Intrigued. Bertrice Small
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hush, sister, lest he hear you!” Madame de Belfort whispered back nervously. “You know how he is, and if you insult him, he will not do Autumn’s wardrobe for her. Without him what chance has she?”
“Have you had the opportunity to inspect the fabrics I have?” the Duchess of Glenkirk asked the tailor.
M’sieu Reynaud burst into rapturous cries of approval. “Madame, never in my life have I seen such quality! The velvets! The brocades! The silks! The cloth of gold and of silver! And the ribbons and laces, madame! Where on earth did you obtain such magnificence?”
“My grandmother left them here many years ago,” Jasmine said. “They were in my storerooms, m’sieu.”
“C’est impossible! They have no odor of rot about them, or any sign of mildew staining the fabric!” the tailor cried.
“The trunks were cedar, lined with copper,” Jasmine explained.
“Amazing!” he replied. Then he was all business once again. “Michel, my tape, s’il vous plait. If we are to have anything ready in the ridiculously short time Madame St. Omer has insisted upon, we must begin today. I shall measure mademoiselle myself.”
Autumn stood quietly upon a small stool as the tailor swiftly took her measurements, his sharp voice snapping off the figures to his assistant, who quickly wrote them down and then repeated each figure to be certain he had gotten it correctly. Any mistake could be fatal to the wardrobe about to be made. When all the measurements had been taken and written down the tailor spoke again.
“What colors are preferred?”
“I think my daughter . . .” Jasmine began, only to be cut off by the volatile tailor.
“Madame la duchesse, I speak to she who must wear these gowns,” he fiercely chided her. “If mademoiselle is unhappy, then she is not at her best with the gentlemen. N’est-ce pas?” Turning his back on the mother, he addressed Autumn. “Tell me the colors you like best, mademoiselle.”
Autumn thought a moment, and then replied, “My hair is dark and my skin translucent. I like rich, clear colors. Emerald green. Turquoise, and peacock blue. Lilac and deep violet. Ruby red. Colors such as those complement me, M’sieu Reynaud. Necklines today are horizontal. I want mine as low as we dare, and no modest little kerchiefs for evening wear either. I want lace on all my petticoats and chemises, and I will not wear a corset of any kind. Is that understood?”
The tailor smiled, surprised, but appeared well pleased by her answer. “Mademoiselle is absolutely correct,” he agreed.
“Sacré bleu!” Madame St. Omer exclaimed, amazed.
“If the necklines are too low, she will gain a reputation without ever having done a thing but enter the room,” Madame de Belfort fretted.
“Mademoiselle will set fashions, not be shackled by them,” M’sieu Reynaud said approvingly. “She is perfect, and my gowns shall be perfect! We shall have our first fitting in two days’ time, madame,” he said to the Duchess of Glenkirk. “You agree?”
“I shall rely upon you, M’sieu Reynaud,” Jasmine replied with a smile. “We are completely in your hands.”
The tailor bowed. “I shall not fail you, madame,” he told her passionately. “My people will come later today to gather up the materials. They shall take them all, for who knows what we shall do, eh?”
The Duchess of Glenkirk nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I have already inventoried everything. Adali, escort m’sieu and his assistant out, and see that the fabrics are ready when they are called for later.”
“Yes, my princess,” Adali responded. Then he accompanied the tailor and Michel from the Great Hall of the chateau.
“Hah!” Madame St. Omer said, well pleased. “He is a difficult little man, cousine, but he likes Autumn and will therefore do even better than his best for her.” She turned to the young girl. “You clever minx,” she chuckled. “You did not blush and play the jeune fille. Had you done so, he would have simply made you ordinary gowns. Now he will kill himself to be certain you are the best-dressed young woman at the Christmas revels at Archambault! You will snare a fine, wealthy and titled husband, and Reynaud will be delighted to take all the credit for it,” she chortled. “He will be your friend for life!”
“If I don’t like what he does, I shall tell him,” Autumn said. “Like my sisters, I am particular about my clothing.”
“Temper any criticism with lavish praise,” Madame St. Omer suggested. “That way you will not insult him, and believe me, ma petite, your wardrobe is of paramount importance. We French are enamoured of fashion, and this fussy little man is an artiste with fabrics.”
Two days later, Belle Fleurs was alive with the tailor and his staff, come for Autumn’s first fitting. Lily helped her mistress into ten silk petticoats and the first skirt was then draped over them.
“It is not right,” the tailor said pettishly. He pulled upon his chin thoughtfully. “Pourquoi? Pourquoi?”
“Lily, take the skirt off and give me one of those,” Autumn said, pointing to one of the lawn petticoats. “Good, now put it over the top of the silk ones and let us refit the skirt.” She looked to Reynaud. “What do you think?” she asked him.
He nodded approvingly. “Much better, mademoiselle. You have the fashion sense. One less silk petticoat, I think, and it is perfect.”
Lily reached beneath her mistress’s skirts and unfastened the tabs on a silk garment, drawing it down so Autumn might step out of it.
“It is perfect!” the tailor said, clapping his hands together. He turned to the duchess and Madame St. Omer. “Mesdames?”
“Excellent, M’sieu Reynaud,” came the expected approval, as Autumn winked at her mother over the tailor’s periwig.
Five other skirts were fitted that morning, and then came the bodices, which were more difficult. Autumn had insisted that both bodice and skirt be of the same color.
“In my grandmother’s day bodices were far more beautifully decorated with jewels, crystals, and gold threads,” she said. “How sad that my bodices must be so plain, with only ribbons and lace to embellish them.”
The tailor nodded in complete agreement. “It is the times, mademoiselle,” he said. “One does not dare to be lavish in the midst of civil war. At least we are not as dull as England is now.” Then he gave her a mischievous smile. “I have a few tricks, mademoiselle, that I have given to no one, but to you only will I impart them. Mademoiselle will be the most fashionable young lady at Archambault, I promise her.” He turned to the Duchess of Glenkirk. “I shall have twelve gowns, six for day wear, and six for evening, delivered to the chateau at Archambault by the time madame arrives. And each day afterwards, except Christmas day, of course, I shall deliver two more gowns. Your daughter will be well garbed, I assure you. When you have concluded your visit, leave everything, and my people shall deliver mademoiselle’s new wardrobe back here to Belle Fleurs.”
“You are both generous and efficient, M’sieu Reynaud,” Jasmine told him. “See Adali, and he will advance you any funds you may need.”
The tailor bowed respectfully to her. Then he and his staff gathered up their materials and the half-finished gowns, quickly departing. To be offered payment of any kind in advance was indeed a bonus, for the rich were just as likely not to pay, or keep a tradesman waiting months or even years for remuneration.
“You should not have offered to pay him anything until all was satisfactory,” Madame St. Omer scolded her cousin, the duchess.
Jasmine shook her head. “Now,” she replied wisely, “he will keep his promises in hopes of being compensated in full when the last gown is delivered. He will not disappoint me, and I will not disappoint him, cousine. I may have lived in the Highlands all these years, but human nature does not change, ’Toinette.”
Antoinette