new fashions.”
“Of course you can. You’ve managed every other style as it came up from Paris, why should this be any different?”
Charlotte stared at Grace in shock, aghast that she should disagree. “Why? Because the sleeves are barely in existence, my shoulders are very nearly bare, and this bodice is so low that…”
Grace rolled her eyes and gestured for Annette to continue getting Charlotte ready. “Charlotte, the neckline is no lower than any other gown you have worn in the last four years. It only feels amiss due to the other aspects.”
“Aha!” Charlotte cried as her shoulders were pulled back to assist in fastening the back of her gown. “So you do concede that there are impossible factors at hand.”
“Impossible, no.” Grace shook her head, the florets and ribbons in her hair nearly shimmering in the candlelight. “Not in the least. Your figure is magnificent, and you did ask for my recommendations without a proper fitting.”
Charlotte scowled, inhaling a near gasp as the fastenings were done. “You are my most fashionable friend. I thought I should be pleased with your tastes, not sacrificed to them.” She pressed her hands to her bodice, the intermixed pearls pressing into her palms. “Am I supposed to be rendered breathless without the effect of an attractive man?”
Annette came around to face her, frowning. “You should be able to breathe freely, Miss Charlotte. Your stays are fastened only just past your usual, and the gown is not overly constricting.”
“You see?” Grace smirked in a too-superior way and waved a gloved hand at her. “Breathe, Charlotte. Exhale.”
“I’ll spill out of this contraption if I do that,” Charlotte muttered, very gradually releasing air and finding it not impossible to do so.
“You’re quite secure,” Grace assured her without concern. “We could hang you upside down, and the only scandal would be your drawers.”
Charlotte glared at her as Annette pulled her to the toilette and began to pull the papers from her curls. “If I were upside down, the skirts would cover my primary concern, so please do.”
Grace ignored her and only watched Annette gather Charlotte’s dark tresses into folds, pinning and twisting them in what had to be the most painful manner possible.
Why in the world had Charlotte agreed to this? She had plenty of fashionable gowns and had ever been one of the leaders in fashion in London Society, though she would never have claimed so aloud. She had certainly never been found wanting in any manner of attire, and yet something had possessed her to purchase several new gowns for her new matrimonial scheme.
The gown she wore now had seemed the simplest at first glance, being entirely white and the skirts holding a gently lined pattern along the length of her. Its only real embellishments were the pearls intermingled along her bodice and sleeves and the plaited satin bands at her hemline, though the stomacher and satin ribbon at her waist secured the object of her stays neatly. All told, it was not particularly dramatic unless one took in the expanse of skin upwards of the bodice, across her shoulders, and up into her hair.
But it felt dramatic.
“Should my hair not be pulled higher in the back?” Charlotte queried, catching a glimpse of herself in the looking glass.
“No, miss,” Annette replied without looking, continuing her work effortlessly. “You will see why shortly.”
Grace cleared her throat and adjusted her white kid gloves. “Patience, Charlotte, and stop ordering Annette about. She and I have worked tirelessly to perfect this look, and your opinion is not needed.”
“Not needed?” Charlotte adjusted her position in the chair, uncomfortable with being rendered voiceless. “Is it not my person we are dressing?”
“Exactly so,” Grace shot back. “We are dressing you. You are not.” Her brows quirked in a defiant show of victory that Charlotte instantly hated.
Well, she could not be expected to be entirely silent while she was turned into a doll of their creation. She was Charlotte Wright, after all.
She picked at her skirts limply. “White,” she muttered to nobody in particular. “I haven’t worn something so abjectly white since I was sixteen. Am I going as an angel in disguise? Where is my halo? Have I wings, as well?”
“You would need a disguise to be an angel in anyone’s eyes,” Grace responded simply, her eyes narrowing as she watched the transformation of Charlotte’s hair. “We’re only making sure we draw attention to you.”
“Because that has been such an issue before this.” Charlotte nodded sagely, receiving a hard tug on her hair