yet…
I’m twenty-one, and I’ve lived my life in rags. I want the stupid dress.
“This one, my lady?” the plump, middle-aged woman asks, gazing indulgently at me over the top of her spectacles.
Beside me, Mama is sitting on the sofa, flicking through designs.
I gaze again at the drawing of the pink gown. “Yes, please. It’s so beaut—”
Mama takes the book from me and closes it with a thump. “No.”
She puts her own design book on the table and points to a selection of traditional Paravanian gowns. “These three,” she says to the dressmaker, pointing to a pale-yellow dress with a stiff bodice, a white gown with short sleeves, and a grey silk gown with long sleeves.
The dressmaker hesitates. “Lady Rugova, the Court of Paravel has yet to open, but there are already signs that grander fashions are being favored. Indeed, I delivered a similar dress to Archduke Levanter’s daughter not three days ago. Perhaps you know her? Lady Aubrey returned from France a few weeks ago, and—”
Mama shakes her head. “The Archduke’s daughter undoubtedly has foreign tastes. We will only wear good, Paravanian gowns of the sort my peers and I debuted in.”
It’s a good line. What she really means is they’re cheap. I forgot that we’re only pretending to be rich. All the First Families had their worldly goods and titles restored weeks ago, but not the Rugovas. Mama’s plan is to get us into Court and find out why.
I check my clunky old phone and see that pictures of the palace renovations have been posted on a news site. On my screen, workmen are repairing the state rooms at the palace, laying new floors for dancing and adorning the plasterwork ceilings with gold leaf. Mama and I were at the broken-down palace five weeks ago, when the Party was driven from power, and King Anson was declared the ruler of Paravel. Mama had tears of happiness pouring down her face. So had a lot of people her age who remembered the old King and Queen. Anyone who wasn’t born then, like me, was caught up in the spectacle, and we cheered as loudly as we could when the chains were cut on the palace gates. We didn’t understand what we were cheering for, though. I’m still not sure.
King Anson stood on one of the high balconies of the palace and addressed the people, telling us that, from now on, we would have hope, safety and freedom. Such a young and handsome king, only thirty-five years old. Mama says he takes after his beautiful mother. I hear he spent his imprisonment locked away on a remote, mountainous estate, and I wonder what he thinks of this new Paravel. How much of the old one he remembers.
The dressmaker stands up and bobs a curtsy to Mama. “Of course, Lady Rugova. Let me go and see about the quantities I have left of the gray silk.”
Mama waits, bolt upright on the sofa, her small black handbag clasped tightly in her lap. I notice that her wedding ring is gone, and a pang of sadness goes through me. She must have sold it to pay for our dresses.
“I could just wear off the rack,” I whisper. “It would be cheaper and probably nicer.”
“We are here,” Mama says, through clenched teeth, “to restore our fortunes. For that, we must uphold the standards of the First Families of the nation. The Rugovas do not wear off the rack to the Court of Paravel.”
“But your wedding ring…”
Mama glances sadly at the empty place on her finger. Then she pinches her lips together, so tightly, they turn white. “You don’t understand how important your debut will be for us.”
What I don’t understand is how she thinks we belong anywhere near the Court, if our lands haven’t been restored. I grew up being told how important my blood was as we ate tinned beans and corned beef off chipped plates. Our house was freezing, and my clothes were threadbare. Most of the time, I didn’t have shoes. I didn’t feel like a lady then, and I don’t feel like one now.
Mama gazes hungrily at the new carpets and fine draperies in the shop. “We suffered for decades for the old King and Queen. The shame of it killed your father. I will have every single penny that’s owed to us from the Crown. Until then, you will do your duty by our family and your poor dead papa.”
“I said I’m going to help. I promised, didn’t I?”
The dressmaker