Augusta sat in the large, imposing chairman’s seat, her expression a mask of serious authority. Across the large polished desk sat two of the establishnt’s most senior advisors, their own faces a mixture of confusion and deep concern.
"Reduce the workers’ wages?" one of them, Lord Ashworth, finally asked, his voice full of a shocked disbelief. "All of a sudden? Baroness, with all due respect, how does that make any sense at all?"
"We are in a ti of crisis, my lord," Augusta replied, her voice calm and even, as if she were explaining the most simple and obvious of facts. "And we must all share in the suffering in a ti like this. Is that not our job as the heads of this great establishnt? To lead by example?"
The other advisor, Lord Reginald, spoke up, his own tone a little more cautious. "It is just that... it is all so very sudden, Baroness. These are loyal workers, n and won who have been with this establishnt for years. How can you do this to them without any kind of a proper notice?"
"A crisis does not give one a formal, written warning, Lord Reginald," Augusta replied, a hint of a condescending smile on her lips. "It simply arrives. We must learn how to prepare for such unexpected things. This is a necessary asure to ensure the survival of the establishnt."
The two advisors started talking quietly amongst themselves, their voices a low, worried murmur. Augusta just watched them, a triumphant, satisfied smile on her own face. She knew they would not, could not, go against her decision.
anwhile, in the bright and airy fashion and design departnt of the establishnt, Anne was in her elent. She was surrounded by a small group of young, adoring noble ladies, her own personal court of admirers.
"What are today’s most important fashion trends, Lady Anne?" one of them asked, her eyes wide with a fawning admiration.
"And what is in season for the upcoming autumn balls?" another asked.
Anne smiled, a confident expression. "It is all about the colors right now, my dears," she replied, her voice a smooth, authoritative purr. She signaled to one of the junior seamstresses. "Please, bring out our new textile collection."
When the young woman ca back with the heavy, shimring bolt of material, the ladies all gasped, a collective sound of pure, gentle wonder. The material was like nothing they had ever seen before. It was neither a simple silk nor a heavy satin, but sothing magical in between, with a lush, smooth finish that seed to drink in the light and reflect it back in a dozen different, beautiful shades.
"Now," Anne continued, her voice full of a dramatic flair,trying to reel in their interest. "just imagine that this incredible textile is sewn into a magnificent ballgown. If you were to wear such a gown to a ball and show it off, people would surely think that you were a part of the royal family itself."
The ladies giggled, their minds already filled with visions of themselves in such a spectacular gown.
"Lady Anne is so right," one of them said, reaching out a hesitant, gloved hand to touch the fabric. "It is all about the color. And just talk about the rich, deep hues of this masterpiece. I have not seen a color quite like this before. What is it called?"
Anne was silent for a mont. Her smile faltered. The truth was, she had no idea what the color was called. It was one of Delia’s secret, unnad creations. She let out a small, nervous chuckle. "Well," she began, trying to think of a clever na, "the color is a..."
But another lady, a girl known for reading all the latest pamphlets, interrupted her. "Wait a mont," she said, her expression one of dawning realization. "Isn’t this the very sa dye collection that Her Grace, the Duchess Delia, was working on several months ago?"
The other ladies all turned to listen to her.
"Didn’t you all read the pamphlet that ca out at that ti?" the girl continued. "The one that revealed that Duchess Delia was the one who had made all of those famous dyes that the southern isles were using. She said then that she was working on sothing new, sothing even more special. I guess that this is it. Right, Lady Anne?"
All of the ladies now looked at Anne, their fawning admiration replaced by a new, sharp, and assessing curiosity.
Anne chuckled nervously, a hot wave of humiliation washing over her. " Delia is not even here," she thought to herself, her mind reeling with a familiar, hateful jealousy. "So why is her na still being ntioned? Why is everyone praising her, instead of praising ?"
"Well, it is a family business, after all," she replied, her voice a little too quick, a little too defensive. "So it is only normal that Delia contributes her small part."
As she spoke, Anne could see the way so of the ladies were now looking at her. It was a new look, one she had been seeing more and more lately, ever since George’s pathetic public confession had been printed. It was a look of pity, mixed with a little bit of disgust. They were looking at her like she was the jealous, evil younger sister who did not want her more talented older sister to attain good things.
After the ladies had bought so of the textiles and had finally left, Anne, her own good mood now completely ruined, went to find her mother.
"Mama," she said, her voice a low, frustrated whine as she entered the study. "The people... they are all looking at like I am less than Delia now, all because of what that stupid, stupid man, George, said in his public confession." She gently shook her mother’s arm. "What are we going to do, Mama? I need to restore my reputation. I cannot bear this."
Augusta looked at her daughter, a calm, reassuring expression on her face. "I have already thought about it, my dear," she said. "I have already called for the city’s best pamphleteer to co here tomorrow for a private interview. So that he can write a new story, our story."
Anne’s sad, frustrated expression was imdiately replaced by a hopeful smile.
"So," Augusta continued, her own smile now a little more sharp, a little more strategic, "you will be on your very best, most charming, and most sympathetic behavior tomorrow. Do you understand?"
Anne nodded, her heart now full of a new, hope. "This should fix it. This should fix everything." She thought to herself.
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