Penelope held the pale gold garment to the light of the window for a final inspection of the stitching as chimes rang through the cottage.
Mrs. Mary Walburton, ever perfectly on time.
Penelope remained focused on the hemline as Sister Heely's footsteps clipped across the polished stone of the kitchen, down the narrow hall, and came to a stop at the front door.
Examining each sleeve in turn, Penelope listened as the door was opened and Mary ushered across the threshold, back down the hall, and into the kitchen for tea.
Penelope smiled as Mary's cheerful banter thundered from the dining table, echoing from the timber walls, followed by the genteel tones of Sister Heely's answering wit, and joined soon after by the shrill whistling of a kettle.
"My word, just look at your Pigtail Blooms! I haven't seen a shade of red like that since your poor mother caught us climbing the west-end lattices with an armful of fig pies. Thought her head would pop clear off!"
"Rest her spirits, the cussing of that woman nearly woke the dead. And did wake the palace dogs. Chased us all the way to the pond's edge."
"And we didn't lose a single pastry!"
The women laughed as Penelope trimmed the last loose threads before folding the gown into a black box with the Starwood family crest embossed on the lid.
Tucking a stray spiral of her dark hair behind her ear, Penelope joined the women in the kitchen, ceremoniously placing the box atop the kitchen table as Sister Heely poured tea.
The scent of steeping Honey Rose leaf wafted throughout the room.
"Goodnoon, Mary," Penelope said. "I have your-"
Mary stood so suddenly that Sister Heely had to steady Mary's cup before it spilled tea across the weathered grey wood of the table.
-order," Penelope laughed. Eager for Mary's reaction to her work, Penelope anxiously kneaded the ache from her fingertips, her brown skin reflecting the gold of the afternoon light.
Clapping her small hands with a squeal, Mary removed the lid of the box and lifted the bodice of the gown to the light.
"Penelope, love, you've outdone yourself!"
Penelope pressed her hands to her freckled cheeks and grinned at Mary. "It's been an age since I've used gold silk thread," Penelope said, reaching out to trace the fine embroidery along the neckline, glinting in the light of the winter sun. "It must be quite an auspicious occasion to merit such materials..." Penelope smirked at Mary as Sister Heely arched a thin grey eyebrow and took a delicate sip of tea.
Privately, of course, Penelope and the Sisters had speculated with a burning curiosity as to the event; Sisters Heely and Rosin had even taken bets, an activity in which Penelope had refused to participate.
Mary bounced on the balls of her small, bark-leather boots, scrunching her round face in exaggerated deliberation. Penelope and Sister Heely said nothing, knowing Mary could never abide prolonged silence.
Penelope had only taken a small bite of daisy shortcake when Mary burst out, "Fine! I'll tell you! Although it's supposed to be secret, and it's really only rumours nonetheless..."
Sister Heely glanced at Penelope, for they both knew Mary's position in the royal court exposed her to whispers that amounted to more than mere rumour.
Besides, Penelope thought, nobody commissions a gown worth half a fortune on rumour alone.
"Oh well, if it's a secret, then you really oughtn't tell," Sister Heely teased, sniffing through her thin nose, knowing nothing pleased Mary more than being first to share exclusive gossip.
YOU ARE READING
Marmalade's Love Potion
RomanceIn the final days of autumn, a young princess climbs her favourite tree clutching a folded star of paper to her aching heart. Contained within its crisp lines are recountings of her dreams and darings... and a plea that she might, at last, be welcom...
