imperceptible
sweetness . . . Was it her mother’s old perfume? She pulled out
dress after dress, inhaling deeply with each one. Too much lace.
Too bright. Too antiquated . . .
Ah! This one would do.
The rose-colored gown she held was simple,
elegant enough to blend in with the fine apparel worn at a royal
ball, yet not flashy enough to attract undue attention.
Scrutinizing it carefully, Arella decided her mother had probably
worn it as a breakfast gown. Such had been the fashion back
then.
Arella smiled. “You probably didn’t guess
your daughter would wear it to the crown prince’s royal ball,” she
whispered. She rubbed the smooth fabric absentmindedly. Was this
one of her mother’s favorites? Had her father liked to see her
mother wearing it? Arella closed her eyes, trying to conjure an
image of her mother in this dress, trying to find a memory.
None came. The only face she could see was
the one from the portrait hanging in her bedroom.
Arella carefully repacked the long gowns in
the old dusty trunk then picked up the selected gown and descended
the attic stairs. “A little sash and some lace at the bottom should
do to make this appropriate for the ball,” Arella decided. She made
her way to the sewing room and set to work. If she had to go, she
may as well wear something she liked.
“What do you think?” Drusilla asked her
mother and sister, holding the smooth silk up to her body. She
hoped the pale green would lend some of its color to her murky eyes
and soften the brightness of her red hair. Surveying herself in the
mirror, she ruefully admitted that they were as murky and red,
respectively, as ever.
“I like it,” Anastasia answered. “It brings
out the green in your eyes.”
Drusilla glanced at her doubtfully. “Really?
I didn’t think it helped much.”
“Try the darker green,” her mother
suggested. “I think it would suit your complexion better.” The
duchess handed her eldest daughter a different length of silk.
She nodded approvingly as Drusilla held up
the new piece. “Very becoming. I think you should choose this
one.”
Anastasia and the dressmaker echoed the
duchess’s commendation. Drusilla wrinkled her nose at the
reflection; nothing seemed to be particularly becoming. But if her
mother and sister liked it . . . “All right then.” Drusilla
shrugged. “Dark green it is.”
“Very well, my lady,” said the dressmaker,
taking the silk and placing it with the lavender Anastasia had
already selected. “And how would you want them made?”
“Ball gowns for the prince’s ball,” Duchess
Germaine responded. “Make them according to the latest
fashions—full skirt, bustle, plenty of lace. After all, this is the
event of the year. Perhaps of the decade!” She smiled brightly at
her girls. New dresses never ceased to be exciting.
Except to Arella.
The Duchess’s smile faded somewhat as she
thought of her stepdaughter. Of course, it was understandable that
the girl would like to wear her mother’s things. Though Duchess
Germaine had tried to take a mother’s place in the girl’s heart,
Arella always maintained a quiet shell, especially after the duke
passed away—scarcely a year after he and Germaine were married,
when Arella was still so young.
Drusilla noticed when her mother’s smile
slipped and knew she was worrying about Arella again. That girl!
She could have come to the dressmaker’s with them today and found a
bright blue to match her clear eyes. She could have at least come
and helped them to select their silks.
Instead, she was by herself in a dusty attic
and would probably pick the simplest dress she could find. It
didn’t matter too much—she was a beautiful girl, and a plain dress
would not conceal that fact from the prince. Still, it would be
nice if she could try to be involved with her family for a
change.
Drusilla smiled at her mother, hoping to
ease her worry. “And what about you, Mother? Shan’t you have a new
dress for the ball? It is
sweetness . . . Was it her mother’s old perfume? She pulled out
dress after dress, inhaling deeply with each one. Too much lace.
Too bright. Too antiquated . . .
Ah! This one would do.
The rose-colored gown she held was simple,
elegant enough to blend in with the fine apparel worn at a royal
ball, yet not flashy enough to attract undue attention.
Scrutinizing it carefully, Arella decided her mother had probably
worn it as a breakfast gown. Such had been the fashion back
then.
Arella smiled. “You probably didn’t guess
your daughter would wear it to the crown prince’s royal ball,” she
whispered. She rubbed the smooth fabric absentmindedly. Was this
one of her mother’s favorites? Had her father liked to see her
mother wearing it? Arella closed her eyes, trying to conjure an
image of her mother in this dress, trying to find a memory.
None came. The only face she could see was
the one from the portrait hanging in her bedroom.
Arella carefully repacked the long gowns in
the old dusty trunk then picked up the selected gown and descended
the attic stairs. “A little sash and some lace at the bottom should
do to make this appropriate for the ball,” Arella decided. She made
her way to the sewing room and set to work. If she had to go, she
may as well wear something she liked.
“What do you think?” Drusilla asked her
mother and sister, holding the smooth silk up to her body. She
hoped the pale green would lend some of its color to her murky eyes
and soften the brightness of her red hair. Surveying herself in the
mirror, she ruefully admitted that they were as murky and red,
respectively, as ever.
“I like it,” Anastasia answered. “It brings
out the green in your eyes.”
Drusilla glanced at her doubtfully. “Really?
I didn’t think it helped much.”
“Try the darker green,” her mother
suggested. “I think it would suit your complexion better.” The
duchess handed her eldest daughter a different length of silk.
She nodded approvingly as Drusilla held up
the new piece. “Very becoming. I think you should choose this
one.”
Anastasia and the dressmaker echoed the
duchess’s commendation. Drusilla wrinkled her nose at the
reflection; nothing seemed to be particularly becoming. But if her
mother and sister liked it . . . “All right then.” Drusilla
shrugged. “Dark green it is.”
“Very well, my lady,” said the dressmaker,
taking the silk and placing it with the lavender Anastasia had
already selected. “And how would you want them made?”
“Ball gowns for the prince’s ball,” Duchess
Germaine responded. “Make them according to the latest
fashions—full skirt, bustle, plenty of lace. After all, this is the
event of the year. Perhaps of the decade!” She smiled brightly at
her girls. New dresses never ceased to be exciting.
Except to Arella.
The Duchess’s smile faded somewhat as she
thought of her stepdaughter. Of course, it was understandable that
the girl would like to wear her mother’s things. Though Duchess
Germaine had tried to take a mother’s place in the girl’s heart,
Arella always maintained a quiet shell, especially after the duke
passed away—scarcely a year after he and Germaine were married,
when Arella was still so young.
Drusilla noticed when her mother’s smile
slipped and knew she was worrying about Arella again. That girl!
She could have come to the dressmaker’s with them today and found a
bright blue to match her clear eyes. She could have at least come
and helped them to select their silks.
Instead, she was by herself in a dusty attic
and would probably pick the simplest dress she could find. It
didn’t matter too much—she was a beautiful girl, and a plain dress
would not conceal that fact from the prince. Still, it would be
nice if she could try to be involved with her family for a
change.
Drusilla smiled at her mother, hoping to
ease her worry. “And what about you, Mother? Shan’t you have a new
dress for the ball? It is
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