Chapter 4 - Dahlia
CHAPTER FOUR- DAHLIA
“Iwill comport myself with grace and dignity in the face of this trial,” Rachel said solemnly the following morning.
“For heaven’s sake, it’s the modiste, not the executioner’s block.” Dahlia shook her head and pushed the polished door open.
Dahlia had forgotten that Rachel had never experienced Madame Aubert’s.
Her sister’s eyes widened fractionally when they were ushered into the silk room.
In that instant, she became convinced that Rachel could be seduced into a life of fashion.
Perhaps not to the degree of Dahlia’s own fanaticism, but then again, so few could sustain that level of fervor for very long.
Rows upon rows of colorful silks, satins, taffetas, muslins, and brocade greeted them. Dahlia felt a smug sort of happiness when Rachel trailed her fingertips across a particularly fine bolt of blue silk. Dahlia tugged it free of the wall and laid it upon the large table in the center of the room.
“Which others catch your eye?”
There were few places in London where Dahlia felt quite as comfortable as Madame Aubert’s; she always made herself quite at home here.
She wasn’t the type of client who needed to be led by the hand through the process of choosing fabrics.
She was quite independent and capable here, as if it were just as much her shop as Madame Aubert’s.
Rachel dithered near the cotton as Dahlia searched the taffetas. In her opinion, Rachel would do well in something a bit structured. Her sister gravitated toward stark, austere fashions, but it worked well with her high cheekbones. Rachel was not the soft ideal—she was a beautiful study in angles.
Dahlia knew just the style that would offset her features to perfection—something with a daringly wide neckline.
With Rachel’s hair pulled tightly back in the way she preferred, it would be a nearly shocking expanse of delicate skin while still staying well within the realm of propriety.
Her sister had very little bosom to display, which made things easier in some ways.
She could experiment with necklines far more than Dahlia could and still be exceedingly modest.
Dahlia pulled several options that she thought Rachel would like. When Rachel finally returned to the table with another lone bolt of silk, it was nearly filled with options of Dahlia’s choosing.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Dahlia said. “I thought you might like these.”
“Good. You have a talent in this area; I do not.”
Dahlia liked her sister much more in that moment. It took an exceptionally confident person to admit that they didn’t hold expertise in an area, especially when ladies were expected to.
“How many dresses are you expecting me to purchase?” Rachel tilted her head. It was an honest question, a curious one, not one born of trepidation.
“As many as you like, really.”
“Run me through the options quickly, then. I’m liable to get bored long before you finish.”
Dahlia chuffed a laugh but did as she was instructed. She pointed at the first taffeta that she had pulled. “A wide-neck, low-shoulder ball gown.”
She gestured at the next, a fine worsted wool in navy. “A riding dress with matching tailored coat and navy braided trim.”
The next was the lightest of her selections, a grey that hovered near blue. “A day dress for visiting hours. And that one there will be a walking dress with matching jacket.”
On and on it went. Dahlia kept her descriptions as succinct as possible. She knew that Madame Aubert would catch her vision and that Rachel would tire of hearing of trims, lace, and ribbons before they ever got through the lot.
When Dahlia finally, breathlessly finished, Rachel jerked a nod. “Sounds wonderful,” she said. She turned fully to face Dahlia. “Are we finished now?”
Dahlia grinned. If only everyone could be as easily convinced when it came to her opinions on fashion.
“We need to have you measured, but if you truly don’t want to give any more input—”
“I don’t.”
“Then it shouldn’t take but a quarter of an hour.”
“Wonderful, for I’m hungry.”
Dahlia shook her head. She wished that she could eat the way her sister did.
Rachel had a prodigious appetite and never seemed to gain any weight at all.
When Dahlia had commented on it once, Rachel claimed her mind used massive amounts of energy.
Dahlia had rolled her eyes and they had never spoken of it again.
After Rachel was measured, Dahlia said, “I still need to put an order in for your accessories. Will you be able to wait to eat for another hour?”
“Of course. I’d rather be done with it than have more shopping hanging over my head.”
“Would you like to come into the shops with me?”
“I’d rather wait in the carriage. You may have an impression of my feet if you like, but I don’t want to be involved in any more shopping today.”
Dahlia laughed and looped her arm through her sister’s. “Not even to help me choose your gloves and hats?”
Rachel slid her eyes towards Dahlia in an accusatory manner.
“Fine. Though there’s a bookstore on the same road if you’d prefer.”
Rachel’s eyes lit with interest. “Why didn’t you say so? You may shop for gloves while I peruse the books.”
In the end, it was far more difficult to pry Rachel from the bookshop than it was to pry Dahlia from the gloves and hats. Dahlia was decisive and confident in her aesthetic, and the shopkeepers had experience with her, so they knew better than to try to talk her out of her decisions.
By the time their shopping was complete, Dahlia winced a little at the thought of the bills that were to be sent to Salisbury’s steward. Then again, Adelaide would be there to soften the blow.
Later that afternoon, Rachel escaped to the dark, cozy library once more. Even though Dahlia had repeatedly invited her to accompany her to the hotel for tea, Rachel would not be budged.
"I've had enough hustle and bustle for the day," she said. "I'd much rather sit and read, if you don't mind."
In the end, Dahlia didn't mind. This allowed her to take her sketchbook along to the grand hotel that faced the square in the centre of London, as was her habit.
The lobby was cool and lovely. Plush rugs cushioned footsteps from marble floors, intricate sconces twinkled from wallpapered walls, and potted ferns rustled in the gentle breeze made by efficient servants.
In the corner, a grand piano was centered beneath a stunning crystal chandelier that nearly brushed the top of the instrument when it was open.
During the day, a mustachioed man in a dark suit played songs that trickled throughout the lobby and the restaurant, perfuming the air with lovely notes. The ambiance was all that was elegant, but the real draw for Dahlia were the ladies who flocked here to enjoy tea together.
The host of the restaurant knew Dahlia on sight.
He nodded to her and escorted her to the spot she preferred.
Hers was a small table, her chair tucked into a corner.
No one could approach and see what she was working on without her knowing.
This gave her a chance to sketch subjects out in the open without betraying her secret.
Today, the table in front of her contained the four Preston sisters. There were eight in total, but the four youngest were abroad. Dahlia shook her head. She couldn’t imagine having seven sisters.
She herself had four, and even that was quite enough to get on with.
All those different personalities in one small house had not been an easy thing to navigate.
Luckily, they all liked each other. It appeared the Preston sisters felt the same, as the group murmured together with bouts of quiet laughter.
Dahlia couldn't help but bend to the temptation of four subjects, all with different coloring, different body types, lined up and distracted before her. The sisters had just started their tea—they’d remain seated at least another hour. Dahlia opened her sketchbook and began to draw.
Miss Claire Preston was the eldest. She had hair somewhere between ash brown and blonde that was braided back elegantly into a low chignon at the base of her neck. Her figure reminded Dahlia strongly of Rachel's—tall and thin, with very little décolletage to display.
Unfortunately, Claire had buttoned her green dress to the base of her throat.
The dress itself was fine enough, but the color was wrong—it made her look like a reed growing out of some river mud.
The dark green didn't suit Claire’s undertones in the least. Her skin tone would have been favored by a lighter green or even a blue.
Dahlia quickly sketched a day dress with some ribbons and bows to soften the woman's figure, as well as a bit of ivory lace at the throat to expose some of her lovely skin.
She could do with a bit of volume at the sleeves, so Dahlia added swaths of lace there, too.
As an afterthought, she added the hint of a bustle at the back of the dress, for a bit of drama.
Then she moved on to the next eldest, Lily. There was much gossip about Lily at the moment. All of the Preston ladies had been absent from society, but Lily hadn’t been seen in the longest amount of time.
It seemed ladies of the ton were always inclined to think the worst, especially when it came to one as lovely as Lily.
She was perhaps the most beautiful of all the Preston sisters, with luminous skin, large blue eyes, and a torrent of light brown hair that curled into loose waves of its own volition.
She wore a day dress in a soft shade of pink.
Though it had graceful lines and excellent draping, a pale coral would have better suited her, as would the elimination of the multitude of ribbons at the neckline.
Lily was already soft enough without those additions; they only served to distract from her natural charms.