allowed his master to stride purposefully inside. Of average height, with a gray mustache that was a few years out of style and an outfit that was so expensive it would have been in style no matter what year it had been, the man paused to survey the shop. He hooked one hand casually through his belt loop, a posture that seemed to indicate he was at leisure no matter the business nature of his call, and strode around for a minute peering at the work Taya had on display before coming around to the counter. He gave Taya a critical once-over, appeared to dismiss her, and spoke in a commanding voice that was tinged with a foreign accent she couldn’t quite place.
“Where is the owner of the establishment?”
Taya resisted the urge to grit her teeth, instead giving the man a polite smile. After two years she was used to being dismissed. She refused to dress as befitted her station, since the oppressive gowns and complex hairstyles were impossible to get around in. She hadn’t needed them before she was engaged, and she didn’t see why she should need them now. What sane shopkeeper wanted to flounce around in skirts twice the size of herself? Idiotic. But Miranov was a country that respected its traditions, even when those traditions had no good basis in life.
“My fiancé owns the store, sir, as he is often away on business ventures, I run the store. I am the seamstress, and all the work you see displayed here was done by me.”
“Really,” he responded with a skeptical tone. “You’re the proprietor? Not just the girl?”
She wanted to spit in his face, but she’d lost more than one customer to her temper, and had learned to hold her peace.
“As I said, sir. Just because I don’t wear the fashions doesn’t mean I don’t know how to make them.”
He seemed doubtful, but he glanced once more at the work around the shop, and this appeared to alleviate some of his concern. He nodded, lips still slightly pursed. “Well. How very…eccentric of you. I would like to request a dress for my wife-to-be. It must be of the modern style, and appropriate for an evening ball in honor of our wedding.”
“Congratulations, sir. Do you have a color in mind, or shall I match the fabric to your wife’s hair and eye tones? If that is done the dress often creates a far more striking display.”
He frowned, considering, and then called to his servant, who had remained posted by the side of the door. “Cordonne! What is Isabelle’s coloring?”
The servant, looking startled to have been called on, hesitated a moment before replying. “I…I’m not sure, Your Grace. I haven’t met her.”
“No. Neither have I.” The man turned back to Taya, a frown on his lips. “I would like the gown to be striking, but I am not sure of her coloring.”
Taya fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was such a typical response from one of her noble customers. Arranged marriages had fallen entirely out of practice with the common people, as far back as two hundred years ago, but they were still in vogue for the nobles of the country. The poor girl was probably nothing more than a political pawn.
“If you would like, you could request that she comes to be fitted. I’m sure she would be pleased to, for the joy of receiving a new gown. And if you could give me her family name, I could take care of the arrangements for you.”
“Excellent!” he declared, his voice booming through the small shop. “Cordonne! Make the arrangements.” The servant quickly agreed and opened the door in anticipation of his master’s wishes, who surely enough strode toward the door before even waiting for a response. Cordonne carefully assured that the door was closed before stepping gingerly forward, a trace of a smile on his lips.
“He acts like he’s getting me to tell you because he’s above it, but really he just keeps forgetting her family name,” he admitted quietly.
Taya laughed. “I’m sure his piles of gold will soothe her wounded ego,” she said.
“Her name is Isabelle Duchynko. You’ll find them up Kranza Way, just past the park.”
“Appreciate it. Will your master want a copy of the pricing before we go ahead?”
He only snorted. “Details. He’ll just say it’s details.” He touched his cheek in a quick salute and left. She could see him disappearing past the windows, jogging to catch up to the carriage which