Lady Jeanette made her way hastily through the bustling marketplace, paying no heed to the inquisitive glances of hawkers and townsfolk alike. Her heart beat with urgency, yet she pressed forward, weaving through the throng with purpose. At last, she halted and drew in a deep, steadying breath as her gaze fell upon the quaint little shop of Lady Esmeralda Ashcombe. Composing herself, she delicately lifted the hem of her skirt and resumed her pace with the measured grace expected of a lady of refinement.
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Upon reaching the door, she paused at the jamb, inhaling once more to calm her fluttering nerves. Within, Lady Esmeralda looked up from her sewing machine, one brow arching in mild curiosity.
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“What has you breathing so, Jeanette?” she inquired, her hands deftly guiding fabric beneath the humming needle, completing a clothe on demand with practiced ease.
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“You’ve not heard the news, have you, Esmé?” Jeanette replied, stepping inside and promptly sinking into the modest couch that graced the shop's corner.
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Lady Esmeralda paused her stitching, her eyes—brown and warm as steeped tea—following Jeanette’s every movement. “I daresay I have not. But I should very much like to hear what news has rendered you so flushed and breathless.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
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Jeanette sat upright, shifting her shopping bags aside with a flourish. “The Grand Duke is hosting a grand fête in honour of his son's birthday, Esme!”
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Esmeralda, hardly glancing up from her work, replied evenly, “That is indeed splendid news, Jeanette, though I suspect you have not yet reached the heart of the matter.” The sewing machine continued its rhythmic melody, a familiar lullaby in the snug confines of the shop.
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“Of course not!” Jeanette exclaimed, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “Everyone is invited!”
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At this, Lady Esmeralda finally looked up, reclining slightly in her work chair for the first time that day. Her expression shifted to one of quiet intrigue. “Do elaborate, Jeanette. What precisely do you mean by everyone?”
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Jeanette sighed with dramatic flair. “Exactly what I said. Everyone—including humble folk such as ourselves.”
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Esmeralda’s eyes widened. “Surely you jest. That cannot be true. Are you quite certain this is not mere hearsay?”
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“It is absolutely true!” Jeanette laughed. “I nabbed one of those poor bee’s newspapers the moment I overheard a murmur spreading through Mama’s shop. I simply had to bring it to you.”
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“You snatched another newspaper?” Esmeralda shook her head, standing as the folds of her dress cascaded down elegantly. “You’ll be caught one day, you know. You pilfer far too freely.”
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Jeanette found herself momentarily transfixed as she watched her dear friend gather her golden-brown hair into a ponytail, the light catching the strands like spun honey. Esmeralda sat beside her, and still, Jeanette’s gaze lingered.
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“What is it? Have I something upon my face?”
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“Yes,” Jeanette nodded solemnly. “Your beauty. It radiates.”
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Esmeralda rolled her eyes, though the faintest blush touched her cheeks. Jeanette had voiced such sentiments before, and while she often brushed them off as jest, a small part of her had begun to believe them.
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“Anyway,” Jeanette said, composing herself once more, “the celebration is but a fortnight away. That gives us ample time to prepare our dresses. Oh, dear Esme, you shall be positively overwhelmed with work.”
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Esmeralda sighed knowingly. She understood well what her friend implied. As a seamstress with thirteen years of experience, “good” scarcely described her talent. With every grand event among High Society, her name was whispered like a prayer by ladies in need of fine attire. It was a blessing, truly—it allowed her to do what she loved, while caring for her ailing grandfather and aging father.
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Her mother had passed giving birth to her. Though she had never known the woman, she had grown up surrounded by her likeness in paintings, and in the stories lovingly shared by her father. His love to his late wife had remained unwavering; he never remarried, nor brought another into their home. His loyalty had shaped Esmeralda’s own views on love, elevating her expectations in ways words could scarcely express.
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“Well, if it means I can afford more medicine for Grandfather, then let the orders come,” she said, offering a small smile.
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Jeanette’s expression shifted to one of concern. “How is he faring?”
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“Better, truly. You need not worry. He is well-fed and taking his medicines.” She leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I may not be high society, but I suppose I’m rich enough.” She chuckled, and Jeanette joined her, shaking her head fondly.
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“You always turn sorrow into laughter. It’s your superpower.”
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“I suppose it is,” Esmeralda smiled, then laughed lightly. “But what of you? What shall you wear to the ball?”
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“Whatever you design for me,” Jeanette replied with a roguish grin.
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“Oh no, you don’t,” Esmeralda raised her hand in protest. “I shall not craft another beautiful gown—because every dress I create *is* beautiful—only for you to pay me naught a single coin!”
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Jeanette laughed. They had been inseparable since the age of five, and now, at twenty-three, theirs was a friendship deep-rooted and tried. But she did have a habit of requesting gowns without recompense.
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“Of course I’ll pay you. I’m not entirely without honour, you know? Let’s wear matching designs!”
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Esmeralda nodded thoughtfully. “It would be delightful. I’ll begin tomorrow. Though—should there not be an invitation or some manner of formal request? The nobility are rarely so… disordered.”
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“Fortunately, no. Could you imagine the chaos of inspecting each villager for a letter of admittance? No, it would be an insufferable task.”
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Esmeralda nodded again. That much, at least, made sense. If the Duke was sincere in welcoming all, invitations would indeed be a hindrance.
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“Well, perhaps you shall finally catch sight of that elusive gentleman you dream of,” Esmeralda teased.
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Jeanette giggled. “Indeed. I’ve always longed for a wealthy nobleman—someone who’d spend his every coin on me.” She gazed dreamily into the distance, and Esmeralda shook her head, amused. “But what of you? Do you not wish to find a man of high standing? This would be the perfect occasion to meet someone worthy.”
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Esmeralda shook her head softly. “Riches mean little to me. I desire only a man with a kind heart—one who loves me truly, as a man ought to love a woman.”
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A quiet smile graced her lips, and Jeanette scoffed playfully. “Love? In this economy? Please, who still has the luxury for that?”
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Esmeralda simply turned back to her sewing machine, her expression serene. “To each her own, dear. You seek riches. I seek love.”
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“Right, right,” Jeanette relented with a grin. “In any case, I simply cannot wait for the day to come!”
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“Nor can I,” Esmeralda replied, a gentle smile still upon her face.
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