Free The Glittering Court by Richelle Mead Page B

expect there will be no more outbursts from you of such a . . . candid nature. The Thorns employ me to make you into exemplary young ladies. I don’t need that undermined within your first hour.”
    â€œYes, of course.” She looked at me expectantly, and I added, “Ma’am.” When that still didn’t lift her gaze, I tried “Uh, I’m sorry?” I had rarely had to apologize in my position and wasn’t entirely sure of the process.
    Looking exasperated, Mistress Masterson draped the dresses and chemises over a chair. “Please just think before you speak next time.”
    That I understood. It was advice my grandmother had been giving me for years.
    When Mistress Masterson was gone, Tamsin pounced on the dresses and began examining each one. Mira, however, studied me. “I thought you said she already scolded you?”
    I put on a wry smile. “I guess she wanted to make sure I got the message. Or embarrass me in front of you.”
    A groan from Tamsin drew our attention elsewhere. “Damn it. This is too long.”
    She was holding a cream-colored dress, scattered with green flowers, up to her. I got up and sifted through the rest of the clothes. “Wear this one. It’s shorter.”
    Tamsin gave the russet calico a dismissive look. “That’s not my color. I’d think any sort of proper lady’s maid would know orange doesn’t go with red hair.”
    â€œI know that wearing a dress that doesn’t fit you will look a lot worse. Sloppy, even.”
    Tamsin wavered a moment and then snatched the dress from me, tossing back the green in return. It was too long for me too, and I handed it to Mira, the tallest of us. That left me with a gray-striped dress of lightweight wool. As the others began to undress, I backed up, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It was silly, I supposed, considering I’d had people dressing me my entire life. But that had been utilitarian. It was my servants’ job. Changing clothes now, with others around, was a reminder of the new lack of privacy I had. The room suddenly felt small, like it was closing in around me.
    I turned my back to them and began working through all those buttons that had given me such trouble before. It was slightly easier than initially fastening them up, but the loops they went through were sewn under the edge of the fabric, requiring some dexterity. And good grief, why did there have to be so many of them? When I finally made it to the bottom of the dress, I glanced behind me and saw Tamsin and Mira staring in astonishment. Both were already in their new chemises and dresses.
    â€œOur best bet, huh?” asked Tamsin.
    â€œIt’s harder than it looks,” I retorted. “A new style. One I’m not used to.” I turned away from them again and at least managed to wriggle out of it in a timelier manner than the unbuttoning. Ada’s chemise was of better quality than this new one, but I removed it too and put on the whole ensemble.
    â€œAre these dresses torn?” asked Mira, studying one of her sleeves.
    It was clear neither girl had ever worn a chemise as anything other than a basic undergarment. In fact, I was pretty sure Mira hadn’t had one on at all. These new dresses were the same style of many I’d worn before—albeit mine had been more expensive materials—where the chemise was meant to be displayed as part of the dress. I knew how it was supposed to look but wasn’t entirely sure of how to implement it. I did my best to explain it, and after a fair amount of tugging and straightening, we all finally managed to look fashionable. The delicate white fabric of my chemise was pulled and puffed out through slashes in the overdress’s arms, creating a color contrast. Lace from the chemise’s neckline peeped out around my bodice.
    All of our extra maneuvering had taken time, and we were the last ones to arrive downstairs. We