The sun was a gentle, pleasant warmth in the sky, a welco change from the tumultuous weather of the past day.
The grand Carson carriage, with its polished black lacquer and silver crest, pulled to a smooth stop in front of an imposing, elegant building on the most fashionable street in the capital.
A footman in crisp uniform imdiately opened the door. Amber descended first, a picture of effortless grace. She was dressed in a dress of pale lavender, her posture perfect, her movents smooth.
The footman then helped Delia down. She looked up at the gilded letters above the large, clean windows: "Lady Tremaine’s Modiste." It was the most exclusive dressmaker in the entire kingdom.
Amber opened a delicate, hand-painted fan and began to flutter it slowly, a gesture of refined impatience. She mumbled angrily, though her voice was still as soft as silk. "I simply do not understand it. How could Lady Tremaine’s ssenger not send the appointnt letter directly to Eric’s residence? It makes no sense. If I hadn’t arrived earlier this morning to check on the progress myself, we would have been late. So inefficient."
Delia, standing beside her, heard her frustrated muttering and smiled gently. "It’s fine, Amber. We are here now."
Amber sighed, the gentle breeze from her fan stirring the air. Her frustration seed to lt away as she looked at Delia. "You’re right," she said, her own smile returning. "I won’t let sothing as trivial as a lost letter ruin our day." She neatly folded her fan and then began to put on a pair of soft silk gloves, her movents precise and elegant.
Just as she was smoothing the last finger, the large, polished door of the modiste shop burst open.
"Lady Amber! Oh, Lady Amber, you ca!"
Delia was surprised to see a young woman, almost the sa age as her, rushing towards them. She was dressed in the height of fashion, her hair styled in an elaborate but tasteful arrangent. This was not the stern, middle-aged woman Delia had imagined Lady Tremaine to be.
The young woman who has such a vibrant energy, didn’t stop with a polite curtsy. She threw her arms around Amber in a warm, enthusiastic hug. The gesture was so familiar and informal that it took Delia completely by surprise.
"Clara, watch the hair!" Amber yelped, though she was laughing, patting her perfectly arranged hair. "You’ll ruin it!"
"Oh, your brother is finally getting married!" Clara Tremaine said, pulling back, her own face beaming with joy. "I was so thrilled when I heard the news! Now you will have your very own sister, all to yourself! Congratulations, Amber!"
Amber’s face lit up, and she replayed Clara’s words in her head with a happy sigh. "My own sister."
Clara’s expression then turned to one of mock sadness. "But this ans you won’t be coming here to have tea and gossip with as often, will you? At least," she added, her voice dropping to a low whisper, "you won’t have to lie to your mother anymore about ’socializing with the ladies’ when you are really just hiding out here with ."
Amber’s eyes widened in playful horror. She quickly covered Clara’s mouth with her gloved hand and let out an awkward laugh, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Delia watched them, a genuine smile spreading across her face. Seeing this childish, unguarded side of Amber made her heart feel warm. She’s just like her brother, she thought to herself. Serious and elegant on the outside, but playful and warm underneath.
Clara Tremaine then noticed Delia standing quietly to the side. "Oh my word," she said, her hand flying to her chest. "Forgive my terrible manners." She imdiately dropped into a graceful curtsy. "I am Lady Clara Tremaine, the owner of this fine establishnt. It is a pleasure to et you."
Delia curtsied in return to introduce herself. "It is a pleasure. I am..."
"I know exactly who you are," Clara interrupted, her smile warm and welcoming.
"Oh," Delia said, her own smile faltering slightly. "Well, please don’t pay any heed to all of those terrible scandals and rumors you may have heard."
Clara laughed, a bright, clear sound. "Oh, Amber," she said, turning to her friend, "she is just as beautiful as you said! And her eyes, they really do sparkle like sapphires."
Amber, who had just been recovering from her previous embarrassnt, turned a shade redder. "Wh-what are you talking about?" she stamred, looking flustered. "When did I ever say that?"
"Oh, please," Clara replied, rolling her eyes playfully. She turned back to Delia. "You should have seen her, my lady. Amber has been fighting with all those horrible people spreading rumors against you. She has been defending your honor all over the city. It has been a long ti since I have seen her actually fight for sothing she holds so dear."
The embarrassnt washing over Amber was now complete. She snapped open her fan and held it up to cover her flushed cheeks, trying to hide from Delia’s amused and grateful gaze. "I am out of here," she announced, her voice muffled by the fan as she quickly entered the building.
Delia smiled and followed her in.
Inside, Amber had already composed herself and was sitting on a plush velvet settee, a cup of tea in one hand and a freshly printed pamphlet of the latest fashion gossip in the other.
"They didn’t even get my hair right," she complained, tapping an illustration in the pamphlet with her finger. "And I was wearing a satin skirt that day, not silk."
She dropped the pamphlet on the table in disgust. "Honestly. Soone can’t even get accurate gossip these days. The standards are slipping."
Clara laughed. "Calm down, Amber. You look fabulous in both satin and silk." She turned to the curtain hiding Delia. "Are you ready to see your sister-in-law’s wedding dress, Amber? We just put the finishing touches on it this morning, following the exact description you gave to us."
Amber nodded, her earlier annoyance forgotten, her eyes now shining with excitent.
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