The Secret in East End [Agents of the Crown #1]

Chapter 10

After a week with her chest bound, in grimy clothes, stepping into the soft material of chiffon and muslin felt foreign against Elle's skin. But what made her feel most out of place was the two maids helping her as if she was a helpless child to get dressed. Admittedly, they were a relief to have when it came to buttoning up the rows of cloth buttons at the back, but Elle still felt odd at having sleeves held up to one as they dressed.

When she stepped in front of the mirror though, she could scarcely recognize herself.The white material up till her waist was hemmed with red threads, with a puffed up sleeves at her shoulders. The waist was cinched in, held up by pins as she had a smaller frame from years of eating just enough, as compared to Pippa Rothesay. From waist down, the pale peach muslin was overlaid with a layer of white, see through chiffon. The pale pink ribbon was tied to her back, and the chiffon was threaded with green and pale pink patterns of leaves and roses. 

Stepping into the slightly tight peach slippers, Elle had to blink at her reflection. Despite her unconventionally short, boy cropped brunette tresses... was her reflection actually her? She rarely saw herself, but from catching her reflection off broken windows and puddles in the rookery, Elle knew she was often smudged with dirt, hair poking in all ways, and dressed in grimy, torn shirts and pants. Being in a dress felt foreign to her, but her reflection just looked like an entirely different person altogether.

Even her hair, as short as it was, the maid assigned to her had braided small braids in both sides, giving it a decidedly feminine air. Elle was so enraptured by her reflection, she didn't even realize the maid which had just entered, until she cleared her throat. 

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were around."

"Tis alright, Miss Elle. The duchess is waiting for you in the sitting room now, if you would follow me please." the maid's tone was quite tight, a sign Elle knew was of disapproval. After all, she was from the rookeries. Technically, her social status was even lower then the errand boy in the Avondale estate. Why would they enjoy waiting on her?

At a loss for words, Elle had noting left to do but follow her down the hallways, feeling quite sure she'd feel lost had the maid not been guiding her.

Before long, she was soon led to enter a brightly lit room. Decked out in canary yellow and contrasted with pastel green and white, the elder lady Elle was quite sure was the duchess was seated near on a sofa near a window, with a younger lady who reminded Elle a whole lot of Fabian, next to her. A tray with a teapot and three cups was between them on a table. The sunlight streaming in made the whole room appear quite cheery, especially with the potted plants gracing the two corners. A bookshelf sat in one corner, and in another corner stood a gleaming pianoforte.

Elle's attention was diverted on the duchess, as her nerves suddenly made themselves known. She fidgeted where she stood, the sudden awkwardness feeling the silence as the door closed behind the exiting maid. What was she to do? What did one do when faced with a duchess? As a rookery pickpocket, Elle had known she was to dash as quick as possible, or address them as the general 'guvnor' they addressed all upperclass people. But what did one do when you were dressed as a gentlewoman, as a guest of a duke, who so ironically happened to be said duchess's son?

Her gaze flitted to her left when a movement showed the younger of the females getting up, and gave an encouraging nod as she feinted a curtsey by picking up the sides of her skirts. Attempting to copy her, Elle picked up her own skirts, and did a clumsy version of what the other had done, before settling for a "Good afternoon, my lady."

"The proper address is your Grace, for a duke or duchess." It was a lofty tone that struck fear in her. Had Fabian not said his mother was nice? Why did she look so strict now?