The shop was buzzing with activity, Madame Hebert was nowhere in sight, but her assistants rushed back and forth through the curtained entrance to the fitting room, arms laden with lengths of fabric, buttons, laces, and trims. There were three other women in the front portion of the shop, considering the dresses on display, marveling at the artistry of the seamstresses’ hands.
“Oh! Lady Calpurnia!” The soft, eager words, were spoken in the thick French accent of Valerie, Madame Hebert’s trusted apprentice, who had come from the back of the shop and dropped a quick curtsy in Callie’s direction. “Madame Hebert sends her apology that you are kept waiting. She is just finishing with another lady, but we have cleared her schedule for the afternoon, and she will join you”—she waved her hand in the air, searching for the correct phrase—“tout de suite… at once. Yes?”
“Yes, of course. I am happy to wait.”
“Valerie!” Madame Hebert’s voice traveled from beyond the curtain mere seconds before the Frenchwoman poked her head out into the main shop. “Bring Lady Calpurnia back. I will begin with her immediately.” The dressmaker waved Callie forward with an encouraging smile. When she and Valerie were closer to the curtain, Madame Hebert added quietly to her assistant, “You may finish with Miss Kritikos.”
Callie froze midstride, just outside the entrance to the fitting room. Had she heard correctly? Was it possible that Ralston’s former mistress was in the room beyond? Of course she was. It was the perfect addition to this disaster of a day. She squared her shoulders, preparing to enter the room. Nastasia Kritikos had no reason to know Callie; therefore, Callie would simply pretend not to recognize the opera singer.
Pushing through the curtains, Callie discovered that such a task was far easier planned than performed. Nastasia stood on a raised platform at the center of the fitting room, her back to the doorway, larger than life. Callie marveled at the prima donna’s hourglass form, her hips flaring in perfect concert with a bosom that women everywhere would covet. Nastasia turned from side to side, casting a critical eye at her image in an enormous mirror, taking in the details of the stunning scarlet silk gown she was wearing. The gown was beautifully fitted to Nastasia’s long, lush body, its bodice secured at the back with a row of small, elegant ribbons, each tied in a perfect tiny bow.
Callie swallowed, immediately feeling pale and plain, wishing she’d chosen another day to retrieve her gown. Realizing that she was gaping in the direction of the other woman, Callie caught herself and turned to follow Madame Hebert. Passing behind Nastasia, Callie couldn’t help but sneak a look at the opera singer’s reflection and marvel at the woman’s beauty. She and Ralston must have made a stunning couple. Nastasia was grand—she boasted the kind of beauty that women like Callie could only dream of having, mostly because her porcelain skin and shining black tresses and lovely, bow-shaped mouth were only part of her appeal. More than any one physical characteristic, the opera singer’s obvious confidence and self-awareness made all the difference. She owned the room the way she owned the stage—wholly and completely.
She was magnificent.
And Callie envied every bit of the other woman as she watched her in the reflection—from her perfect poise to her riveting violet eyes…eyes that met Callie’s in the mirror.
Caught staring, Callie blushed and looked away immediately, hurrying to catch up with Madame Hebert. Callie followed the Frenchwoman around a tall dressing screen set to one side of the room and pulled up short when she saw the dressmaker’s form standing in the corner, draped in what was, quite possibly, the loveliest gown she had ever seen.
Madame Hebert met her eyes with a little, knowing smile. “It pleases you?”
“Oh, yes…” Callie’s fingers itched to touch the fabric, to stroke down the cascade of silk that was more lovely than she remembered.
“Excellent. I think it is time you see it as it is meant to be…on you. Don’t you agree?”
The seamstress turned Callie around and set to work on the buttons of her day dress. Indicating the collection of undergarments that had been set out next to the dress, the dressmaker said, “We will begin with lingerie.”
Callie immediately shook her head, “Oh, I couldn’t…I have plenty of underthings…I do not need new ones.”
The dress loosened into her hands as Madame Hebert spoke. “I assure you, you do need them.” She helped Callie out of her corset and chemise, saying, “The most confident of women are those who believe in every scrap of fabric that they wear. They are the ones who are as happy with their drawers as they are with their gowns. You can tell the difference between a woman who wraps herself in beautiful silks and satins and she who wears…” The modiste paused as she dropped Callie’s worn chemise to the floor. “…otherwise.”
Callie slipped into the new, lovely undergarments adorned with little details—satin ribbons, little, hand-fashioned flowers in lovely colors, lace panels that added a touch of femininity that she had never before considered necessary in unmentionables. As the layers were draped over her, she felt rather silly for enjoying the sensation of lovely silks and satins against her skin, but Madame Hebert had been right. There was something quite decadent about wearing such frivolously beautiful underclothes—especially when Anne was the only person who would ever see them.
As if she were reading Callie’s thoughts, the dressmaker leaned in, and whispered, “And, let us not forget, one never knows who might someday unwrap such a present, oui?” Callie blushed fiercely at the words, followed by the Frenchwoman’s knowing laugh.