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Quote by Stephanie Garber

“Tonight, her dress was designed to mimic the flower trellis in her mother's garden, where she'd saved Marisol's wedding. But no one looking at her would think about that. The base of Evangeline's bodice was nude silk, making her look as if she were wrapped in nothing but the crisscrossing cream-velvet ribbons that went to her hips. There, pastel flowers began to appear, growing denser until every inch of her lower skirts were covered in a brilliant clash of silk violets, jewelled peonies, tulle lilies, curling vines, and sprays of gold crawling paisleys.”

Quote by Stephanie Garber

Book:Once Upon a Broken Heart
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Once Upon a Broken Heart

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Stephanie Garber

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“She compromised by stuffing all the shining mass loosely into a pink chenille net. The net matched her foaming mousseline gown, also the color of a pink seashell. Like all fashionably dressed women with unlimited means, Miranda had a special gown for every imaginable function. A walking costume could hardly be worn for midday dinner, still less for tea. A morning négligée, no matter how elaborately be-flounced and beribboned, might never appear after noon even in the privacy of the bedroom. This shell-pink gown had been contrived by the knowing modiste for one purpose only- the gratification of a husband's eye at just such an intimate supper party as Miranda was planning. Its graceful skirt belled but slightly over a petticoat stiffened with horsehair, the tight bodice was cut very low into a heart shape to show the swell of the white breasts. The only trimming were tiny rose velvet bows sewn at random with a careless gaiety as though a swarm of rosy bees had settled on a pink cloud.”

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Book:Dragonwyck
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“The graceful lines of pearl on the bodice transported her to her father’s study, to the newspaper photo of the Brooklyn Bridge. Today, tonight, she was crossing a bridge into another sense of self, an unknown, unexplored woman, a woman incognito, even to herself. And holding those lines of strength was the dove, Analee’s handiwork, the strength of peace holding everything, there on the gown, there at her heart, again on her face, beneath her eyes, allowing her a new vision, though she herself would not be seen. Constance fingered the smooth finish of the silk, this fine fabric given to her by someone who believed in her, who mentored and cared for her, whoever she was as a woman, without the constraints of convention. She turned the gown and gazed at its train, centered with the Gothic arch of the bridge, now converted into a torch of liberty. Everything in this gown spoke of strength and transformation, nothing left behind. There were her children, the girls as shimmering fish swimming freely, even her dead son transformed into light, the light of the bridge into the unknown.”

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Book:The Seamstress of New Orleans
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“Belle was different now too, from the poor, provincial girl she had once been to a queen in her own right. She stood tall in a gown as golden as the sun. It hearkened back to the dress she had worn the night she dined and danced with the Beast, when he had shown her a vision of her father and let her go to him, despite the fact that leaving meant an eternity as a monster. It was hard to understand how much had changed since then, and how far they had come.”

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Book:Rebel Rose
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“After they toweled her off, Emeline grudgingly let them dress her in a pale gold gown that fell to the floor. A trail of delicate poplar leaves was sewn into the bodice. The leaves, stitched in ivory thread, trailed gently along the boatneck collar, as if blown there by a breeze. They were so finely wrought, she could almost see them moving. Next, the women braided her black hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, lacing it through with sprigs of Queen Anne's lace. Last, they took her sliced palm and carefully salved it, then wrapped it tight with slender strips of gauzy white cotton, fastening it with with a golden pin. "There," said the curvy brown attendant, her voice like summer rain. A smile ghosted her soft lips as she turned Emeline to the gilt mirror. "Look." In the polished smoky surface, Emeline found a stranger staring back. Gone was the broke musician who desperately needed new jeans, who wore her grandfather's oversized cardigan to keep him close, and who rarely remembered to brush her hair. The girl standing in the mirror had stepped straight out of a story. Her black eyes were dark pools in her pale face, and her cheekbones were dusted with gold to match her dress. She looked utterly foreign and strange.”

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Book:Edgewood
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