I hardly recognize the reflection that peers back at me from the full-length mirror in my new bedroom. The severity of my recently bobbed hair is lessened somewhat by the pearl-encrusted headdress that will hold my veil in place. I have quickly grown to like the sleek lines of my short hairstyle, and it is a relief not to have to spend hours taming and dressing long tresses every day. Mama, with a new forthrightness that has come to her with age, has declared it hideous. Louis likes it, which matters, I suppose. I am still sufficiently old fashioned to believe a bride should at least attempt to present herself in a manner which pleases her husband-to-be.

Turning slowly before the looking glass I take in the cut and detail of my wedding dress. I could not have done without Charlotte’s help these past few months, and she outdid herself in finding me such an excellent designer. One who, spirits be thanked, listened to my requirements and produced something that does not make me feel ridiculous. The lines are modern, slender, skimming my narrow curves, emphasizing my naturally angular silhouette. The fabric, in contrast, is Chinese silk and antique lace, beaded with pearls. The combination is very pleasing. When the day comes, I will, I hope, make Mama proud and Louis happy.

“Thank you, Mrs. Morell, I’ll take it off now. No further fittings will be necessary.”

“You are satisfied with the finished dress, my lady?”

“I’m delighted with it. You have all worked so hard and done an excellent job. Thank you.”

I hold out my arms so that she can undo the tiny covered buttons at the cuffs.

“You look exquisite, my lady,” says Mrs. Morell. “I will see to it that the veil is sent over to you the moment it arrives from Paris,” she assures me, clapping her hands together in a gesture of delight that also prompts her assistant into action, so that I am soon out of the gown and back in my own more mundane clothes.