Anne's fingers moved with the practiced efficiency of a woman who had dressed Blackwell ladies for longer than Jocelynn had been alive, drawing the laces tight along the back of the bodice with steady, measured pulls that cinched the stiff whalebone against Jocelynn's ribs.
The dress had been made in Lothian City by a seamstress who had never set foot outside of the march, but Jocelynn had provided her with sketches of the fashions worn by the young noblewomen of Blackwell County, along with instructions that were precise enough to leave the woman little room for interpretation.
The result was something striking enough that the daughter of a count could have been worn to a ball in Blackwell Harbor without seeming out of place, though its construction might have garnered a myriad of whispered comments of both admiration and confusion. Tonight, Jocelynn was certain that it would draw far more than just whispers.
