A Dress for the Wicked by Autumn Krause

Author:Autumn Krause
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-05-30T16:00:00+00:00

Part II

Chapter Twelve

I THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE hard to sneak out of the Fashion House, but it ended up being easier than I’d anticipated. I told Francesco I was coming down with a cold, and since I would be presented to the press at the gala, he told me to take a nap, saying, “Red noses don’t go with pink dresses. To bed with you, little scarecrow dresser.”

As soon as I got to my chamber, I put on one of Sophie’s black capes, crept back down the stairs, and simply walked out the front door like a client leaving an appointment. Once outside, I pulled the cape tightly around me, trying to hide my obnoxiously pink skirt.

At some point, I really did need to talk to Francesco about getting a new wardrobe. All this pink was making me feel like a walking cupcake. I’d noticed the other girls found ways around Madame Jolène’s fashion edicts. Sophie, after all, wore black day in and day out. But then again, Sophie wasn’t a press pawn.

The Fashion House sat directly on the street, unsheltered by gates or barriers. Leafy green ivy was neatly cropped around the long windows and, of course, around the FH insignia. Despite the dreary morning, the gold letters managed to pick up a few faltering rays of light. I’d never stood on the front steps of the Fashion House, or even on the sidewalk in front of it. When I attended events in the city, I was always picked up at the rear entrance. As I walked down the cobbled pathway toward the street, I wanted to pause and let the place seep into me through my feet, as though fashion magic ran through the ground. But shaking my head, I made myself walk briskly forward. I couldn’t get caught up in emotions, especially when I was about to do something akin to Fashion House blasphemy: attempt to contact a blacklisted client.

“Do pardon me.” As I stood on the sidewalk, a Fashion House customer brushed by me. She inclined her head toward me and gave a polite smile even as she looked me over, sizing me up, trying to figure out if I was above or below her on the social ladder. She thought I was a Fashion House customer as well, someone wealthy enough to purchase couture.

“Of course,” I murmured, and quickly ducked away down the sidewalk. Elegant black hacks with gold trim glided along the street like enchanted fairy-tale carriages. Most of them had small red flags attached to their doorknobs, indicating they were reserved for the day by a well-to-do customer. I saw one without a flag and quickened my pace so I was nearly jogging alongside it. I’d never hailed a hack before, and I waved my hand uncertainly at it. The driver noticed me from his position up in the back and pulled on the reins, drawing the hack to a stop. Stepping down, he opened the door and took my hand to help me into the cab.

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