An elderly tailor in a gray waistcoat, a tape measure around his neck, stepped out from behind a tall three-panel mirror.

“Good afternoon, Mrs.

Holloway,” the tailor said.

“We have the silk swatches ready for the girls.”

Rowan stood on the low wooden pedestal while the tailor unrolled a bolt of ice-blue silk against her shoulder.

She checked her watch twice while he pinned the hem.

“Keep your shoulders square, Rowan,” Caroline said softly.

June stood on the second pedestal, watching the tailor’s silver shears cut cleanly through a length of cream satin.