The Wedding Dress(26)

But Emily’s words lighted on her tongue and slipped back down her throat, nearly choking her as her eyes beheld the scene below.

A slender reed of a woman with pale skin and pale hair, wearing a royal-blue dress and carrying a matching parasol, leaned into Phillip as he wrapped his arms about her, bending his lips to her . . . neck.

Emily gasped, moving back inside with a quick jerk, banging her head against the window frame. She cried out, smacking her hand against the wound, squeezing her eyes shut, but seeing the woman’s hair glinting in the sun.

“Are you all right?” Mother asked, her attention on the narrow, closed door. “I’ve a mind to go in there and see what’s taking Mrs. Caruthers so long. This is unthinkable.”

What was Phillip doing down there? A woman in his embrace, laughing so gay and carefree? In public no less. The blood filling Emily’s cheeks burned. Had he no decency? No respect? Too late, a moan escaped her chest.

“Emily, what is it?” Mother angled to see out the window.

“Nothing, Mother, a horse threw a shoe is all. You’ve seen it a dozen times.”

“But you moaned.”

“The gelding tripped, I thought—” What? What did she think? Surely she must be imagining things, so far above the ground. She couldn’t be seeing correctly. Other men wore burgundy waistcoats and spats. On a week day. Surely Phillip was not the only one.

With another sly glance, Emily captured the end of the embrace. The woman pulled away, laughing, popping Phillip’s arm with her umbrella. Phillip reached for her as she headed to the corner, stepping off 19th to cross 3rd.

Emily watched Phillip watching her until she vanished in the shadows.

“Here we are, Mrs. Canton. Pardon me for the delay, honey pie, but my assistant failed to unpack all of this lovely fabric. I ordered it from Paris six months ago, quite sure I’d have a special wedding coming up soon. And sure enough, here I do. The lovely Emily Canton. Come away from that window, deary, you’ll spoil your beautiful skin.” Mrs. Caruthers’s arms were laden with bolts of rich, shimmering satin. “I have silk, too, but I do think satin makes such a fine wedding gown. Have you chosen your wedding date?”

“We’re considering March,” Mother said with a proud smile. Emily’s stomach turned. She’d never seen Mother pander to anyone and here she was doing it to Mrs. Caruthers. “Emily, look at this lace. What do you think, darling?”

“I think—” I think I just saw another woman in my fiancé’s arms. With another look out the window, Emily caught Phillip striding up 19th in the direction of the Saltonstall building. He raised his hat at a trio of gentlemen and paused to converse, bending backward with laughter.

How jovial the man was after holding that twig of a woman with a ghostly complexion.

“March is a lovely time for weddings. Not too warm, not too cold.” Mrs. Caruthers and Mother conversed as if everything were right and wonderful in the world. “Gives me plenty of time for dressmaking. How many bridesmaids? Of course, your dress as well, Mrs. Canton, and your mother’s, perhaps? And the trousseau.”

“Emily,” Mother called, “what is so interesting out that window? Please do tear yourself away from your curiosities and tell Mrs. Caruthers what you think of this fabric. Have you thought of bridesmaids? Mrs. Caruthers, this satin is buttery soft.”

Emily turned to see Mother smoothing her fingers over a creamy material. “It’s beautiful,” she said with a glance. “So pure and white.”

She went back to the window. The afternoon sat on its celestial perch unaware that a sliver of Emily’s heart had chipped away. She was pure. But was Phillip? Her heart beat at the memory of his skilled touch.

“I do believe this shade is perfect for your skin. Please, dear, over here.” Mrs. Caruthers guided Emily to the stool in the middle of the room and had her step up. Then she held a corner of the satin to Emily’s cheek. “Yes, quite lovely. Shall we decide on a design? I have Goody’s books over here.”

Mother held up pages while Emily stood for Mrs. Caruthers’s measurements.

“You’re a full-figured one, aren’t you, Emily?” Mrs. Caruthers draped the measuring tape around her neck. “Start drawing your corset tighter, dear, and we might be able to have your waist at a perfect eighteen by your wedding.”

“Twenty-two is fine with me. I prefer eating. And breathing.”

“Eating?” Mrs. Caruthers arched her brow. “It’s quite evident.”

Emily shot her mother a look.

“We’ll discuss it, Mrs. Caruthers. Thank you for your concern.”

Concern? Mother could be too kind. Emily refused to cut off her air or her stomach, for the sake her figure. Northern girls might want to eat like birds, but Southern girls were robust and hearty. Emily glanced wistfully at the window. The woman she’d seen with Phillip was slender, her petite figure molded by her corset.

“The style is for a thin bride.” Mrs. Caruthers surveyed Emily over her glasses. “I’d think you’d take my opinion on that considering whom you are marrying, Miss Canton.”

“I’d prefer you keep your opinions to yourself.” Emily stepped off her stool, feeling as if she might faint. “Mother, please—”

“Emily Canton, you know full well Mrs. Caruthers is merely advising you. It’s why we’ve retained her excellent services.” Mother pandered quite well. “She’s designed gowns for Birmingham’s most noted families. Now, please, find your good humor and see what design suits you.” Mother tapped a picture in the book. “This style would be lovely on you.”