"Mr. Darcy, aren't you coming in with us?" I asked as I stepped out of the car.
He didn't respond right away, just offered a polite, almost amused smile as he adjusted his driving gloves. That smile was answer enough. Apparently, this wasn't his kind of stop.
I turned to Aunt Grace, puzzled. She was already halfway up the steps of the stone-front building, glancing back only when she heard the door close behind me. She and Mr. Darcy exchanged a look, one of those silent conversations people share when they're used to keeping secrets. Then they both smiled. Identically.
Did I say something wrong? I mumbled to myself.
Inside, the atmosphere changed like stepping into another world. Gone was the cold, aristocratic feel of the estate. The "Ladies Lounge," as Grace had called it, was something else entirely, opulent yet playful, mysterious yet oddly inviting. Velvet drapes framed warm lighting, and the scent of sandalwood hung delicately in the air. The room buzzed with chatter and laughter, women of all ages flitting from one ornate display to another, completely absorbed in their own little universes.
"I look so sexy in this one…"
"Mother, I am taking this one...don't argue!"
I froze in the doorway, wide-eyed. Not with fear, but awe. I had never seen women so... free. So unapologetically themselves. There were no watchful eyes, no hushed tones, no rigid posture. Just silk, lace, and laughter.
I trailed behind Aunt Grace, trying not to gape at the mannequins draped in what looked like... well, things I'd only ever seen peeking out of Mother's hidden wardrobe.
"Aunt Grace…" I called, my voice tentative.
"Hmmm?" she murmured, flipping through a rack of crimson nightgowns, no, lingerie. That's what they were. Lingerie.
"What is that?" I asked quietly, nearly whispering so no one else would hear.
She turned toward me, holding up a delicate piece made of midnight-blue lace, inspecting it like one might study a fragile antique.
"This?" she said, arching a brow. "It's called confidence, stitched in satin."
I blinked. "No, I mean... I know what it is. I just never knew what it was called. It's a... linge—uh, L-I-N-G-E-R-I, right?"
She chuckled. "Lingerie. Yes, darling. But that's just the name. What it is depends on the woman wearing it."
I nodded slowly, my cheeks heating up. "I've seen Mother wear something like that before... but only when she and Father didn't come down for dinner. I used to think it meant they were going to bed early."
Aunt Grace let out a laugh, warm, but with a faint edge of sadness. "That sounds exactly like Mary. She always did keep certain truths tucked behind locked doors. And you, poor child, were kept so far from them you didn't even know what to name them."
The words hung there, settling like dust.
She wasn't wrong. I hadn't been allowed out much. Not to real school. Not to town. Not even to ask too many questions. Everything I knew had been filtered through Mother's lens,her curated perfection, her fear of the world, her iron grip on what I was allowed to see and feel.
"You should try something on," Grace said suddenly, pulling a soft, pale lavender slip from the rack. "Not for anyone else. Just to see what you look like when you feel a little... dangerous."
I hesitated, glancing at the mirror beside us.
"I'm not sure I'm ready for that."
"Melody," she said gently, "you're ready for more than you think."
The slip was cool between my fingers. Delicate, almost weightless. Like something stolen from another life. I looked at my reflection again. I didn't recognize the girl staring back. Not completely. But maybe that was the point.
"Well, Mel," Grace said, her eyes sparkling, "I didn't bring you here for lingerie, even if you'd look stunning in it. I brought you here because those ball gowns your mother picks out? They make you look like a sack of potatoes."
I blinked. "You don't like them?"
"I loathe them," she said without missing a beat. "Where on earth does she even get them? Some haunted attic of despair?"
A laugh bubbled out of me, light and unexpected.
"But don't worry," she added, looping her arm through mine. "I'll fix that in no time."
We stepped into a section of the lounge that felt more like a designer's private studio than a store. Luxurious racks lined the walls, and gold-trimmed fitting rooms shimmered under soft lighting. The assistants greeted Grace with knowing nods.
Whispers floated through the air.
"Isn't that Robin's daughter? Poor child…"
"No, she's not. Are you sure?"
"What is she doing here, and who is that woman beside her?"
I flinched slightly, but Grace pulled me in closer.
"Don't listen to them," she said firmly. "We're here to make you look good. Let them talk."
For the first time, I noticed something strange but comforting, everyone here thought we were sisters. The resemblance wasn't in looks but in energy. Grace walked like she belonged everywhere. And with her, for once, I felt like maybe I did too.
She started handing me dresses one after another. Soft silks, deep velvets, flowing chiffons. The kind of clothes I had only ever seen on the pages of magazines I wasn't allowed to read. We got carried away in conversations and laughter. She kept throwing in ridiculous fashion tips, and I kept trying to guess what decade each dress was from.
It felt... good.
I paused once, catching my reflection in the mirror between outfit changes. My cheeks were flushed from excitement. My smile was real. I hadn't even noticed how happy I'd become.
And Grace, she wasn't just playing dress-up with me. She was teaching me something. That clothes weren't just costumes. They were choices. And I'd never really had one before.
She was so busy styling me, brushing my hair over one shoulder, tugging at seams and sleeves, that for a moment I imagined she was my mother. Not just a stand-in. Not just a "cool aunt." But the kind of mother who saw me. Who wanted me to see myself.
Just as I slipped into the fourth dress, something changed.
The noise around us dimmed. Even Grace went quiet.
I turned slowly toward the mirror.
The dress was simple, soft ivory satin with a high neckline and a subtle flare at the bottom. No sequins, no lace, no drama. But the moment I stood in it, I felt taller. Stronger. Seen.
It didn't wear me I wore it.
I could feel Grace's gaze before she even spoke.
"That's the one," she whispered.
"I love this," I said, my voice trembling with joy. "I... love this."
She stepped behind me, resting her hands lightly on my shoulders. "Melody Brooke... meet the girl you were never allowed to be."
I met my own eyes in the mirror. And for the first time, I didn't feel like someone else's reflection.
I felt like me.