“Would that be suitable, mademoiselle? I can pull the top half of your hair into a chignon and leave the bottom half in curls around your shoulders? It’s an older style, but quite pretty.”
“That sounds perfect. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.”
Marianne beamed at me again and got to work on my hair, while the other two maids started applying makeup. The steps were familiar. I’d done them all a thousand times with Severine and Alexandre, but it was another matter entirely to be the person who was waited upon.
“Yvette, which color of rouge do you think would look best on her? The lighter pink or the deep red?” the third maid, Doreen, asked.
Doreen held up the two pots for Yvette’s inspection. She peered at each one closely, then at me, then back at the pots, and then at me again. This went on far longer than I thought strictly necessary before Yvette made her decision.
“The pink one. Yes, definitely the pink. The red will be too garish.”
Doreen nodded and began to smooth the rouge onto my cheeks while Yvette crouched down in front of me with a little brush to apply the vermilion to my lips.
“Look what I found,” Marianne said excitedly as she returned from her foray into Lady Françoise’s jewelry box. “This string of sapphires will look gorgeous against her hair. And it matches the dress perfectly.”
Yvette and Doreen oohed over it, then Marianne wrapped it around the chignon and pinned it in place.
I was jittery with nerves about finally getting to attend—instead of just sneaking into—a ball at Versailles. This was one of the things I’d dreamed about before even moving here. I was also nervous because Lady Catherine and my stepsisters were going to be there. What would happen if I ran into one of them? I wasn’t going to hide from them anymore, but I didn’t want to confront them either. I was also excited for the chance to see Auguste again—I’d written to him, too, but never heard back. Now I realize his reply may have been intercepted. But he was sure to be at the palace tonight.
“My lady, which perfume would you like to wear?” Yvette asked, holding out two delicate silver flasks engraved with flowers.
“Lady Françoise has set out two for you: rose water and orange flower water. Which would you prefer?”
“Orange flower water,” I said immediately, standing in my silk slip.
Yvette began to daub the orange flower water on my wrists, neck, and décolletage. It was a delightful scent, subtly sweet and fresh.
“Beauty patches?” Doreen asked, proffering a box with little black satin patches arrayed on white linen.
I pointed to the crescent moons, nearly laughing at the irony of the patches that appealed to me being of a piece with my stepsisters’ star patches.
“The dress is ready!” Lady Françoise’s seamstress, Charlotte, said, bursting into the boudoir with a mound of fabric slung over a shoulder, Lady Françoise following at her heels.
“I don’t think I’ve ever worked so fast in my entire life. That was stressful. But it’s over, and now you need to try it on,” Charlotte said, her words rushing together in her excitement.
Before I could even utter a reply, Charlotte, the maids, and Lady Françoise crowded around. I stepped into the puddle of material and petticoats, and the maids helped me pull it up and navigate my arms into the sleeves. I wouldn’t have been able to get into such an elaborate dress by myself. When all my limbs were in the right places, Charlotte laced up the dress in the back. The bodice was snug but not constricting, the sleeves tapered to the correct length, and I had plenty of room to move my legs in the skirt.
“You did an amazing job, Charlotte! It fits wonderfully,” I said, grinning at her.
The seamstress smiled back at me, blushing slightly. “Take a look in the mirror, mademoiselle. You haven’t even seen yourself in it yet.”
Lady Françoise took my arm and spun me around to face the massive mirror on the opposite wall.
“What do you think?”
My breath caught when I saw myself in the mirror. The dress was stunningly beautiful, so beautiful that I could hardly take my eyes off it. The bodice and overskirt were a rich sapphire-indigo satin, as was the short train attached to the dress at the shoulders, that draped to the floor behind me. I’d never seen a more vivid blue. The dye must have been unimaginably expensive.
The boned bodice was encrusted with gemstones that caught the light and sparkled brilliantly with the slightest movement. The neckline was modest but allowed a hint of my bosom to show. I would not go so far as wear it below the nipples, as some saucy courtiers did, with only a sheer neckerchief covering them that a favored gentleman would then tear off at the party as a game. A full skirt made of gathered tiers of fabric tumbled gracefully to the floor, dotted here and there with gemstones to continue the transfixing shimmer. And the underskirt, a pristine white, was embroidered in gold thread with twisting vines and flowers. As I stared in the mirror, Yvette quickly attached the lace at the sleeves and neckline.
“I have two more gifts for you,” Lady Françoise said as she walked up behind me and wrapped a delicate pearl necklace around my throat.
“Oh no, Marraine, please, you’ve done so much for me already. You don’t have to—”
“But I want to. Besides, this necklace is special. My mother gave it to me before I attended my first ball. I want you to have it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back. I couldn’t cry now. It would ruin my makeup.
“And these are for you as well,” she said, handing me a pair of brocade slippers.
The slippers were covered in blue velvet that, to my surprise, perfectly matched the color of the dress. I held on to Lady Françoise’s shoulder while I slipped them on. They were surprisingly comfortable, even with the pointed toe and high heel. Embroidered on the velvet were large golden flowers, with glass crystals scattered between them.
From head to toe, I sparkled when I moved. It was mesmerizing.
“You’ve become such a beautiful young woman,” said Lady Françoise. “Are you ready to head to the ball and dazzle everyone you meet?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed, but I couldn’t deny that I did look older. More mature. I’d never felt like I would belong at Versailles, especially not after Papa died. But in that dress and those shoes, I was poised and elegant. And maybe even a little beautiful. I could imagine myself amongst the nobles of Versailles. As long as I didn’t open my mouth and say something foolish, I might even be convincing to a real courtier, or Alexandre at the least.
“I’m ready,” I said.
Glancing in the mirror once more before we left, I gave myself a firm nod of encouragement. I could be that strong woman I saw reflected back at me. A woman like Lady Françoise, who endured disrespect from no one. A woman who was in charge of her own fate.