Chapter 44
Chapter 44
“Lady Battenberg!”
“Welcome, Lady Fortnum.”
Fortnum approached cheerfully at first, but froze in her tracks mid-step. Chloe extended her arms to embrace her, as usual, but they swung awkwardly through the air.
Lady Fortnum stood perfectly still, gloved hand over her mouth, staring at Chloe in utter shock.
Being well-connected in high society, Fortnum recognized it immediately. That outfit—there was no mistaking it.
It was exactly what Lady Dalia, the Marchioness’ daughter and Alphonse’s former lover, used to wear.
If Chloe, unknowingly dressed like her husband’s old flame, showed up at her own birthday banquet like this, she’d be humiliated.
Fortnum could not let that happen to her friend.
Only three hours remained until the ball. It would be tight, but Chloe had to be restyled. There was no way she could appear like this in front of the guests.
With resolve hardening on her face, Fortnum spoke firmly.
“Lady Battenberg, would you please come with me?”
“Now? Right this moment?”
“Yes. It’s extremely urgent. I’ll explain everything on the way.”
Chloe blinked in surprise. The banquet was just hours away, and she was the host, the Duchess of Battenberg. She had duties and couldn’t simply vanish.
But Fortnum looked so serious. Chloe had never seen her wear such an expression.
‘If Lady Fortnum is this insistent… there must be a good reason.’
She chose to trust her friend.
“Very well.”
And with that, she followed Fortnum into her carriage.
“To the city, please.”
As soon as Fortnum gave the destination, the carriage jerked slightly and began to move.
Only then did Chloe realize she hadn’t prepared for an outing at all. But it was too late now.
On the way to the city, Fortnum explained everything. From her head to her toes, Chloe looked exactly like Dalia, Alphonse’s ex-lover, and if she appeared at the banquet like this, everyone would mock her.
Chloe gasped and covered her painted lips with one hand. Embarrassment chilled her spine, but at the same time, she felt grateful that Fortnum had warned her in time.
“Who in the world styled you like this? And why… why would someone do such a thing to you…?”
Fortnum trailed off, sensing her friend’s rising anger. Chloe bit her lip. Seeing the cold fury in her eyes, Fortnum wisely said no more.
The carriage soon stopped. Chloe widened her eyes at the sign above the door.
It was a boutique.
“The designer here isn’t very well known, but she’s incredibly skilled, far beyond her reputation.”
Fortnum whispered. Chloe had never heard the name on the shop sign, even though she knew all the famous boutiques favored by high-society women.
“I love this place so much I wanted to keep it secret. But today, I’ll make an exception just for you.”
Fortnum smiled. As a Viscountess, she couldn’t afford top-tier boutiques, but she had her own hidden gems.
Linking arms with Chloe, she entered the boutique.
The moment they stepped inside, the air was thick with the scent of freshly processed fabrics and perfume. The small space was crammed with materials and furniture, like a maze.
“Morgan, it’s me.”
Fortnum called out casually. A moment later, someone appeared from behind the counter.
“Oh, Lady Fortnum! Long time no see.”
The designer, Morgan, had wild red curls and wore thick glasses. She wasn’t well-known, but she had talent.
Chloe’s first impression was… not great. She had expected a boutique designer to be fashionable and polished—perfect makeup, cutting-edge style. But this woman looked more like a bohemian or a hippie than a trendsetter.
“You’re dressed beautifully. Ordering a new gown today?”
“No, Morgan. Today’s client isn’t me, it’s her.”
Fortnum gestured toward Chloe. Only then did Morgan seem to notice there was someone else.
She adjusted her glasses.
“Hmm… a butterfly ruff with hanging sleeves. High collar, low waistline. The bustle is dramatically puffed—wicker, maybe? Gorgeous. But out of date. To be precise, 21 months out of date. And this color? Far too saturated—childish, even. I’d tone it down or switch it entirely. A lighter, softer color would suit you much better.”
Morgan’s sharp stare made Chloe extremely uncomfortable. It felt like she was being read from head to toe.
Morgan, still focused on Chloe’s dress, finally raised her gaze.
“And more than anything, there’s no freshness. It’s so dull and uninspired—from your hairstyle to your dress, even your accessories. I can’t see your shoes, but I bet they’re the same. This is exactly what Lady Dalia wore when she popularized the look 21 months ago. No reinterpretation. Just a flat-out copy. Horrifying. I’d never work with a designer who did this to a client again. Anyway, what’s your name?”
Morgan pulled out a notebook and pen. Chloe replied calmly.
“Chloe Battenberg.”
“Aha, okay, Chloe Batten… Battenberg… Wait, what?!”
Morgan’s mouth fell open.
“B-B-Battenberg… The Duchess of Battenberg?!”
Chloe felt awkward. She glanced at Fortnum, who was trying not to burst out laughing.
Chloe nodded.
“Yes.”
Morgan’s thick glasses slipped halfway down her nose. She leaned on the counter, stunned, mouth agape, just staring at Chloe.
A few seconds later, she recovered, barely.
“I—I’m terribly sorry. I’ve never met anyone of such high status before…”
“You get it now, Morgan? This is a golden opportunity.”
Fortnum chimed in.
“She’s the Duchess. If you treat her well, you’ll have the best advertisement you could dream of. This could do wonders for you. So please… use all your talent.”
Morgan gulped nervously, then spoke to Chloe in a slightly intimidated tone.
“I… I was terribly rude to Your Grace. I sincerely apologize.”
“It’s quite alright. Just as you said, this dress is awful. It doesn’t suit me at all. I’m actually grateful that I was able to see your keen eye for fashion.”
Chloe smiled as she spoke. Only then did Morgan regain some of her earlier confidence.
“Ahem, well then. Are you here to order a dress?”
“No, I’m hosting a banquet today. I want a full look—dress, makeup, hair, everything.”
“Ah, and when does the banquet begin?”
“…In two hours and thirty minutes.”
Morgan’s jaw dropped. She opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, then slammed the counter.
“That’s impossible! A full makeover takes at least eight hours! Two and a half? Forgive me, Duchess, but I can’t do it. Truly, I can’t.”
Color drained from Chloe’s and Lady Fortnum’s faces. Fortnum tried to persuade her.
“Think again, Morgan. We might be able to delay the start of the banquet a little. Opportunities like this don’t come around often. You don’t have to make it absolutely perfect, just highlight her natural beauty. That should be enough.”
Morgan bit her green-painted fingernails, clearly conflicted.
Despite her talent, she had always remained second-tier because of her illegitimate birth. If she missed this chance, would she ever have another opportunity to dress a duchess?
Highly unlikely.
The ambition and passion she had buried deep since her assistant days stirred awake again. After a moment’s hesitation, her eyes sparkled behind her thick lenses.
“Alright. Let’s do it.”
What followed happened so fast that even Chloe herself could barely keep up. With only Morgan and two assistants, the three women worked in perfect sync, exchanging jargon Chloe and Fortnum couldn’t understand, their hands moving at lightning speed.
“Luckily, your height and figure are fairly standard, so I have a few sample dresses that could fit… Hmm, though your hip-to-bust ratio and waistline aren’t quite standard…”
Normally, a lady would try on each gown one by one before choosing, but there was no time. So Morgan held dresses under Chloe’s face to estimate the effect.
“No. Not this one. Nor that one.”
But Chloe never even got to glimpse most of them. Morgan dismissed each dress the moment she held it up, almost violently. The forcefulness of her judgment made Chloe too intimidated to even ask for a second look.
“This color clashes with your hair. This one thickens the waist… Hmm, this one’s not bad—no, something’s off.”
To Chloe, all the dresses seemed lovely, any of them would surely be good enough. But clearly not to Morgan.
Dresses began to pile up on a nearby chair. The higher the stack grew, the more anxious Chloe became.
‘What if there really is no suitable dress? What if Morgan just gives up and sends me away?’
She cast a worried glance at Lady Fortnum, who simply shrugged.
The remaining options dwindled—half, a third, a quarter, a fifth…
Chloe’s nerves were shredded by the suspense.
Finally, only one dress remained on the rack.
Morgan adjusted her glasses and held it up to Chloe’s face.
‘If this one doesn’t work…’
Chloe sighed inwardly. They could always rush to another shop, perhaps find something passable and get it altered within the hour. But strangely, she didn’t want to.
Something about Morgan’s dresses had captivated her.
Then…
“This is it.”
“Pardon?”
