Pushing through the curtains, Callie discovered that such a task was far easier planned than performed. Nastasia stood on a raised platform at the center of the fitting room, her back to the doorway, larger than life. Callie marveled at the prima donna’s hourglass form, her hips flaring in perfect concert with a bosom that women everywhere would covet. Nastasia turned from side to side, casting a critical eye at her image in an enormous mirror, taking in the details of the stunning scarlet silk gown she was wearing. The gown was beautifully fitted to Nastasia’s long, lush body, its bodice secured at the back with a row of small, elegant ribbons, each tied in a perfect tiny bow.

Callie swallowed, immediately feeling pale and plain, wishing she’d chosen another day to retrieve her gown. Realizing that she was gaping in the direction of the other woman, Callie caught herself and turned to follow Madame Hebert. Passing behind Nastasia, Callie couldn’t help but sneak a look at the opera singer’s reflection and marvel at the woman’s beauty. She and Ralston must have made a stunning couple. Nastasia was grand—she boasted the kind of beauty that women like Callie could only dream of having, mostly because her porcelain skin and shining black tresses and lovely, bow-shaped mouth were only part of her appeal. More than any one physical characteristic, the opera singer’s obvious confidence and self-awareness made all the difference. She owned the room the way she owned the stage—wholly and completely.

She was magnificent.

And Callie envied every bit of the other woman as she watched her in the reflection—from her perfect poise to her riveting violet eyes…eyes that met Callie’s in the mirror.

Caught staring, Callie blushed and looked away immediately, hurrying to catch up with Madame Hebert. Callie followed the Frenchwoman around a tall dressing screen set to one side of the room and pulled up short when she saw the dressmaker’s form standing in the corner, draped in what was, quite possibly, the loveliest gown she had ever seen.

Madame Hebert met her eyes with a little, knowing smile. “It pleases you?”

“Oh, yes…” Callie’s fingers itched to touch the fabric, to stroke down the cascade of silk that was more lovely than she remembered.

“Excellent. I think it is time you see it as it is meant to be…on you. Don’t you agree?”

The seamstress turned Callie around and set to work on the buttons of her day dress. Indicating the collection of undergarments that had been set out next to the dress, the dressmaker said, “We will begin with lingerie.”

Callie immediately shook her head, “Oh, I couldn’t…I have plenty of underthings…I do not need new ones.”

The dress loosened into her hands as Madame Hebert spoke. “I assure you, you do need them.” She helped Callie out of her corset and chemise, saying, “The most confident of women are those who believe in every scrap of fabric that they wear. They are the ones who are as happy with their drawers as they are with their gowns. You can tell the difference between a woman who wraps herself in beautiful silks and satins and she who wears…” The modiste paused as she dropped Callie’s worn chemise to the floor. “…otherwise.”

Callie slipped into the new, lovely undergarments adorned with little details—satin ribbons, little, hand-fashioned flowers in lovely colors, lace panels that added a touch of femininity that she had never before considered necessary in unmentionables. As the layers were draped over her, she felt rather silly for enjoying the sensation of lovely silks and satins against her skin, but Madame Hebert had been right. There was something quite decadent about wearing such frivolously beautiful underclothes—especially when Anne was the only person who would ever see them.

As if she were reading Callie’s thoughts, the dressmaker leaned in, and whispered, “And, let us not forget, one never knows who might someday unwrap such a present, oui?” Callie blushed fiercely at the words, followed by the Frenchwoman’s knowing laugh.

And then she was in her gown, which seemed to fit her perfectly. Madame Hebert looked pleased as Punch as she walked a slow circle around Callie, noting each minute detail of the gown. Satisfied, she met Callie’s wide-eyed gaze, and said, “Now, out into the fitting room and we shall have a closer look.”

Following the modiste back into the main room, Callie noted that Nastasia was still on her platform as Valerie worked to hem the red gown. Pushing aside the immediate sense of insecurity that consumed her, Callie stepped up to take her place on the empty second platform in the room. Madame Hebert gently turned her toward a large mirror placed nearby, and Callie’s eyes widened in surprise as she realized that she was the woman in the reflection. She shook her head. She’d never seen herself this way—thoroughly transformed from prim and plain to…well, quite remarkable.

Her br**sts were perfectly highlighted by the low cut of the gown, looking lush and full without appearing vulgar, the drape of the silk over her curving waist and hips and stomach made her appear well proportioned rather than too plump, and the color—the most lovely, shimmering blue she’d ever seen, gave her usually too-red skin the appearance of strawberries and cream.

A smile broke out on her face. Madame Hebert had been right. This was a dress made for waltzing. Callie couldn’t resist spinning in excitement toward the dressmaker. “Oh, it’s lovely, Madame.”

The modiste’s smile matched Callie’s. “Indeed. It is.” She tilted her head, looking critically at Callie’s reflection, and said, “It needs to be raised a touch in the skirt. Excuse me—I shall fetch a girl to help me pin.”

The Frenchwoman disappeared through a nearby door, and Callie looked back at her reflection, taking in the drape of the fabric, the lovely cut—so uniquely different from anything that was in London ballrooms at present, so perfectly suited to her unfashionable figure.

“Hebert is a genius, is she not?”

Callie’s eyes flew to the looking glass, where she met a pair of probing violet eyes, doubly reflected in their mirrors. With a small, polite smile, she said, quietly, “She certainly is.”

Nastasia’s eyes flickered to Valerie’s reflection, and she watched as the girl pinned a section of her hem before saying casually, “Ralston has always liked her work.”

Callie looked away at the words, uncertain. She’d never spoken to someone’s mistress before. Certainly not to the mistress of the man she loved.

Nastasia pressed on, sounding bored. “You do not have to shy away from me, Lady Calpurnia. We are not girls, just out of the schoolroom, but women, yes? I know he is with you, now. It is the way of the world, my dear.”

Callie shook her head, her mouth falling open in shock. “He isn’t…with me.”

The opera singer raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Are you really going to tell me that Ralston hasn’t seduced you?”

Callie blushed, looking away again, and Nastasia laughed. The sound wasn’t mean-spirited, as Callie would have expected, but entertained. “You didn’t expect him to do it, did you? But I shall wager you enjoyed every minute of it. Ralston is a rare breed of man…one who cares more for his lovers than for himself.” Callie’s cheeks flamed as the Greek woman pressed on, frank. “I have had many lovers…and only one other who was as generous as Ralston. You are lucky he was your first.”