Living London

chapter Seven



The next day, I thought over Amelia's words. I did want love, and Nanna had said I would find love here. How I wished for that book, so I could re-read her letter, memorize it even more. A tear slid down my cheek, and I saw Libby hand me a handkerchief.

"Here, miss, don't cry. It'll be a beautiful day today, you'll see." Poor Libby had been fixing my hair, preparing me for the day, when I'd broken down for no apparent reason. She was so kind. It made me cry even more.

"I know just the thing. You should go shopping today," she announced, and she was right. That did sound like fun. My tears slowed, and I offered her a tentative smile.

"Shopping always did lift your spirits, miss," she said as she shoved the final pins into place. "You'll need a walking dress and boots."

"Not slippers?"

"No, you won't want slippers in the streets. You'll also need a pelisse. Ah, here we go."

She pulled out a sky blue dress with the lightest layer peeking from beneath. The empire waist would be set off with an adorable short jacket in stark white. Here we go again, I thought as Libby went behind me to tighten my stays. Apparently breathing is overrated in Regency London.

"Release your breath, miss." Libby requested. I wanted to do the opposite and take a larger breath to save some room. Wanting to trick her, I expelled my breath quickly and tried to gasp a larger amount of air, but she was quicker. I lost.

"Hrump." Not only did I have no extra room, but I doubted I'd be able to walk at all without oxygen. "Libby, please, not that tight. I can't breathe," I managed with the last of my air.

"Very well, miss. But I'll only loosen it a bit."

I breathed in the blessed life-giving air and braced myself as she did a final tighten. Once dressed, I headed for the door only to be stopped by Libby, who announced I was not ready, again. "Your hat, miss!" She held up a strange contraption that would scare children and small dogs.

Hat? No, that was a bird that lost a fight with a straw pile. "I'm to wear that?" I asked dubiously. The monstrosity was wide-brimmed to shade my face from the sun and prohibit any peripheral vision. Feathers crowned the top and a large ribbon hung loose to be tied around my neck. I would look like Little Bo Peep, with feathers.

"Of course, it's the newest fashion."

"Libby, do I have to? Do I have any other ones to wear?"

"Of course you must, but if you would rather wear a different one, here are your choices."

She opened up a few boxes filled with hats of every kind. Top hats, jaunty riding hats, feathered mini hats, large-brimmed straw hats, and some creations I didn't want to wear, ever, on my head. After considering my choices, I chose a small crepe hat with matching veil. I'd always loved veils. The netting covered my eyes and was fantastically fashionable, or at least I hoped. I went to the mirror and set it on my head, then tilted it so it sat at an angle. Satisfied, I picked up a few pins.

"Oh, miss, let me. Are you sure you wish to wear this hat rather than your bonnet? Your skin will freckle."

The idle threat didn't change my decision. I hadn't freckled in the sun before; I doubted my skin would begin now. "Yes, I'm sure, Libby. Thank you." She secured the pins and I adjusted the veil. The day was looking brighter all the time.

****

Shopping had been fun. Aside from the smell of unclean bodies and other scents I didn't want to remember, the shops had been lovely, and I'd spent quite a bit of what Libby called "pin money" on new hats — ones that looked like hats. I figured I might as well since I was going to be subjected to wearing them. Libby walked with me, helping me as needed. The afternoon ended perfectly when we ran into Amelia and walked a while with her.

We stopped at Gunther's for an ice. The famous establishment was mentioned often in the books I'd read, and a shiver danced down my spine as I entered. Part of me still couldn't believe that I was here. The various patrons sat and conversed over delicious desserts. The décor and fashion of the gentry reminded me of a set for an old Austenian movie, one in which I was living. Ladies wore large bonnets and pristine gloves as they ate their confections with dainty bites. The men were laughing, nodding, and assisting their ladies with their seats, desserts and any other attention they might require. When a new person would walk in, everyone would wave or nod and call them by name if they were acquainted. It was far more social than I had anticipated.

We spoke with a few ladies about the events of the night before and were told the latest gossip. All the while, my mind kept trying to accept the fact that this was real. My new reality. Strange as it seemed, I was beginning to feel more comfortable in my own skin, and I found myself enjoying the conversation and all-around experience.

Amelia made it easy for me to be myself. Even though I had no memory of her, it was apparent she knew me well. As I wondered which flavor to order, she whispered that lemon was my favorite. After a few minutes of chatting with an older countess, she excused us and told me how I usually limited my time with the woman because she gossiped too often, and I found it offensive. I smiled. I'd just begun to feel uncomfortable in that particular conversation. Amelia was a blessing, and I was eternally thankful for her friendship.

Afterward we left to visit Madame Marquette, Amelia's modiste. Even though I had read countless books on the Regency era, each one in some way telling of a modiste, I didn't quite know what to expect. As we rounded the corner, we stopped at a small shop that didn't seem as grand as I would have pictured. A little bell tinkled to announce our arrival as Amelia pressed open the door.

The room inside didn't match its humble exterior. Mirrors were lined up against the lavishly golden-papered walls. Women bustled about measuring ladies, writing notes, and nodding as their patrons gave specific instructions. Scores of fabric samples and fashion magazines laid everywhere. What I didn't see were the dresses. In fact, the only dresses I saw were being worn by the women.

"Where are the dresses?" I whispered to Amelia.

"Hmm? Dresses?" she asked as she picked up a primrose yellow fabric sample and rubbed it between her fingers.

"Of course. Where are they?" I asked, my eyes still roving about the room and taking in the dresses being fitted.

"Oh, they don't make them here, silly. This is just the shop. They're made at a different location."

"Then why are we here?" I asked, still not catching on.

Amelia turned toward me and sighed impatiently. "To pick up the dress I ordered last week. These things take time, you know." She raised her eyebrow delicately.

"Of course they take time. They're made by hand, for pity's sake." Not my brightest comment, I decided after it left my mouth. Of course they were handmade — there were no tags here that said Made in China.

"Well, of course. How else would they be made, hmm?" Amelia's voice was patronizing.

A short woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a shrewd eye approached us. "Welcome! May I help you?" she asked in a thick French accent.

"Yes. I'm here to pick up my dress." Amelia walked off with the woman, leaving me behind.

I picked up a paper fashion book, noticing that my wardrobe was the height of fashion. A surge of pride filled my chest. Everything was empire-waisted with varying types of belts, colors, pelisses, coats, gloves, and hats. I set the paper down and walked over to a bolt of fabric. I fingered a soft silk in a puce color, and then eyed the rest of the samples for a deep blue or perhaps an olive green.

"Jocelyn?" Amelia called from a corner where she had put on her new dress. The French woman was taking notes.

"Yes?"

"What do you think?" she asked as she smoothed the fabric with her gloved hands. It was beautiful, a perfect shade of amber and cream to offset her dark hair.

"I think it's perfect. I love the color."

"What about the fit? Madame Marquette thinks I should take it in about a half-inch from the skirt.

"Half-inch? Would it make that much of a difference?" Back home I'd bought things in premade sizes and taken them home hoping for the best. Here, everything was made specifically for the wearer of the garment. Heaven help me if I gained weight. I could see myself now — Yes, could you just please let it out a bit here, and here so I can breathe? That was not a conversation I wanted to have, ever.

My thoughts were interrupted by Madame Marquette. "Of course it would make a difference! This dress, it is distinctive. If it hangs, then the dress will not live up to its potential." Her hands glided over the fabric, pulling it and adjusting it as she spoke. "Not to mention, it will not be as beautiful as Miss Amelia deserves." Her eyes twinkled as she looked up at Amelia, and I smiled, noticing the relationship between the two. This wasn't simply about a dress.

"You heard Madame. A half-inch it is." I nodded.

Soon after we left the store, Amelia had to say goodbye, but I knew I'd see her in a few days. The theater had a new production that Amelia had invited me to attend with her family, and I readily agreed. I pinched myself, smiling at the pain because that meant this was real. I couldn't wait for the next few days to pass so I could set foot into such a piece of history. Drury Lane.