AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“This fabric! It’s for transporting potatoes to the market! Not for you, madame.Non!You need new.”
“It’s time, yes.”
Following the matter-of-fact agreement, the modiste let loose with a list for her assistant to note.
Helen stood still atop the box as her gown was loosened and removed, her chin high, throat so tight the air burned. All her life, she’d done what was needed—running her father’s household without a mentor, absorbing responsibilities in business matters—only to find that the efforts either went without notice or provoked disdain.
“If you were a lad, I’d be raising a glass to you right now,” her father had remarked, then walked away after she negotiated a lumber contract on his behalf for a higher price than he’d ever managed.
“That gown is atrocious. The neighbors will confuse you with a servant!”exclaimed Robbie’s mother when appearing unannounced, finding her in one of her practical gowns. A week later, invited to the Grays for dinner, Helen made special efforts to dress more like other women her age. Mouth puckered, Mrs. Gray could barely look at her. “Return home at once and change before anyone else sees you,” she’d uttered.
Pen had settled next to the basket of ribbon and trimmings to explore its contents, but Helen knew she’d heard Madame Robillard’s observations about the state of her undergarments.
Was she laughing on the inside? Cataloging the modiste’s words to report to Sirena Sideris so they could titter together over their pitiful American acquaintance?
It was foolish to have expected any different. Of course, frequenting a fashionable shop with a rich Londoner would only reveal how strange and unacceptable she was.
She raised her arms and stared straight ahead as Madame measured around her ribcage.
“Oh la la, madame.You will see the pleasure of a soft, pretty shift. You will want to burn these after, I assure you. Not even nuns should allow garments so plain or rough to touch their skin.”
Smaller than ever, but still festering deep within her, was a kernel of shame. Helen showed no reaction, but the toll was high. More than clothing had been stripped from her. She felt bared in a way she hadn’t since she and Robbie had tried to share a bed early in their marriage.
Maybe he could have mustered desire for her if only she’d been more attractive. More appealing. Lessherself. Closing her eyes, she remembered Mrs. Gray’s distaste as she looked her up and down. “If you would be more of a wife, my son would be more of a husband. If you behaved as a lady ought, wickedness wouldn’t worm its way into his heart!”
Whatever his failings, Robbie had never castigated her; in fact, he’d squarely blamed himself for being broken, for malfunctioning. But it was also clear he would never want her as a true wife.
Madame Robillard’s commentaries revealed her professional pride and strong opinions, but perhaps disgust welled within her, too, like the horror on Robbie’s face when she’d removed her clothing in front of him, hopeful they might start a family.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and reminded herself that the undergarments were nothing more than a practical matter. The state of her worn and outdated shifts simply meant she needed new ones.
The approval of this dressmaker—or any other person—thatshe did not need and would not seek.
“Très bien. C’est fini.”Passing her measuring strip to the assistant, Madame Robillard helped Helen back into her emerald gown, then left her assistant to refasten it while she herself looked through the discarded copy ofLe Follet.“Et voilà!” she uttered with relish, turning it for Helen to see. “This here. But in apricot for you, yes?”
Compared to any other design in the magazine, simplicity was in evidence. The cap sleeved gown had a fitted, off-the-shoulder bodice and bell-shaped skirts. There wasn’t a bow or spray of lace in sight, no ornamental cord or fringe.
Plain, perhaps, but as smooth and appealing as an apricot.
Helen smiled widely. “That’s my gown!”
Peering over the Frenchwoman’s shoulder, Pen beamed before giggling. “The seamstresses will be thankfulI’mnot placing the order! Imagine the work of adorning a gown with as many ruffles as I favor!”
“Oof!To make a gown toyourtastes in a short time, Mademoiselle Pénélope!Such would require more than the first selection of silks from your father’s next shipment!”
Taking no offense, Pen only laughed, and the women moved to the next task—selecting a few designs for Helen’s day gown wardrobe. Having assessed her tastes, the modiste flipped through a stack of fashion plates to locate her recommendations.
It was clear why the woman was so revered by her clientele. While dramatic and direct, she wasn’t unkind, and her advice was as tailored as her exquisite garments.
The experience, while not unpleasant, exhausted Helen. Afterwards, she melted against the cushions in the Sideris family carriage.
“Now you can say you’ve survived sailing across the Atlanticanda visit to Madame Robillard’s!”
And so much more. She smiled at the jest and thanked Pen for making the arrangements and accompanying her.
“It was my pleasure. When I return home, Mama will not understand how much time has passed, such is her focus in her studio. But shewillbe happy, if not jealous, to know what a lovely time we had!”
She seemed genuine, so much so that Helen accepted her enthusiasm, for whatever her misgivings, she had enjoyed Pen’s company.
