After work.
Having finished her weary war of nerves with Lindsay, Clara collapsed onto the floor as if fainting.
Even when the dogs came over and licked her cheeks all over, she didn’t have the strength to stop them.
So much happened today.
The unexpected appearance of Duke Irnosie.
And the unexpected, golden chance to make a dress.
“Handsome face. I won’t get to see it again until a week from now.”
Clara muttered.
In one week, everything would be decided.
The Irnosie young lady’s dress.
And whether Clara would keep her job.
Clara didn’t think she would lose—at all.
In fact, knowing her opponent was Lindsay Loveless only made her more fired up.
She might finally be able to drive out that pest who tormented the staff.
And if I become the young lady’s exclusive designer, even the higher rent won’t be a problem.
Her time at the atelier had been short, so her salary wouldn’t jump right away—
But maybe life would get a little easier?
“Clarang.”
“Mmff.”
A soft paw landed on Clara’s lips.
A warm, toasty, fragrant scent wafted to her nose.
Clara slit her eyes and flared her nostrils.
Puppy-paw smell… the best…
Was there any scent in the world so addictive?
Someday, when she made plenty of money, Clara’s little dream was to go to a perfumery and have Cookie’s paw scent bottled as perfume.
“What is it, Cookie?”
“I’ve seen that young lady.”
At Cookie’s words, Clara shot upright.
“You mean the Irnosie young lady?!”
“Mm-hm.”
“Wow. Really? Where?”
Cookie’s black lips parted.
“The kid I told you about yesterday—the one I saved!”
“Really? What a small world! Our Cookie, how splendid! You even saved the young lady!”
Clara ruffled Cookie’s curls over and over, petting him.
“Ahem.”
Cookie stood squarely, limbs straight, with pride.
If Clara had been a mercenary sort of person, the moment she heard Cookie’s words…
She would have thought first about squeezing money from Duke Irnosie with this matter.
But all Clara felt was pride in Cookie and relief that the young lady was safe.
The idea of a reward never even crossed her mind.
Ah. Could the duke have seen my name on Cookie’s tag and come to the atelier because of that?
Clara shook her head.
No, come on. Don’t get carried away.
The nobles she’d seen in this world were a lofty breed who cared only for themselves.
Repay a commoner’s kindness by ordering a dress?
Honestly, that was the sort of fanciful story you only found in fairy tales.
When the pretty face of the Irnosie young lady rose in her mind, inspiration surged in Clara.
Her fingers itched to take up a pencil and spill lines and dots across paper.
Clara sat down at the little table.
Cookie brought her a matchbox, and the bulldog Beltran rolled a candle across the floor with his broad face.
“Thanks, you two.”
Clara petted Cookie and Beltran and thanked them.
Beltran yawned widely, as if bothered, then flopped onto his spot, stretching his four legs in every direction and closing his eyes.
Cookie settled quietly at Clara’s side.
Clara lit the short, dwindling wick.
Her hand flew over the pebbly drawing paper as if dancing.
When she had seen the Irnosie young lady at Florite Atelier, the girl was wearing a lively-style dress—
Plush lace, lavish embroidery, a puffed skirt.
That must be her usual taste, right?
In a flash, she sketched ten sheets of a girl model in dresses.
The model’s face even resembled the Irnosie young lady’s.
“Good! If it turns out like this, I’ll win.”
But she felt an odd discomfort.
The sprightly dress design matched the young lady’s looks well—
“But something feels off.”
Clara twisted a lock of hair around her finger, a habit when she was thinking.
“Cookie, what kind of person was the young lady?”
Cookie pondered a moment.
“Quiet, and had refinement.”
“Refinement?”
“Mm. And she seemed uninterested in other humans.”
Uninterested…
“Ah.”
Suddenly, her eyes opened to a new angle.
In the Florite Atelier’s guest salon, the one leading the conversation had been Duke Irnosie.
The young lady hadn’t been interested in her own dress.
Now she understood the discord.
In short—
The dress the young lady had worn,
and the dress Clara had designed, didn’t suit the young lady’s air.
The duke was famous for doting on his sister—granting her anything she asked.
But had the opinion of a girl indifferent to the world really been reflected in the process?
Maybe she just left it all to her brother.
She’d almost made a mistake.
Clothes had to please the one who wore them.
Madame Hudwood had likely designed all along by listening only to the duke.
And Clara, too, had tailored her design to the client, the duke—naturally leading to that sense of mismatch.
Clara reworked the design.
A quiet, fairy-like aura, but with striking, brilliant features.
Colors, ornaments, and lace to match.
Her pencil flew faster than before.
I want to make it now!
Clara looked ready to sprint to the atelier that very instant.
For a while, Clara was so absorbed in making the dress she even skipped meals.
Duke Irnosie had thrown down a blank check for the costs.
Free to buy materials without worrying about money, she was all the more fired up.
But it was impossible to spend all her time on the dress.
She was still an apprentice, not a full designer, and the errands alone were too many.
And since this was her first time making clothes of this world, there were a few trial-and-error stumbles.
But only for a while.
Rumors spread through the atelier that Clara—the newbie who only did cutting—was on the verge of completing a solo, top-tier dress.
It was the day before Florite’s in-house review.
“Are you a genius? Clara, are you a genius?”
Aileen hopped up and down, making a fuss.
On the mannequin hung Clara’s dress, just finished with its final stitching.
The color was a calm yet bright emerald. She had removed all the embroidery from the initial design and replaced the opulence with expensive silk.
She stitched on neat yet luxurious lace, and dotted small ribbon ornaments here and there to heighten the girl’s loveliness.
With emerald ribbons in the hair to match the dress and a pearl necklace, it would be perfect.
“I just learned by watching, really.”
Clara answered with a bashful smile.
She had hardly slept for the sake of making the dress.
In her past life, even then she’d barely survived the pace of handling every stage—development room, sewing room, factory—on her own. This time, it was truly to the point of death.
“But… will it be okay? This is very different from the dresses the Irnosie young lady wore from Madame Hudwood’s. It’s so pretty, but I’m not sure if it will suit her.”
Worry creased Aileen’s brow.
“It’s okay. I designed it with all that in mind.”
“As expected, our Clara has a plan for everything.”
Aileen gave a thumbs-up.
“Meanwhile, Lindsay Loveless…”
Aileen’s mouth drooped as she shook her head.
“Ugh, don’t even start. A leopard can’t change its spots—she tried to work the juniors to the bone again and got caught by the manager, ended up with a warning. No one’s seen her dress. She won’t let anyone look.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? Obviously because it’s shoddy. This time Lindsay Loveless’s true colors will be exposed. I’m sure your dress will be chosen. Ahh, I already feel relieved.”
“Thanks, even if it’s just words. If I really win and chase Senior Lindsay out, let’s have a celebration party.”
“Deal! What shall we eat…”
Click.
Clara slid the key in and locked the workroom door.
As Clara and Aileen headed out to buy lunch, their voices drifted farther from the atelier.
From the shadows behind the door, a woman slipped out quietly.
In her hand was a duplicate key to the workroom Clara used.
Her eyes, bloodshot from a sleepless night, glared as she quietly opened the door and entered.
No one was inside.
Up close, there was only a dress of excellent finish.
Lindsay Loveless gnawed her nails to the quick in front of it.
That Clara Boarne possessed such skill!
To be honest, she was shocked.
Compared to this, the dress she’d made was a child’s toy.
It could hardly be called a finished product.
“I can’t lose—no, I can’t quit. Why should I? Why because of Boarne?”
She’d begged and begged noble relatives just to come up from the countryside to the capital.
If she backed down now, she had nowhere to go.
“I am not going back to that backwater!”
Her eyes fell on the tailoring shears lying on the table.
With trembling hands, she grabbed them.
Then Lindsay walked up to the dress,
and raised the shears high.
Rip—
The sound of tearing cloth rang through the room.
From the darkness, someone watched her dully, eyes half-lidded.
