Chapter 16 #3
True to her word, Miss Nettersel proceeded to assemble an entire gown around Florrie while engaging in minimal contact.
Florrie had pre-selected the shape of her gown – an antique silhouette with a skirt like the bell of a trumpet-flower – and the Nettersel siblings had prepared accordingly.
There was no need for Florrie to wait while Miss Nettersel stitched up the entire garment, as the tailor had already assembled most of its pieces.
She only had to size them to fit after obtaining the proper measurements.
That stage inevitably involved some degree of touching from time to time.
Florrie distracted herself by admiring the textures and trimmings of the gown itself.
Instead of traditional cloth-and-ribbon sleeves, the gown’s armscyes were draped with swathes of tulle which extended nearly to the floor – until Miss Nettersel showed Florrie how to tie them up in stately knots, as was the fashion.
The bodice was embellished with a constellation of glass flowers and the hem was lined with a complementary silver linen that flashed, cloud-like, as the dress moved.
Most remarkably, none of these elegant additions itched, scraped or otherwise annoyed her.
Florrie dared to wonder what Vern would think of it.
The glimmering threads woven into the Celestial Blue fabric were dyed with gem-powder that surely did not exist in the world of the painting.
Vern would also appreciate the peculiar transparent sleeves, and how finely the artist had formed the mesh.
Florrie flinched when Miss Nettersel’s fingers slipped, just once, and briefly met her shoulder.
She did not, however, flinch at the thought of Vern doing the same, in his gently meticulous manner…
But there was no time for such self-indulgent thoughts. The sun dipped below the imposing arches of the tailors’ quarter just as Miss Nettersel placed the final stitch.
“There’s a looking-glass behind that door,” she instructed, gathering stray needles into the centre of her pin-locket.
“That won’t be necessary,” Florrie replied. With the hour of the ball so near, the last thing she needed was a looking-glass. “I ought to finish my preparations at home before it grows later.”
Miss Nettersel sprung up and pulled a paintbrush from her chignon.
“Are you quite sure? But I’ve not done the painting yet!”
“I’ll see to that myself. Terribly sorry.” Though she wished to depart immediately, Florrie reminded herself to pause for politeness’s sake.
“I am much obliged to you, Miss Nettersel,” she said. “I have worn the same ten dresses for more than a decade due to my fear of tailors.”
“Please do return, should you tire of those ten. I enjoy any excuse to make a fine gown.” Miss Nettersel smiled. “I hope the person about whom you’ve been daydreaming will pay the compliments you deserve at the ball.”
Fortunately, there was no time to explain that Florrie was simply anxious about the ball itself – and that the individual she hoped would appreciate her gown wasn’t capable of attending the event.
It had grown so dark that Florrie had no choice but to catch a bird-drawn curricle and rattle along, her gown in her arms, until she reached the palace.
Back in her quarters, she proceeded to dress with terrified efficiency.
Though she had no desire to glance in a looking-glass, Florrie did survey the dress one final time – admiring the crisply pressed pleats and the loose swaying of the lace.
She was delighted to conclude that it was perfect…
or almost perfect, if one considered a rather significant issue.
The button securing a panel covering the wearer’s neck was incredibly fickle.
It popped off at the slightest provocation, and Florrie had refastened it several times already.
She heaved a sigh that set the tulle to rustling, and ferreted through her bureau.
There was a sewing kit she always kept tucked in the back of her travel case…
which was still in the armoire in her childhood bedroom, right where she’d left it.
Florrie sighed once more, and the button promptly unfastened itself again.
Her fingers twitched. She was far too overwhelmed by the ball and the portfolio and the inevitable noisiness of her thoughts after having spent hours holding still at the Nettersels’.
Though she knew the button was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, she simply had to fix it.
Never wear dresses that reveal the neck – that was one of Florrie’s rules.
Yet there was no time to return to the tailor’s, and though she imagined Prince Ardant had cabinets full of odds and ends at the ready for any small calamity, he would be far too busy to assist.
Florrie considered these options in great detail.
When she finished, she extinguished her lamps, tucked her sketchbook in the secret pocket beneath her skirt for safekeeping, and dashed down the corridor.
Only now could she accept that there was just one person equipped to assist her with a sewing emergency.
Her personal desire to see him was, obviously, of no consequence.