Reborn Wife: I'll Chase Happiness Instead of My Husband

SOPHIA

"I could try," said Mrs. Rogers. "But I can’t guarantee the result would be the same."

"I’d appreciate it if you could make the effort. I’ll pay you double."

She waved her hands. "No, no. I’ll charge you proper for the cakes. I’ll need to do a little experimentation with ingredients." She tapped her chin. "I could probably have a batch ready in a couple of days."

"I’ll pay you now," I said. "When they’re done, can you send them to Amaranth Manor?"

Her gaze flickered. "Don’t tell me you married Jace Willowmarch."

I lowered my voice. "I didn’t have much of a choice. It was an arranged marriage."

"Oh. What a pity. Whatever happened to the other boy?"

"I don’t know," I said.

"Well, life doesn’t always go the way we plan, does it?" She clapped her hands together. "No worries, Mrs. Willowmarch. I’ll do my best to make your tea cakes."

"I appreciate it."

In the pre-made section, I found some lemon-flavored cookies, a box of caramel chocolates, and two bags of lavender tea. I paid for them and the experimental tea cakes.

Hannah and I left the shop. The driver helped us put the purchases in the carriage’s boot.

"It’s not been two hours, Mrs. Willowmarch," said Hannah. "The prescription probably isn’t ready yet."

"You’re right. Well, then. Let’s get a snack. After that, we need to find a dressmaking shop."

"There are two in the village," she said. She hesitated, and then shook her head. "Did you want to visit both?"

Curious, I asked, "What were you going to say?"

"The best dressmaker in Velvetleaf is Tilda Plinkett. But she’s a little..." She twirled her finger near her temple to indicate crazy.

I laughed. "When a person is creative they’re not crazy. They’re eccentric."

Hannah looked doubtful. "If you say so. She makes the most beautiful dresses. They’re not like anything you’ve ever seen. But she won’t make dresses for just anybody. It’s really difficult to engage her services."

"She sounds quite interesting. Shall we go see her?"

***|***|***

SOPHIA

Hannah and I had sandwiches and tea at a little eatery on the same block as Tilda Plinkett’s small dress shop. I told the driver to seek his own meal after he parked the carriage and stabled the horse. We agreed to meet to back at the eatery at a certain time. Once we retrieved the new prescription, we could go home.

I had many questions for my mother. I wanted to talk to her about the mysterious boy, the Cardigill Ick, the reputation of Jace, and the specially commissioned tea cakes. Surely she had more information about these aspects of my life.

Would talking to her about these things finally unlocked my amnesia?

With these thoughts floating like dark clouds in my mind, we entered the dress shop. It was about as big as my dressing room at home.

On one side, were beautiful dresses in colors and styles that didn’t match the awful frocks in my own closet.

On the other, a selection of bags and ... hats? They were gorgeous, made with lace, feathers, flowers.

The dress I had on today was the least ugly of them. Without a hoop underneath, the skirt was so long it dragged on the ground.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t wear any of those monstrosities without a corset. The whale bone pressed against my ribs painfully. Why on earth did women suffer these contraptions?

"What happened to you?" asked a woman who came out from the back of the shop. She was on the tall side, slender with light brown hair piled into a style I wasn’t familiar with. Her dress was beautiful. Simple. Elegant. It clung to her waist, gently flaring into a long skirt that draped her body like liquid silk.

"Well?" she said. "Are you going to a funeral or what?"

"What do you mean?"

She waved her hands at my clothing. "That dress looks like it’s trying to eat you."

"I didn’t wear the hoop."

"A hoop wouldn’t have saved you," she said. "Nothing can make that dress look good."

"I have many of these," I said gripping the side of the skirt. "All terrible. I wondered if you could do something about that."

"Like what? Start a bonfire?"

For a moment, I envisioned stacking all the dresses and hoops and corsets and wigs together and lighting them on fire. The image delighted me to no end. "If nothing can be done, then yes. A bonfire."

She laughed. Her smile revealed dimples on the corners of her lips. "I’ll bring the marshmallows."

"What are marshmallows?" asked Hannah.

"Puffed sugar," answered the woman. "It’s a treat from a place that’s far, far away from Velvetleaf."

"Would you be willing to come to Amaranth Manor? I want a whole new wardrobe."

"Hmm." She took a case from a nearby table and pulled out a long, black cigarette. She lit it and drew in the smoke. When she exhaled the scent of clove filtered into the room. "You’re least offensive noblewoman I’ve met so far. But I don’t make dresses for just anyone."

"I can pay you whatever you want."

"If I worked for money, a lot more snobby women would be wearing my creations."

"What do you want then?"

"I doubt you can get it for me."

"I could try."

Hannah was looking at one of the dresses. She turned to Tilda and asked, "Why don’t you sell these in the Capital? You’d make a mint."

"I have enemies in the Capital. Plus, those people are boring. I don’t do boring."

"How did you end up in Velvetleaf?"

"True love," she said. She took another drag of her cigarette then let the smoke stream out of her mouth. "But then... "

"What?" Hannah and I echoed together.

"He married someone else. Then he left, and I stayed."

"I’m sorry," I said. "That’s awful."

"Yes. But so’s life. We have to take fun where we can find it." She crushed out her cigarette. She looked me up and down, and shook her head. "This won’t do. I refuse to let my client walk around in such a piece of shit outfit. C’mon. Let’s find you a better dress."