"Come in, Beatrice," Madame Rosamund called, her voice calm but tinged with anticipation. The door creaked open to reveal Beatrice standing in the doorway, carrying a small wooden tray.
On the tray was an ornate envelope sealed with the royal crest—a large wasp with jewelled eyes—and beside it lay a silver paper knife. Beatrice placed the tray carefully on the end table beside the madame and stood by her side.
The Madame picked up the paper knife and, with a soft crackle, sliced through the wax seal. Her eyes skimmed over the letter, and her expression transformed from curiosity to a satisfied grin. She unfolded the contents to reveal a pair of elegantly scripted invitations to the debutante ball.
"These," Madame Rosamund declared, her voice brimming with triumph, "are the invitations we've been eagerly awaiting. The debutante ball marks the beginning of the social season and is crucial for establishing our presence."
She handed one of the invitations to me, and I couldn't help but examine it closely, marvelling at the opulent gold lettering. The value of this single letter could cover all my meals for a month.
"Prepare yourself, Mielle. You're debut should have been when you were twelve, but you weren't ready," Madame Rosamund instructed, her gaze locking onto mine with steely resolve. "This ball is your chance to make a lasting impression and advance our family's standing. Every moment is crucial."
"Yes, Madame," I replied.
"You'll need an escort for the ball," Madame Rosamund continued, her voice wavering despite her efforts to stay composed. "Unfortunately, we don't have many connections or extended family to fill that role."
Her usual poise faltered as she nervously bit her fingernails through her gloves, red stains seeping from the tips.
"Madame!" Beatrice exclaimed, rushing forward and pulling Madame Rosamund's hand away. "I'll fetch some medicine."
"There's no need, Beatrice," Madame Rosamund said, trying to wave her away, but Beatrice was already on her way out.
Madame Rosamund continued, her voice betraying her unease. "This is a significant oversight. We need someone of proper standing to accompany you—someone who will reflect well on our family. We must act swiftly to find a suitable escort."
Madame Rosamund shook her head, as if to clear away the troubling thoughts. "No matter," she said, regaining her authority. "What's done is done. We must focus on the present."
She turned her attention back to me, her expression hardening into a mask of determination. "I'll start reaching out to my contacts immediately. You must be ready to act quickly if an opportunity arises."
"Madame, I could attend local tea parties and see if anyone might escort me," I suggested cautiously.
Madame Rosamund chuckled softly. "You would attend parties solely to find a suitor? You best not, my dear, unless you wish to be seen as a harlot."
Just then, three sharp knocks echoed through the room, drawing our attention.
"Beatrice, truly, there's no need. It will heal on its own as it always does," Madame Rosamund said dismissively.
"Madame Rosamund," Beatrice called, "this man claims to be an associate of yours."
"An associate at this hour?" Madame Rosamund responded.
As the door swung open, a cloaked man of considerable height stepped into the room. Madame Rosamund's demeanour shifted as she appeared to recognise him.
"Mielle, you should return to your chambers. It's getting late," Madame Rosamund instructed.
"Oh, yes, Madame," I replied, casting a few curious glances at the mysterious visitor as I made my way back to my room.
The following morning, Madame Rosamund excused me from my usual lessons. This was unlike her. She was definitely the type to push me to work harder with the deadline in sight. I couldn't help but wonder if it had to do with the man I saw last night.
Either way, I took the opportunity. I set out with Beatrice to the city's clothing stores determined to find the perfect dyes and materials for my debutante gown.
Growing up, I had heard many tales about ladies of lower standing having their dresses stolen by those of higher status if their gowns were deemed exceptional. I was determined to avoid such a fate. My dear maid Beatrice was more than skilled enough as a dressmaker, and I had faith she could make something remarkable with the right materials.
"Beatrice, I'm sure you underestimate your own talent," I said confidently.
"Lady Mielle, you flatter me," Beatrice replied modestly. "I've only been able to make you look splendid because of your natural beauty."
"Even so," I began, but before I could continue, the carriage halted outside a renowned fabric store.
As we stepped out, the streets buzzed with the energy of the social season. Ladies in extravagant gowns, accompanied by their elaborate entourages, filled every shop window and doorway. Upon entering one of the city's most prestigious fabric stores, we were immediately swept into a whirlwind of activity. The shop was packed with servants, all competing to secure the finest materials their mistresses looked on.
Sales clerks dashed between customers, their arms loaded with bolts of silk, velvet, and brocade. Beatrice and I manoeuvred through the crowd, finally reaching a counter where a clerk was fully engrossed with a group of well-dressed women who seemed to command his undivided attention. As the minutes passed, it became clear that we were sidelined.
"It appears we might be waiting here for quite some time," Beatrice whispered softly. "Perhaps we should try another shop."
As we prepared to leave, I noticed a young woman nearby, her expression as disheartened as our own. She carried herself with quiet dignity, and it was evident she had been waiting as long as we had. After a brief hesitation, I approached her.
"Excuse me," I said politely, "it seems we're all in the same predicament. Would you care to join us in trying another shop?"
The young woman's face brightened with relief. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," she replied warmly. "I'm Amelia Langley. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"I'm Mielle Von Rosamund," I introduced myself, "and this is Beatrice, my maid."
"Von Rosamund? Oh my," Amelia's eyes sparkled with interest. "I didn't realise there was a young lady from that household."
"I've been planning my debut, but I'm quite frail."
"I see," Amelia responded, her interest waning slightly. It seemed that wasn't the answer she had hoped for, as she gently withdrew from the conversation.
We soon arrived at a smaller, more discreet shop tucked away from the bustling main thoroughfare. The moment we stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The shop was calm and serene, a welcome contrast to the chaos of the larger stores.
As we perused the fabrics and discussed our designs, Amelia and I exchanged stories about our lives, interspersed with trivial gossip and rumors. Amelia mentioned she was preparing for her younger sister's debut, as her sister was otherwise engaged.
Despite our best efforts, the selection at the smaller shop was limited. We managed to find a few pieces, but they were simple and of ordinary quality—nothing that would make a gown stand out at the ball. Nevertheless, Amelia remained optimistic.
"This fabric may not be the finest," she said with a hint of cheerfulness, "but with a little creativity, we could make a lovely dress. A few embellishments, and it could be quite elegant."
I offered a weak smile, though doubts still gnawed at me. The fabrics, though practical, lacked the opulence I had hoped for. "I suppose you're right," I replied. "With the right design, anything can be beautiful."
After completing our purchases, we parted ways, each heading in a different direction. As Beatrice and I walked back to the estate, the weight of our modest finds weighed heavily on my thoughts.
As we made our way through the crowded streets, my mind drifted back to a piece of gossip Amelia had shared. She had mentioned a rumour about an outlawed mage, said to possess the ability to enchant any object for the right price, imbuing it with extraordinary qualities.
"Beatrice," I said, turning to her, "do you recall the rumour Amelia mentioned about that mage?"
Beatrice glanced at me with mild curiosity. "I do. Why do you ask?"
I hesitated, considering the possibility. "I was thinking... if this mage could enchant our fabrics, we might be able to create a truly remarkable gown after all."
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful. "It's certainly a bold idea. If the rumour is true, it might be worth exploring. But finding such a person will be no easy task."
"I know," I replied. "But if there's even a chance it could help us create a memorable impression at the ball, it might be worth pursuing."
Beatrice nodded slowly. "Very well, Lady Mielle. We'll look into it. For now, let's focus on making the best of what we have. I'm confident we can still create something elegant with these fabrics."
I pouted slightly at the dismissal. As we continued our journey back to the estate, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. While the fabrics we had were far from ideal, the thought of enchanting them gave me hope. I would need to learn more about this mysterious mage and see if there was a way to bring a touch of magic to my debutante gown.