Chapter Thirteen
“Surely you can’t mean for me to wear this?” Sarah stared down in horror as Charlotte Rousseau tied the final bow and tucked the ribbon drawstrings out of sight.
Ignoring the comment, Charlotte stood back to admire the sight of her creation. The form-fitting bodice was stiff-boned, perfectly accentuating the delicate proportions of Sarah’s tiny waist and hinting of cleavage that lay just below the gown’s low, square-cut neckline. The magnificently embroidered skirt was windowed back to reveal a tiered petticoat edged with additional embroidery and lace. The sleeves were tight to the elbow then flared into tiny pleats. Soft lace, of deep midnight blue, gathered under the pleats and fell in delicate folds to the wrist. It was a masterpiece, Charlotte thought, enjoying the rush of pride. But best of all, the rich sapphire color made Sarah look like royalty. She’ll be the envy of every woman there, Charlotte mused, and not just because she’s on the arm of Nicholas Beaumont.
“Now, I know this is not what you’re accustomed to,” Charlotte cajoled, taking Sarah’s hand and urging her forward. “So let’s let Mrs. Beaumont give her opinion.”
Sarah allowed the dressmaker to direct her down the hallway, but her face turned fiery red when they passed Luther coming out of Agatha’s room.
He stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes grew round as saucers before a huge grin split his weathered face. “Why, Miss Sarah,” he beamed. “You sure do look pretty in the fine dress. Why, you gonna be the grandest lady there, including the bride.” He whistled his appreciation between his teeth and then turned back to his business. “My oh my, he muttered, descending the stairs. “Wait until Master Nick gets a look at that.”
Certain that Nick’s grandmother would object to the indecency of her costume, Sarah stood in total embarrassment at the foot of the bed.
Agatha smiled with delight. “Charlotte, my dear, you are a wonder. The color is perfect, just as you said.”
Sarah stiffened slowly. Surely they were just teasing. Wasn’t Nick always telling her she misunderstood what was said? She folded her arms and tapped her foot, anxious to be out of the scandalous outfit.
“Turn around, Sarah,” the old woman commanded. “Let me see the full effect.”
Sarah played their game as long as she could. Finally she could stand no more. “You don’t really think for me to wear this, do you?”
Agatha’s eyes narrowed at the tone in Sarah’s voice. “If I hadn’t meant for you to wear it, I would never have picked it from Charlotte’s sketches, let alone paid the exorbitant fee she is charging me.”
Sarah felt the blood drain from her body. “You actually want me to wear this dress? In public?” Feeling totally betrayed, and realizing for the first time that the joke was on her, she struggled to keep her knees from shaking. She had trusted Agatha to know what was right, but instead they had made a mockery of her. Her senses clamored with confusion. Did Agatha realize the intensity of her feelings for Nick? Was that why she had Charlotte dress her in such a provocative manner?
Agatha watched the tears gather in Sarah’s eyes. “What’s wrong with the gown?” she demanded. “Do you not like the color?”
Sarah shook her head and discreetly tried to wipe her eyes with her hand. “The color is beautiful and the fabric exquisite.”
“Then why are you crying?” Agatha snapped. “I cannot read your thoughts. If something distresses you, tell me.”
Sarah drew herself erect. “Look . . .” She held up her hand. The lace flopped back revealing the slender curve of her arm. “My skin shows.”
Charlotte watched Agatha struggling to maintain her patience and stepped between the two. “Ma petite. . .” She took Sarah’s hands within her own. “You have skin as fine as porcelain and such lovely arms. What is the harm in it?”
Sarah turned a beseeching look to the dressmaker. “ 'Tis a sin for a woman to bare her arms in public. And look here . . .” She gestured to the low cut of the neckline. “You can almost see,” her face glowed brighter, “You can almost see my chest.”
Agatha straightened as much as she dared in her bed. “Now you listen to me, young woman,” she snapped. “Up there in that godforsaken place you live in, people might have the ridiculous notion that showing an arm is harmful, but you’re not in the North. You’re in Virginia. Charlotte Rousseau dresses the wealthiest women in this county and I’ll not have you insult her in this manner.”
Eyes wide with confusion, Sarah spun about to face the seamstress. “I never meant –
she stammered.
“Of course you didn’t,” Agatha interrupted. “Now, sit down and look through those sketches.”
Gingerly, Sarah perched on Agatha’s sick chair and accepted the packet of drawings Charlotte handed her.
“Do you see a single gown like the ones you wear at home?” Agatha demanded as Sarah turned the pages. “Of course you don’t, because you’re not in the North. You’re in Virginia. And I’ll not sit by and have you insult the good God-fearing women of my own town because they have a flair for fashion.”
Stunned, Sarah handed the packet back to Charlotte. “I never meant to cause offense.”
“Then we’ll hear no more about the gown,” Agatha scolded.
Mortified that she had placed her piety above others, Sarah felt a lump grow in her throat.
“There, there.” Charlotte handed her a small lace handkerchief. “No harm is done. You simply didn’t understand. I had the same problem with my eldest girl, Claudette. I send her to England to see what the Royals are wearing and then I let her travel on to France. When she returns, it’s the French this and the French that. To her young mind, if the style wasn’t French then it was useless, a rag, not worthy of her time. I had to make her see that different styles appeal to different people. And in Virginia,” she tipped Sarah’s chin up, “it’s the style to wear the very latest in fashion. No one is trying to embarrass you or compromise your values. We simply wanted you to look your best so you would have a good time.”
“I see,” Sarah said quietly. “Then I must humbly beg your pardon.”
Charlotte shook her head and laughed, relived that the tension had passed. “Not to worry, chére amie,” she said easily. “Children are allowed to make mistakes. It is only when they refuse to learn from them that we adults have the right to find fault. Do you not agree, Mrs. Beaumont?”
Agatha folded her arms across her chest and gave Sarah a threatening stare. “So are you going to wear the gown or have I paid good money for naught?”
Sarah smiled back at the wizened old woman. “Thank you for your generosity. But I shall go and take this off now so nothing happens to it.”
With the grace of youth, Sarah glided from the room, anxious to seek a moment’s privacy to contemplate the situation.
“She is certainly beautiful, is she not, madame?” Charlotte sighed, leaning against the bedpost, thinking of how Sarah’s raven-black hair and pale skin so perfectly complemented the deep sapphire shades of the gown.
Agatha smiled with satisfaction. “She can be damn stubborn at times, but then I like backbone in a person. She’ll be good for my Nicky.”
Charlotte straightened slowly and swallowed hard. “Then it is official? They are to be wed?”
Agatha shook her head. “Nick’s not ready to make the announcement yet,” she said with regret. “But I can tell you this, it will be soon, and if I have my way, it will be the grandest wedding Virginia has ever seen.” Delighting in the way her plan was progressing, Agatha missed the pain that for a brief moment flashed in Charlotte’s eyes. “And Charlotte . . .” she whispered, motioning the woman closer to the bed. “I want you to start on the wedding dress. I want you to design the most beautiful wedding dress that ever existed. Something that a queen might wear for her king.”
Charlotte’s pride rose to the surface and she placed a smile on her face. “I design nothing less than the best, madame,” she declared solemnly, “as you well know.”
Still wearing the dress and lost in thought, Sarah was startled when a light tap sounded at her door. “Oh, I thought you were Ruby,” she sighed as the dressmaker entered. “I can’t figure out how to undo the back laces.”
Charlotte smiled. “I do often wonder myself why I create styles that are so impossible to get in and out of.”
Sarah reached out to touch Charlotte’s arm. “I truly am sorry that I offended you.” She looked down at the gown, and when she raised her head, her eyes were clear and determined. “I would never want you to think me ungrateful for all you have done for me.”
“Hush, hush,” Charlotte scolded. “We’ll have no more of that.” But instead of undoing the back laces, the dressmaker’s brow wrinkled in thought as she moved slowly around the girl.
“I was thinking . . .” Charlotte reached for Sarah’s arm and held it out. “This is the part that makes you uncomfortable, is it not? The way the lace flops back to reveal your forearm?” She watched the color singe Sarah’s cheeks and had her answer. For several moments she stood silent and Sarah, afraid to cause further offense, stood with her arm extended forward.
Suddenly, a knowing smile touched the dressmaker’s face and she bent to rout through her bag on the floor. “What if I thread ribbon through the lace here at the cuff,” she said excitedly. Her fingers numbly worked the ribbon until it encircled Sarah’s slender wrist. “If we tie it into a bow, then when you raise your hand, voila! Our arm stays covered. Would that suit you better?” She looked up to see tears of gratitude in the girl’s eyes.
“Thank you, madame,” Sarah whispered. “You are more than just a clever person, you are also a kind one.”
Charlotte felt her own tears threaten, and willed them away. “And the neckline, that troubles you, too?”
Sarah slowly nodded her head.
“Then what if I sent over a scarf of the very finest gossamer.” Charlotte tapped a finger against her cheek. “If I am not mistaken, I have the perfect shade of blue to enhance the gown. Then, if you were to pull it around your shoulders like so and fasten it with a brooch, the gentlemen would only get a hint of the charms you possess.”
“You would do that for me?” Sarah’s heart swelled with appreciation.
Charlotte winked. “If you cringe in the corner all night, then who will see my beautiful gown?”
“But will Mrs. Beaumont be offended?”
Charlotte shook her head. “The changes will only enhance the style. Why, I’ll bet that within two weeks, half the dressmakers in town will be trying to copy our new sleeve.”
Sarah bit her lip and told herself again that Charlotte didn’t really indulge in gambling, that it was only a figure of speech. But why couldn’t people speak plain and say what they meant? she wondered. There were so many things to remember.
“Sarah, do you hear me?”
She blinked and turned to see Charlotte standing near the dresser holding her brooch.
“I asked, mon amie, if you were the one who created this?”
Sarah shook her head and stepped out of the fancy skirt. “Catherine Richardson made that as a gift. Is it not clever?”
“The fingers that stitched this piece were more than clever, mon amie, they are very talented. But who is this Catherine Richardson?”
Sarah felt a prick of excitement start at her toes and slowly work its way upward. “Catherine is a young girl in search of employment.” She carefully folded the skirt and placed it on the bed, then untied the drawstrings for the underskirt. “Do you think you might have a use for someone of her talent?”
Charlotte eyed the brooch critically. “It is better that she work for me rather than my competition. When you return from the wedding, you bring her to my shop and introduce us, no?”
Sarah beamed with pleasure. “Definitely yes.”
“Then all is well.” Charlotte retrieved her bag as she watched Sarah gently fold the underskirt and place it, too, on the bed. “Chérie amie . . .” Her voice was hesitant. “Is there something more? Your eyes still hold a shadow.”
Sarah pulled on her woolen skirt, then hastily slipped her arms into the jacket. “All is well, madame.”
Charlotte halted Sarah’s hands as she clumsily tried to tie the drawstrings. “You can trust me to keep your confidence.”
Sarah sank on the corner of her bed. “‘Tis not right,” she said, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I am to attend a wedding, an event of joy and love. And I’m so excited that I can hardly wait.”
Charlotte sat and placed her arm about Sarah’s trembling shoulders. “These are not tears of happiness chérie. Even in the South we can tell the difference,” she teased.
Sarah shook her head and wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron. “My family must be consumed with worry. Can you not imagine how you would feel if one day your daughter just disappeared?”
Charlotte shuddered. “I would be frantic.”
“Exactly.” Sarah sniffed. “It doesn’t seem just for me to be having such a grand time.”
For a long moment, Charlotte sat deep in thought. Then she rose and again gathered her belongings. “I think you are wrong, ma petite enfant. If Claudette was to suddenly be missing, my worry would be immense until I knew she was safe. But, if after I had her home again, I found she had been gently cared for, then I would be more than grateful. I think you are wrong to imagine that because your family suffers, they would wish you to suffer, too.”
Sarah smiled in thanks, but long after the dressmaker had gone, she still wondered if Samuel and Elizabeth would share Madame Rousseau’s opinion.