Later, in the privacy of my own bedroom, I examine my purchases once again. I have promised to dine at home with Louis tonight, and Mama, without so much as looking in a single box, has insisted I wear one of my new dresses for his benefit. Alice helps me try them on again. One is far too dressy, intended for I know not what occasion, but definitely not dinner à deux with Louis. All are black, of course, but they are, each in their own ways, as far removed from the heavy, somber mourning clothes I have been encased in for so many months as it is possible to be. One is the fine chiffon French design Charlotte had demanded I try. I am glad she did. It makes me feel light when I put it on, insubstantial, almost. I still wear my corset beneath it, but Alice lets out the stays, so that I feel blissfully relaxed in it. I do not dare reveal to Mama the curious undergarments Charlotte cajoled me into getting. They are of ivory silk, something she informed me is known as a “teddy,” with a matching slip. Wearing them is like being caressed by a cool breeze as I move. They feel daringly sensuous and modern. Mama, who has taken it upon herself to inspect my choice before I go down, is already in a state of agitation about what she considers the immodest length of the dress skirts, which skim my ankles, and the slender, sinuous cut of the dress.

“But, Mama, surely it is more modest to touch the body only here and there, rather than to push and pull it into some uncomfortable version of the shape I apparently should be, rather than the shape I actually am?”

“It’s all very well for Charlotte to wear things like that, her family don’t seem to give a second thought to such matters.”

“Mama! You make them sound quite radical, when you know they are not. They merely allow their daughter to move with the times, that’s all.”

“Whereas I do not, I suppose?” She looks genuinely hurt.

“Surely I can wear something more appropriate for my age now … I am twenty-one, after all. I should dress like a woman of today.”

“You should dress like a Montgomery—with dignity, not one of these wild girls who stands on pavements in short skirts to shout about votes for women, or some modern creature who cares not two hoots the impression she gives.” She looks me up and down with a mixture of concern and pride. It shames me to think I am so capable of manipulating her, but I know precisely how to win the argument.

“People expect me to keep up with changing fashions, Mama. Louis expects it.”

“Louis does?”