Page 14 of A Marriage is Arranged
Her ladyship’s dressmaker Véronique was set up in an exclusive establishment not far, in fact, from Diane Courtland’s little house. She had come to London from Paris twenty-five years before, the dressmaking atelier in which she had been working since the age of fourteen having been burned to the ground. The men who had done the burning did so because they disapproved of the members of the aristocracy who had their elaborate gowns made there. Not one of those elegant ladies had been in the shop at the time. The only one to perish was Véronique’s employer, a skillful, hardworking woman who, after her husband died of the fever, had struggled all her life to keep a roof over her and her children’s heads.
Véronique had seen the writing on the wall and had left Paris immediately. She had made her way to London and begun again, doing menial tasks in a fashionable modiste’s until her very real talents had been discovered. She had risen quickly, ultimately becoming chief designer and then co-owner of the establishment. When her partner died, she had re-named the shop and concentrated on catering to only the very wealthy. The Countess had been her customer for years.
Nowadays, she herself took on very few clients. She was a lady of advancing years, looking forward to a well-earned retirement. She still oversaw everything that went out of the shop and had an eagle eye for the slightest error in fit or style. But her assistants did all the work.
When she saw Louise, however, she immediately took care of her personally. This was because she recognized in her someone like herself. She had spent her years working amongst beautiful women, but had never been one of them. She was downright plain, with a flat face, receding chin, wide nose and thin, wispy hair. However, she dressed with such quiet elegance that anyone who knew her would have been surprised to hear her called that.
When the Countess explained that Louise was wanting a wedding gown, she looked the bride-to-be up and down and said, half to herself, “Yes. I see. Mademoiselle is not in the ordinary way.” “You will forgive me,” she said, addressing herself to Louise, “You have not beauty in the face and it could be wished you were a little more tall. But you have a good carriage and though you are too thin, from what one may observe beneath your garment — I do not call it a gown — you have a shape. Yes, we must make sure the eye is drawn to that. Fit will be all. This I understand for myself, as you see. The… objet you are wearing is not for you. The color is affreuse and it has been altered, but badly. No,” she said again, “it is not for you. No. Certainement non .”
Louise thought it a good thing her mother was not there to hear this unvarnished assessment, but before she was able to utter a word, she was ushered into a curtained alcove, where the offending garment was ruthlessly removed. She was then subjected to being pushed this way and that, being measured from all possible angles.
That having been accomplished, she was given a silk wrapper and brought into Véronique’s atelier. It was rare indeed these days for a customer to be invited to this inner sanctum and the word soon went round. The Earl of Shrewsbury’s betrothed was on the lips of everyone in the establishment, from the girl who swept the floor to the head cutter, who worked for no one but Véronique’s top clients.
It happened that Diane Courtland was there. Since she had been under the generous protection of the Earl she had been able to have several gowns made in that exclusive establishment, though not by Véronique herself. The words came to her ears also, and she contrived to catch a glimpse of the bride-to-be as she was bustled from one place to the other.
“Why, she’s nothing but a plain little country mouse,” she said to herself with satisfaction. “I don’t need to worry after all. She won’t keep Gareth’s attention for more than a week.”
Having completed her business she left, feeling pleased with herself.
Unaware that she had been seen and recognized, over the next hour Louise gave herself entirely into Véronique’s hands. She and the Dowager Countess sat with the modiste looking at models in the Mode Parisienne, most of which Véronique dismissed with an impatient hand. “ Non et non ,” she declared. “Mademoiselle will not wear lace, frills, flounces, wide sleeves, or a mass of ribbons! We do not seek to hide, we seek to show what is fine!”
Then came bolts of silk.
“ Non et non !” she cried again when an assistant produced a roll of pure white silk. “Look at the complexion of Mademoiselle! She cannot wear this white. Find me an ivory!”
Silks were piled up on the large table sitting in the center of the atelier. For the first time in her life, Louise began to understand how much color mattered. And fit mattered. She had never paid much attention to how her gowns hung upon her body, except to not want them too low cut or narrow, which she believed accentuated her thinness.
Véronique pointed out that not only did the bright pink dress she was wearing make her color even more sallow, it was too wide and bunched beneath her bosom, making her look round and shapeless. To be sure, the Empire style gowns did not fit into the waist, but they should not give the impression that Mademoiselle had no waist at all! A trim midsection gave value to the bosom. And the neckline was cut too high, voyons! Miss Grey must see that it made her neck appear even shorter. She must wear gowns with the bodice cut into a vee. This would elongate the neck. It was evident!
They finally settled upon a wedding gown of simple lines, falling from beneath the bosom, narrow in front, with long fitted sleeves and a vee neckline cut low enough to just hint at the fullness beneath. It would button with a row of pearls from the nape of the neck to the center of the back, from where the silk would fall in pleats to a train. This could be caught up on the wrist after the ceremony. The simplicity was deceptive, said the modiste, sketching all the time she spoke. Everything would be in the fit!
The headdress gave them the most trouble, for Véronique persuaded them nothing should ruin the elegant back view of the gown. It was, after all, what most people saw for the greatest length of time. A long veil would ruin the line, and an abbreviated one would make Mademoiselle look as if she had no neck. It was the Dowager Countess who hit on the solution. Louise would wear no veil at all. Her abundant hair would be dressed on the top of her head, with a few natural ringlets over her ears, and she would wear a tiara. Her ladyship had just the thing at home.
The bride-to-be was then helped back into her pink gown, noting all the things she now knew were wrong with it. After a cup of tea, she and her future grandmother-in-law left Véronique, who promised to send the gown to the London house in good time for the ceremony at the end of the month. The Dowager Countess had invited both Louise and her mother there to stay before the wedding.
Before they left, Louise spoke privately with the modiste for a few minutes.
“I shall be needing a complete wardrobe once I am married. May I count on you?”
“Of course, Mademoiselle. Moi , I know exactement what you need. You have just to send me a note and it shall be done!”
With thanks and salutations on both sides, they parted in mutual appreciation, each with her own plans. For Véronique it was the determination that the dressing of the new Countess of Shrewsbury would be her last and finest achievement. For Louise, it was to think how best to use what she had learned.
When the Dowager Countess realized Louise had never even seen the place in which she was to be married, she had arranged for them to visit St. George’s Church on the way home from the modiste’s. There wasn’t a great deal to discuss, since, as she said, all weddings were much the same, apart from the bride’s gown. So it proved to be. The organist proposed two pieces by Handel, who had himself been a frequent worshipper at the church about a hundred years before. Louise wasn’t familiar with either of them, but the Dowager nodded her head. The service itself would, of course, be the one prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer. Louise had nothing to add, and she could tell the Dowager was flagging; the consultation at Véronique’s had been long and tiring. So she willingly agreed to everything they said, and they were soon back in the carriage.
They dined quietly and went early to bed. The visits to Shrewsbury House and the Museum were the next day. Louise was anxious about both. She wanted to see where she would be living but was afraid it might be terribly grand. Luckily, the Dowager was coming with her and she could take her cues from her. It was her former home, of course. But she was to go alone with Gareth to the Museum. She was simultaneously elated and anxious at the prospect of spending those hours alone with her fiancé. Sleep did not come quickly.