Free Living London by Kristin Vayden

new hats — ones that looked like hats. I figured I might as well since I was going to be subjected to wearing them. Libby walked with me, helping me as needed. The afternoon ended perfectly when we ran into Amelia and walked a while with her.
    We stopped at Gunther's for an ice. The famous establishment was mentioned often in the books I'd read, and a shiver danced down my spine as I entered. Part of me still couldn't believe that I was here. The various patrons sat and conversed over delicious desserts. The décor and fashion of the gentry reminded me of a set for an old Austenian movie, one in which I was living. Ladies wore large bonnets and pristine gloves as they ate their confections with dainty bites. The men were laughing, nodding, and assisting their ladies with their seats, desserts and any other attention they might require. When a new person would walk in, everyone would wave or nod and call them by name if they were acquainted. It was far more social than I had anticipated.
    We spoke with a few ladies about the events of the night before and were told the latest gossip. All the while, my mind kept trying to accept the fact that this was real. My new reality. Strange as it seemed, I was beginning to feel more comfortable in my own skin, and I found myself enjoying the conversation and all-around experience.
    Amelia made it easy for me to be myself. Even though I had no memory of her, it was apparent she knew me well. As I wondered which flavor to order, she whispered that lemon was my favorite. After a few minutes of chatting with an older countess, she excused us and told me how I usually limited my time with the woman because she gossiped too often, and I found it offensive. I smiled. I'd just begun to feel uncomfortable in that particular conversation. Amelia was a blessing, and I was eternally thankful for her friendship.
    Afterward we left to visit Madame Marquette, Amelia's modiste . Even though I had read countless books on the Regency era, each one in some way telling of a modiste , I didn't quite know what to expect. As we rounded the corner, we stopped at a small shop that didn't seem as grand as I would have pictured. A little bell tinkled to announce our arrival as Amelia pressed open the door.
    The room inside didn't match its humble exterior. Mirrors were lined up against the lavishly golden-papered walls. Women bustled about measuring ladies, writing notes, and nodding as their patrons gave specific instructions. Scores of fabric samples and fashion magazines laid everywhere. What I didn't see were the dresses. In fact, the only dresses I saw were being worn by the women.
    "Where are the dresses?" I whispered to Amelia.
    "Hmm? Dresses?" she asked as she picked up a primrose yellow fabric sample and rubbed it between her fingers.
    "Of course. Where are they?" I asked, my eyes still roving about the room and taking in the dresses being fitted.
    "Oh, they don't make them here, silly. This is just the shop. They're made at a different location."
    "Then why are we here?" I asked, still not catching on.
    Amelia turned toward me and sighed impatiently. "To pick up the dress I ordered last week. These things take time, you know." She raised her eyebrow delicately.
    "Of course they take time. They're made by hand, for pity's sake." Not my brightest comment, I decided after it left my mouth. Of course they were handmade — there were no tags here that said Made in China .
    "Well, of course. How else would they be made, hmm?" Amelia's voice was patronizing.
    A short woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a shrewd eye approached us. "Welcome! May I help you?" she asked in a thick French accent.
    "Yes. I'm here to pick up my dress." Amelia walked off with the woman, leaving me behind.
    I picked up a paper fashion book, noticing that my wardrobe was the height of fashion. A surge of pride filled my chest. Everything was empire-waisted with varying types of belts, colors, pelisses, coats, gloves, and hats. I set