Chapter Seven #2
“The rose muslin for a morning dress, I think,” Mrs. Bromley said, holding a length of soft pink fabric up to Sophia’s face. “See how it brings out the color in her cheeks?”
“Yes, and this pale blue for another.” Mrs. Fletcher added a bolt of sky-colored muslin to the growing pile. “With white embroidery at the hem. And this green here. It’s not too dark, just the right shade to complement her eyes.”
“What about this?” Mrs. Bromley held up a length of deep sapphire silk.
“For an evening gown, yes. With her coloring, she’ll be stunning.” Mrs. Fletcher made a note. “We’ll do a lower neckline for that one. Nothing improper, mind you, but appropriate for evening wear. Show off that lovely neck and shoulders.”
Sophia felt her cheeks heat. No one had ever discussed her neck and shoulders before. It felt strangely intimate, being spoken about as though she were a painting to be displayed.
“Miss Ashford?” Mrs. Bromley asked. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I am fine.” She forced a smile. “This is all rather overwhelming.”
“Of course it is.” Mrs. Bromley set down the fabrics.
“You’ve gone from governess to bride in less than a week.
Anyone would be overwhelmed. But you’re going to be wonderful in this new season of your life.
You’re a duke’s daughter, even if you’ve been playing at being something else.
This is your birthright, returning to you. ”
“Is it?” Sophia wrung her hands. “I’ve been a servant for so long, I’m not sure I remember how to be anything else.”
“You were never truly a servant.” Mrs. Bromley said. “You may have worked as one, but anyone with eyes could see you were gentry-born.”
“Now then,” Mrs. Fletcher said briskly. “We have work to do. The wedding dress is my priority, but I’ll need you to try on this muslin I’ve brought.
It’s already made up. It belonged to a young lady who decided she didn’t like it after all.
” Mrs. Fletcher sniffed. “A rude young lady, I might add. Regardless, with a few alterations, it should fit you perfectly, and you can wear it this afternoon when Lord Montrose’s cousin calls. ”
“His cousin?” Sophia looked up in alarm.
“The Duchess of Thornbridge,” Mrs. Bromley explained. “She sent word this morning that she and the Duke would like to pay a formal call this afternoon. They want to meet you properly, offer their congratulations.”
Panic fluttered in Sophia’s chest. A duchess. She had to meet a duchess and pretend to be a lady when she was more accustomed to wiping sticky fingers and holding Amelia on her lap.
“Don’t look frightened,” Mrs. Bromley said.
“The Duchess is lovely. She and Lord Montrose are quite close. As I’m sure you know, they grew up together.
She’ll be your friend, I’m certain of it.
Although, when they were children, she was always running around outside with Lord Montrose and Lord Thornbridge.
The three of them were forever getting in one scrape or the other.
Her father was beside himself half the time.
But then she and Lord Thornbridge grew up and realized they were in love. Now she’s properly domesticated.”
“Do they have children?” Sophia asked. Perhaps it would give her something to talk about with the duchess.
Mrs. Bromley’s expression turned mournful. “Sadly, they do not. They have been married years now and still no child. I imagine it’s hard for her.”
“Oh, that’s terribly sad,” Sophia said. “But thank you for telling me. I would hate to have hurt her with questions about children.”
“Yes, you are right to stay clear of any questions of the sort.” Mrs. Bromley nodded, as if Sophia were exceptionally clever to have thought of it.
“But I don’t know how to receive a duchess,” Sophia said. “What do I say? How do I act?”
Mrs. Bromley’s expression turned practical. “First, you’ll greet her at the door of the drawing room. A curtsy—not too deep, you’re a duke’s sister yourself—and address her as ‘Your Grace’ until she invites you to use her Christian name, which she likely will.”
“A curtsy. Your Grace. Yes.” Sophia tried to commit it to memory.
“You’ll be the hostess, so you indicate where she and the Duke should sit.
The most comfortable chairs near the fire.
Then you’ll ring for tea. I’ll have it ready, don’t worry about that.
When it arrives, you pour. Pour for your guests first, starting with the Duchess.
Offer sugar and milk. Then pour for yourself last.”
“Pour for guests first. Start with the Duchess.” Sophia’s hands felt clammy just thinking about it, although she had seen Rose do it many times. Only now, it would be up to her.
“Let her lead the conversation,” Mrs. Bromley continued.
“She’ll likely ask about your engagement, about Amelia, about your family.
Answer honestly but don’t volunteer too much.
It is best to let her guide the topics. And don’t apologize excessively, even if you feel nervous. You have every right to be here.”
“Don’t apologize excessively,” Sophia repeated. Though that would be difficult, given her instinct to apologize for everything.
“You’ll do beautifully,” Mrs. Bromley said firmly. “The Duchess is kind, and she’ll understand you’re new to all this. Now, let’s try on this dress.”