Free Bewitching Season by Marissa Doyle

to unhook her bodice at the back. Persy did the same, trying not to let anyone
    see how her hands shook.
    “I am,” she murmured at last. “Pen, it’s really happening. In ten days’ time, I will die either of
    fright or embarrassment.” Her eyes were hot and itchy with unshed tears.
    “No you won’t.” Pen answered so fiercely that their mother paused in her conversation with
    Madame and looked at them. “You’ll be fine. I know it.”
    “No. You’ll have to keep away from me when we start going to parties,” Persy whispered back. “I
    don’t want to drag you down and give everyone the impression that both the Misses Leland are dull
    and awkward.”
    Pen started to reply, but just then three assistants laden with armfuls of white silk and pastel muslin
    and multiple fluffy petticoats marched in. Madame Gendreau turned to Pen and Persy. “If we could
    start with the court dresses, s’il vous plait, ” she said. It was not a request.
    Pen kept up a flow of excited chatter and exclamations to cover her sister’s silence during their
    fitting, for which Persy was extremely grateful: Not even the excitement of their first silk dresses
    could rouse her from her despondency. The dresses were identical except for differing ribbon colors,
    with the requisite short sleeves and deep décolletage of presentation dresses, though less deep now at
    Queen Adelaide’s more straitlaced court than would have been decreed at the previous king’s.
    Persy stared at the fine French carpet on the floor as the assistants mercilessly tightened her and
    Pen’s corsets into the required slenderness. If they tugged any harder, she would surely pop and make
    a dreadful mess all over Madame Gendreau’s pink walls. Either that or faint from lack of breath.
    To her relief, neither happened. The assistant slid what seemed like acres of white silk over her
    head and arranged it around her. Only when Pen gasped “Persy!” did she look up into the mirror.
    Her waist looked tiny above the bell of her skirt. The short sleeves were snug in the latest style,
    and the tighter corsets made her figure look unexpectedly mature. Good heavens, she would pop. And
    she looked like—like a woman. Well, she was one, wasn’t she? Mama could have had them come out
    last year, but Ally had asked to let them wait a year longer so that they could keep studying. If she was
    nervous now, imagine what that would have been like.
    She breathed gingerly, trying to find how deeply she could do so and not explode her dress.
    Wouldn’t that be a splendid start to her society career? In her mind she could almost hear Pen sigh
    and ask, “What would be worse? Worrying about falling out of your gowns, or worrying that you’ll
    rustle because you’ve had to stuff your corset with tissue paper so you don’t look like a board?”
    “My girls are grown up, aren’t they?” Mama said to Madame. Persy could see that her eyes were
    unusually bright.
    “They shall be the belles of the season, n’est-ce pas? ” agreed Madame Gendreau, looking at them
    critically. “The bodice on thees one—take it in a leetle, like thees … .”
    “Persy, you’re—you’re beautiful,” Pen whispered as they stood side by side before the mirror
    while the assistants adjusted and basted. “Don’t you see it?”
    Persy shook her head. “No, I don’t. But you are. You will be the toast of the town.”
    Behind them, Madame continued to survey them. She smiled and shook her head. “You are both
    très silly young ladees. Now …” She looked at them, head to one side. “Green ribbon for you, oui ?
    And peach for you. These dresses will be ready nex’ Friday. Will that do? ’As Mademoiselle
    Allardyce found you yet slippers and—”
    “Miss Allardyce was called away unexpectedly, and has been unable to complete selection of
    those items. I hope to take care of them today.” It was a measure of Mama’s irritation with Ally that
    she had interrupted Madame.