Page 61 of To Woo and to Wed
“A valid concern,” Sophie agreed solemnly, “if my entire house were to burn down. Otherwise, I thought I’d wear one of the dozens of suitable gowns I already own.”
“If I’d known she was going to complain so bitterly, I would have left her at home,” Alexandra said to Violet in a stage whisper.
Violet appeared to be enjoying herself thoroughly, though after a moment she did take pity on Sophie and reach over to offer her a consoling pat on the arm. “If it’s any comfort,” she said, “Ihad to pick out my trousseau in the company of my mother, and was then subjected immediately afterward to an attempt to explain the marital act that frankly was the stuff of nightmares, so I really think you’re getting off rather easy.” Violet’s mother, the Countess of Worthington, was the sort of woman that Sophie would diplomatically describe as “difficult”(and more honestly describe as “nearly insufferable”), so this did indeed make Sophie’s own trials seem rather mild by comparison.
She gazed around the shop; Madame Blanchet was fairly new to London, having arrived only a couple of Seasons earlier, but her gowns had already been spotted on several countesses, a couple of marchionesses, and, once, a mistress of one of the royal dukes, which had put her services in considerable demand. The gowns in question—or at least the ones that Sophie had seen herself—tended to be a bit more elaborate (and ruffled) than Sophie’s taste inclined toward, but she’d thought it wise not to put up too much of a fuss; it wasn’t as if she’d be wearing the resulting gown, after all. Alexandra was the oneactuallygetting married, and Sophie was happy for her to have whatever gown she wanted, designed by whomever she wished.
The shop was stuffed to the rafters with bolts of fabric and half-sewn gowns, and the woman in question was bearing down upon them at this very moment, attired in a simple but immaculately tailored gown of pink silk with a lace overlay.
“Bonjour, mesdames!” she trilled, the feather stuck somewhat haphazardly into her coiffure vibrating slightly as she spoke. “Et bienvenue dans ma boutique!”
“Bonjour, madame,” Alexandra said. “I am Mrs. Brown-Montague—I believe you received my note?”
“Oui, oui!” Madame Blanchet clapped her hands together eagerly. “And I am so eager to help you create the perfect gown for your delightful nuptials—to an earl,n’est-ce pas?” A mercenary gleam came into the woman’s eye as Alexandra nodded, but Sophie was more amused by the wild fluctuations of the modiste’s French accent. This was not unexpected—the majority of so-called French modistes and maids in London had never come closer to France than perhaps castinga longing glance across the Channel from the safety of the Sussex shore—but Sophie was feeling a hint of the devil at her shoulder today, given her mood.
“Bonjour, madame,”she said solemnly. “C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer et j’ai hâte de bénéficier de votre experience.”
Madame Blanchet’s smile faltered only for a split second before she hitched it back into place. “Oui… madame,” she said weakly, and then immediately commenced asking Alexandra a very complicated series of questions about which preciseshadeof blue would best flatter her when riding away from the church atop a white horse.
Violet shot a sly sideways smile at Sophie, who smiled serenely back.
“… but we should really be focusing on Sophie,” Alexandra said a minute later, and Sophie felt a brief pang of alarm as she drifted over to her sister’s side. “I was thinking that perhaps we could wear matching dresses!” She said this so brightly that it was clear that she hadn’t the faintest notion that Sophie would disagree.
Sophie frowned at her sister. “I don’t think that’s nec—”
“If we’re to stand up there together, saying our vows, don’t you think it would look lovely if we were color-coordinated?” Alexandra asked. “I was thinking we could wear identical bonnets!” This was suggested in the tones one might use when promising a child a great treat, and Sophie attempted to look appropriately gratified, while privately wondering if perhaps her sister’s brain had been addled by the sun. She and Blackfordhadbeen going on an awful lot of rides together, on fine afternoons; was a sudden fixation on matching wedding bonnets a sign of sunstroke?
“Mmmmm,” Sophie said noncommittally.
“And then perhaps if I’m to wear blue, you could wear…”Alexandra trailed off, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her index finger as she regarded Sophie consideringly.
“Pink?” Madame Blanchet suggested. “It would look lovely with her complexion”—she seemed to have adopted an even heavier accent, perhaps hoping that Sophie would assume she spoke some quaint regional dialect Sophie could not hope to understand—“and then the two of you would appear like—what are the flowers, the ones that bloom in the summer?”
“How helpfully specific,” Violet murmured.
“Hydrangeas?” Alexandra supplied eagerly.
Madame Blanchet snapped her fingers. “Exactement! Perhaps you could both carry bouquets of thehydrangeas”—this word was pronounced with great care and an exaggerated attempt at a neutral English accent—“in the color of each other’s dresses!”
“I’m not certain—”
“And then,” Madame Blanchet forged ahead, ignoring Sophie’s rather feeble attempt at interrupting, “we must discuss the ruffles.” She said this rather as the Duke of Wellington must have called meetings about battlefield strategy to order.
“I do not think ruffles favor me very much, madame,” Sophie said firmly. “I was hoping for something simpler—”
“But,Sophie.” Alexandra turned a pleading gaze upon her. “It’s ourwedding. Surely you don’t want to wear a gown that looks precisely like anything else you might wear!”
This was, in fact, precisely what Sophie would like to wear, had she been left to her own devices. (And had sheactuallybeen planning to be married.)
“Unless there’s some reason that you don’t want this wedding to feel like a special occasion?” Alexandra added, all wide-eyed hurt andconfusion. “I know—I know—” Her lip began to quiver, always an alarming sign; Alexandra was not terribly weepy by nature, but when a certain mood took her, she could turn into a watering pot with terrifying alacrity. “Iknowit’s not afirstmarriage for either of us—that we are no longer in the first bloom of youth—”
“You’re three-and-twenty,” Sophie said dryly; given that she was four years her sister’s senior, she was beginning to feel downright haggard. (Though this sentiment might be directly attributable to this conversation.)
“—and I know that a second marriage ceremony is perhaps not as exciting as the sight of a virginal young bride tripping her way down the aisle at the end of a long, chaste courtship full of longing glances, but I was still hoping that we would find a way to make it feel special.” Alexandra’s eyes had turned downright misty at this point, and even Violet was giving Sophie a mildly reproachful look. “And I wanted to share it withyou,” Alexandra concluded, then fished in her sleeve for a handkerchief, which she pressed to her mouth as if overcome with emotion.
Sophie, feeling as though she’d just weathered a long military campaign, reached out and patted Alexandra on the arm. “You’re right—I’m sorry.” She turned a pained smile upon Madame Blanchet, who was regarding this exchange with a somber, funereal air, but who perked up immediately upon seeing Sophie’s look of resigned acceptance. “Madame Blanchet, I defer to your expertise.”
“Très bien!” the modiste said brightly. “Shall I show you the feathered bonnet I had in mind?”
