece tucked in the corner of a trunk. Trust the nobility to forget such a valuable piece. I’d guess it’s worth at least three hundred pounds. Likely the trunks were packed to move to the country, and after your mother passed away, they were simply moved to the attics.”

“Undoubtedly,” Ella said, feeling a bolt of sadness. “My uncle sacked my mother’s maid and my own directly after the funeral.”

“That would explain it,” Mrs. Quimby said, her dry tone speaking for itself. “Now we’ll move to the platform so you can see yourself in the glass.”

Ella hesitated.

“You’re not worried about Lady Regina, are you?” Mrs. Quimby asked. “I had a young lady, Miss Perslet, crying her eyes out because that woman apparently said her rear end looked as puffy as a sheep’s tail. I pity her children.”

“Children?” Ella repeated, startled.

“The children Lady Regina will have some day,” Mrs. Quimby amended. She rearranged a curl and said, “You’re ready as you’ll ever be. Go stand in front of the glass so we can see you from all angles. Show Lady Regina how beautiful you are. That woman thinks she’s the only hen in the henhouse.”

“Must I?” Ella said, biting her lip.

While she successfully ignored most of Regina’s comments, one look at Ella in this gown would send Regina into fits of advice about the benefit of turnips and vinegar in slimming.

“Yes,” Mrs. Quimby said bluntly. “My seamstresses need to observe the gown from every angle, to see how it moves. We have to make certain you can run across a stage.”