The Wedding Dress(42)

“It’s hideous,” she whispered to Mother, one eye on the door, anticipating Mrs. Caruthers returning with a proper pair of matching shoes.

“Emily, what’s gotten into you? It is not hideous. It’s beautiful. Now you watch your words or you’ll insult Mrs. Caruthers and we have a whole trousseau for her to sew.”

“She needs to be insulted, Mother.” Emily slipped her finger between her throat and the choking, lacy collar. “I cannot wear this gown. How she thinks it’s suitable and proper for a spring wedding is beyond me. It’s so restricting, I can’t move. I can’t breathe.”

“I shall ask her to modify the neckline, loosen the waistline a bit, but otherwise, the gown is stunning, Emily. Simply stunning.”

“The neckline, the waist, and the sleeves, Mother.” Emily demonstrated her stiff arms. “The sleeves.”

If she didn’t fear fainting from lack of air, Emily might have continued arguing with her mother. But she was smothered in lace and satin, smothered in the memory of her conversation with Phillip last night. She’d finally worked up the courage to speak to him about Emmeline. The whole ordeal left her feeling like one of Father’s hobbled horses.

“Is she or is she not your mistress?”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re accusing me of an affair before we’re even married? At least give me the courtesy of being a married man first.”

“Here we are.” Mrs. Caruthers set a pair of white leather high heels at Emily’s feet.

Emily sat in the chair but was unable to bend over to remove her shoes. Mother had to unlace them for her. She’d not enjoy one moment of her wedding in . . . in this straitjacket.

Mrs. Caruthers finagled Emily’s feet into the shoes, the sides gripping her stockings and pinching her toes. When Emily stood, she wobbled.

“I do believe they’re too small, Mrs. Caruthers,” she said.

“A half size, yes. But you’ll get used to it. A bride needs dainty, delicate feet.”

Emily scowled at Mother, dropping back down to her chair, her ribs crushing her lungs.

“You’re answering my question with a question, Phillip. A simple yes or no will do. Is she your mistress?”

“Emily, there’s no simple answer for a man accused of infidelity.”

“No seems simple enough. I’m puzzled as to why you can’t find that word on your tongue.”

“Because I’m trying to fathom your accusation, my dear. I’m stunned by your inquiry.”

Oh, the man drove her mad already.

“The gown is quite right for a Saltonstall wedding.” Mrs. Caruthers seemed pleased with herself. “I believe it will meet with Mrs. Saltonstall’s approval.”

“It certainly meets with Mrs. Canton’s approval,” Mother said with a bit of vim and vigor. Good for you, Mother.

“I shall faint if I don’t step out of this gown.” Emily tried to stand, but she tumbled back to the chair. She flicked the shoes from her feet. “I’ll take a pair in my proper size.” She eyed Mrs. Caruthers, then raised her arms—rather, tried to raise her arms—to unfasten the eye hook at her neck.

“Careful, you’ll rip your sleeves.” Mrs. Caruthers batted Emily’s hand down and began to work the eye hook, then the buttons.

“Mrs. Caruthers,” Mother began in her diplomatic voice. “Please let out the waist a half inch and provide ample room in the sleeves. For pity’s sake, the girl will have a bouquet in her hand as she walks down the aisle. And a reception dinner to eat. She’ll barely be able to raise her toasting glass.”

“I’ll give room in the sleeves, but I’m only letting out the waist a quarter inch and no more.”

“I daresay we’re paying you to do as we ask, Mrs. Caruthers,” Mother countered.

“I daresay you’re paying me for my expertise.” Mrs. Caruthers unhooked the last button. Emily closed her eyes as the air hit her skin. Heaven. “And my reputation.”

Stepping out of the gown, Emily begged Mother to loosen her corset strings. She needed air. Freedom. When Mother relieved her from her tight corset, Emily dressed in her black-and-white shepherd’s check suit, bid Mrs. Caruthers a good day, and hammered down the stairs, out Loveman’s front doors, and into the skirting October breeze.

Hand to her chest, nose tipped toward the sun, Emily inhaled the cool air, finally extinguishing the fire in her lungs.

“Goodness, Emily.” Mother stopped beside her gasping, pulling on her gloves. “Be upset if you will, but I’ll not have you being rude and insolent.”

“She’s the one who is rude and insolent.” Emily fitted her sailor hat on over her pinned-up hair. The wind tugged at the straight brim. “How Mr. Loveman sees fit to keep her in his employ is beyond me.”

“We’ve been over this a hundred times, Em. Mrs. Caruthers is the best dressmaker in the city and the women of Birmingham trust her.” Mother tapped the tip of her parasol on the sidewalk and raised her chin at the passing shoppers.

“I, for one, do not. Mother, please, can’t we go to Newman’s for an ice cream? I need something cool on my stomach.” Emily pressed her hand to her middle, swallowing the bile building in her throat, breathing deep so her lungs could expand.