"That's it, Sereughe. You are marrying. I cannot have myself dallying with some man when I know you can never get yours. I'll make sure to get one for you once I attend those balls."
Sereughe let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes rolling dramatically.
"Milliflore, how many conversations should we have about MY marriage? Please just focus on your prospects. I will be fine," Sereughe's voice was gentle as if pleading not to talk about the topic anymore.
From how Leivan reacted when he got out of Sereughe's memory, they could tell the man was not ordinary. That made the girls even more hysterical. But what can they do? Sereughe just took it off her mind and let it drift away with the matters regarding her father. And Milliflore? Oh, she's a lost cause. She just cannot stop obsessing over the fact that someone saw Sereughe naked and possibly saw "that mark" also.
"Well, let's just hope he keeps his mouth sealed tight. And hopefully, the modiste has some gossip so I can forget you for a while."
At that moment, the carriage stops right in front of the modiste. Milliflore catches sight of Miss Yoren, the modiste just as she was turning the signboard to "open" on her door. Milliflore smiled and immediately got out of the carriage.
"Miss Yoren, how lovely to see you in the morning," Milliflore greeted.
"How lovely to see you too, Miss Mericon. Come! I have new fabrics to show off," Miss Yoren giggled.
The two women went hand in hand inside the shop while Sereughe just quietly followed. Miss Yoren's shop was a humble one, not competitive when it comes to the looks of the physical boutique but her skills as a maker of women's fashion have been proven to be quite formidable. Her shop stands at the farther end of Aragon Square which makes it not known to everyone. Believe it or not, Miss Yoren liked it that way, and so she wouldn't have to deal with mothers who keep demanding this and that. She is not so desperate. And as for Milliflore, Miss Yoren is a woman she would like to gatekeep.
"We have new arrivals of fabrics, most of them shimmery, just as how you like it," Miss Yoren boasted.
Milliflore followed Miss Yoren closely to the shimmery fabrics in the rack. They were in all sorts of colors. There were also dresses with different designs made out of this fabric on display to show just how it would look in different colors and sizes.
Unlike Milliflore, Sereughe was particularly drawn to a simple fabric with a simple pattern— a red satin fabric with embroidered roses. She kept on touching it, feeling it with her fingertips. Unbeknownst to her, Milliflore saw how she was enamored by it.
"Miss Yoren, would you mind also making one dress for my sister here? She seems to like a fabric of yours."
Miss Yoren caught a glimpse of Sereughe and the fabric she was holding. Almost immediately, Sereughe backed away from the fabric and fidgeted with her fingers on her back.
"Oh no. My apologies. I was merely admiring the fabric. I have no intention of buying a dress," Sereughe smiled wryly.
Miss Yoren smiled and held the fabric in her hand.
"Well, I don't mind making you one but... what's your name again?"
"Sereughe."
"Yes, Sereughe. This fabric is particularly unavailable. You know, it had been already bought by someone."
Miss Yoren's eyes held apologies. Most modiste would give their fabrics to the ones who offer the higher sum of money but Miss Yoren stands by her principle. First come, first serve.
"I don't remember red being the color of the debutantes though." Milliflore's forehead creased.
"That's because I am no debutante, Miss Mericon. Do I have to be a young girl seeking marriage to treat myself with a new dress?" A female voice thundered.
Sereughe and Milliflore quickly stiffened at the familiar voice. Their eyes widened, tongues at a loss for words to say, and so, their gestures did the talking. Their heads bowed and their knees slightly bent.
"Oh my, what punctuality you carry, Lady Lorendale. Your appointment is still at two in the afternoon," Miss Yoren awkwardly laughed.
The middle-aged lady raised her eyebrow and smirked. He signaled for her butler to come forth, holding a piece of paper in his hand. Lady Lorendale handed the paper to Miss Yoren.
"Make me a man's suit. I want it in three different colors: misty black, navy blue, and bloody red. Hopefully, I can have it next week?" Her voice was commanding.
"Of course, Lady Lorendale." Miss Yoren bowed. However, her heart was already starting to stress out. How was she supposed to finish all of those in a week?
"The dress can wait. Or better yet..." Lady Lorendale took a scrutinizing glance at Sereughe, who kept herself invisible by being a mute statue. "Make the young lady a dress out of that. I will pay."
Lady Lorendale made her dramatic exit and the three young women were left speechless. Milliflore was the first to react, squealing to her heart's content.
"Did that just happen? Sereughe, Lady Ophelia Lorendale had just offered to pay for a dress for you!"
Milliflore's arms found their way around Sereughe's back. Sereughe slightly pushed Milliflore away and sat on a stool.
"Am I supposed to be happy? The woman is much more scarier than the—" Sereughe's voice faded. "Than the gangsters in the tavern."
Lady Lorendale was not someone to be trifled with. The woman is a widow, with no child, and with no notable title. Yet, she remains one of the most powerful, possibly the richest in high society, even though no man had ever supported her for years.
"I guess I will have to take your measurements, Miss Sereughe." Miss Yoren smiled. "But before that, aren't you curious about the man's suit she ordered me to make?"
Miss Yoren's eyebrows shot up and down, prompting Milliflore to listen closely. Out of curiosity, Sereughe joined in, leaning in closer to Miss Yoren, as if they were to discuss something forbidden.
"Do tell us, Miss Yoren. Thank goodness, you initiated the topic. I was going to ask for that," Milliflore inquired.
"Well, rumor has it that Lady Lorendale is sheltering a young man in her abode and…"
"And?"
Miss Yoren scoffed. She leaned closer to the girls and so did the girls to her.
"He is her lover."