Page 47 of Bookshop Cinderella

“I thought I could just dress myself.”

Anna paused by the bed, staring at her with pity. “Silly girl,” she chided as she removed her coat. “I could have told you any gown from Vivienne would make dressing yourself impossible.”

“Yes, well, I know that now,” Evie muttered, picking up the plum velvet skirt and shoving it at her friend. “Here. Show me how to put this thing on.”

Half an hour later, the pieces of Evie’s gown were satisfactorily assembled on her person, all the buttons and hooks had been fastened, and Anna was burrowing underneath the hem to tie the tapes that would keep the goldenrod silk underskirt securely fastened to the plum velvet overskirt.

“It’s a good thing for you I once worked in a dressmaker’s showroom,” Anna told her, her voice muffled beneath layers of silk and velvet. “Or we’d never make it to the opera in time. It’s a beautiful gown, though, Evie,” she added, emerging from beneath the hem to smooth the panels into place and adjust the elaborate velvet bows, tucks, and flounces that cascaded down each side of the exposed underskirt. “And very expensive.”

There was a nuance in her voice, something thoughtful and grave, but Evie didn’t have the time or inclination to speculate on it. “It’s something Vivienne already had on hand, a reject from another client. I’m just glad they were able to alter it for me.”

“It does fit you like a glove.” Anna rose, moved to her side, and turned her toward the mirror. “See for yourself.”

Evie stared at her reflection, hardly able to recognize herself. The velvet fit her figure to perfection, and although she wore no padding, the elaborate gown and its accompanying undergarments somehow made her body look different. Shaped by the Vivienne-designed corset and framed by the low neckline, her breasts seemed fuller. Beneath the velvet bows and swags, her hips seemed more rounded. She looked almost...voluptuous.

This was not the same woman who had stared into the wavy mirror above her shop sink, wondering what the duke had seen in her that she could not see in herself. It was a superficial change, perhaps—an illusion or a mirage or a trick of cut and color—but even to her own eyes, she did not seem plain or unremarkable. She no longer felt bored or boring.

If given half a chance, you could be regarded as an incomparable beauty.

That day in her shop, she’d laughed at the duke’s assessment, but she wasn’t laughing now. She might not be a beauty, but at this moment, in this gown, she began to feel like one.

“Goodness,” she breathed. “All this for the opera.”

“You look splendid. I feel quite plain beside you in my made-over silk.”

“You?” Evie shot a disbelieving glance at her friend, who was far too beautiful to ever be considered plain by anyone with eyes, and who had succeeded in making a castoff emerald-and-sapphire silk gown from her dressmaking days into something both fashionable and lovely. “Don’t be silly,” she said as she slid on her elbow-length gloves. “I’m not a patch on you, Anna Banks, and you know it.”

Anna smiled. “Darling Evie. There isn’t a catty bone in your body, is there? It’s one of your finest qualities, did you know that?”

“I’m a peach,” she agreed, picking up her plum velvet cape and her gold silk reticule. “Now that we’ve established that, we must go, or we’ll be late.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Anna agreed, reaching for her own gloves, cloak, and handbag. “I’ve never been to the opera before, and I don’t want to miss a thing. So generous of Lady Stratham to let you borrow her box.”

They started out of the room, but as Evie followed her friend through the doorway, she couldn’t resist one last glance over her shoulder at her reflection, and for the first time, she wondered if perhaps Freddie Maybridge and his friends might have to eat their words after all.

11

The interior of the Royal Opera House, or Covent Garden as most Londoners called it, was an opulent display of crimson, ivory, and gold. Sandwiched between two floors of ordinary seats, three floors of boxes ringed the stage, and it was to one of these boxes that Evie and Anna were shown by an usher.

“Goodness,” Evie murmured as they took places in the first of three rows of empty seats overlooking stage left. “Seems very grand for just the two of us. I could have invited half the neighborhood.”

As impressive as the setting was, Evie wasn’t so sure about the opera itself. She’d been expecting something a bit like Gilbert and Sullivan. Wagner’sLohengrin, she decided, wasn’t her cup of tea, and she was rather glad she hadn’t invited half the neighborhood. Most of the people on Wellington Street probably wouldn’t think Wagner their cup of tea either.

Intermission, however, proved to be delightful, for the curtain had barely rung down before a waiter arrived, pushing a cart laden with luxurious food.

“Heavens,” Anna murmured as the waiter began placing loaves of bread and plates of canapés, ham, cheese, and fruit on a cloth-covered table behind the rows of seats. “Evie, I thought you were treating me to salmon sandwiches downstairs. What’s all this?”

“Courtesy of His Grace, the Duke of Westbourne,” the servant explainedas the two women removed their gloves, rose from their seats,and came to have a look.

“Oh, Anna, look!” Evie cried, eyeing the food with delight. “He ordered us pâté. I love pâté. And champagne—a Clicquot ’88, too,” she added as the waiter placed an ice bucket containing a bottle of the same champagne she and the duke had shared on the table. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“Yes, lovely,” Anna agreed as the waiter poured champagne for them, but something in her voice caught Evie’s attention, and when she looked up, she found Anna studying her with a thoughtful expression. “It sounds as if you’ve eaten pâté and drunk champagne before.”

Evie reminded herself that there were some things even her best friend didn’t need to know, and private picnics and dance lessons with a duke were definitely two of those things. “Well, I am staying at the Savoy,” she reminded,giving the waiter a nod of dismissal. “It’s given me the chance to try many new things.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Anna’s voice was dry. “And all at the duke’s expense. Such wanton extravagance seems odd just to win a bet.”

Evie shrugged and took a sip of champagne. “It seems odd to me, too, so don’t ask me to explain it. Still, you know how unaccountable aristocrats are.”

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