She pressed her hand to her face and stared at Regina in shock, because although Regina had often shouted at her and blamed her for things she had not done, she had never struck her like this before.
Tessa did not look shocked at all.
She smiled, as if Lila's pain was simply the price of getting what she wanted.
"Take it down, Tessa," Regina said calmly, as if nothing had happened.
"Carefully. We do not want to damage it."
Tessa lifted the gown from the dress form with exaggerated care, holding the train over her arm so it would not touch the floor.
Lila tried to step forward, but Regina blocked her path with one arm.
"Do not make a scene," Regina warned in a low voice.
"Your father is away working, and there is no one here to take your side. Behave yourself, or I will throw all your sewing things into the bin."
Then she turned and walked out of the room, Tessa following close behind her with the ivory-and-emerald gown draped over her arms like a prize she had won.
Lila stood alone in the empty space where the gown had been.
The dress form stood bare, the light from the window now falling on nothing but wood and dust.
Her cheek still burned, and her hands were shaking.
She sank down onto the edge of her bed and tried not to cry, because crying would not bring the gown back.
Four months of work were gone in less than five minutes, carried down the stairs by her stepsister.
The competition was in six days, and she had nothing to show the judges.
She thought of London, the scholarship, the internship, and the collection she had dreamed of showing, and for a moment it all seemed impossibly far away, like a story she had told herself to make the long nights easier.
Then, as she wiped her eyes, her gaze fell on the sewing table.
Beneath it, half hidden in shadow, was a small carved cedar box that had belonged to her mother, Anna Bennett.
Lila had kept it there for years, tucked away where Regina and Tessa would not notice it.
She had never opened it in front of anyone, and she had almost forgotten how important it was.
Now, with shaking hands, she knelt down and pulled the box out from under the table.
The wood was smooth and warm, and it still smelled faintly of cedar and lavender, the way her mother's clothes had smelled when Lila was small.
She lifted the little brass latch and opened the lid.
Inside, wrapped in soft cream paper, were swatches of unusual fabric in deep colours Lila had never been able to afford, and beneath them lay a folded sketch.
Lila unfolded it carefully, her breath catching as she saw the design.
It was a gown, but not a safe, pretty gown like the one Tessa had taken.
This one was daring and bold, with a dramatic cut, a bodice that seemed to move like sculpture, and a skirt that could change shape.
It was her mother's secret design, drawn years ago and never shown to anyone, and Lila had studied it in secret many times.
It was far more beautiful, far more original, and far more difficult to make than the stolen dress.
As she looked at it, something warm and fierce rose in her chest, and for the first time since the slap, she smiled.
They had taken the wrong dress.
They had taken the safe dress, the pretty dress, the one anyone could admire at a dinner.
They had no idea what was hidden beneath her sewing table, and they had no idea what she could make when she was truly free to be brave.
Lila stood up, locked her bedroom door, and laid the sketch flat on the table.
The competition was still six days away.
She had six nights, her mother's sketch, her own hands, and a secret no one in this house could steal.
She picked up her needle, threaded it with dark green silk, and began again.
That night, after the house had gone quiet, Lila sat at her sewing table with her mother's sketch spread open in front of her and studied it as if she were reading a letter written just for her.
The paper was cream-coloured and slightly thick, and the lines had been drawn in dark pencil with a confidence Lila recognised at once.
Her mother had not drawn a timid dress.
She had drawn a gown that seemed to move even on paper, with a bodice cut close to the body, a waist that curved like a river bend, and a skirt that fell in long, uneven layers.
The neckline was bold but elegant, the back was open in a graceful line, and the whole design felt alive, as if the woman wearing it would not be asking for permission.
Lila traced the lines with her fingertip and felt her heart beat faster, because she understood now why her mother had kept it hidden.
This was not a dress for a school dinner.
This was a dress for a runway in London.
As she looked closer, she saw the small notes her mother had written in the margins in neat, sloping handwriting.
There were hidden pockets sewn into the seams, deep enough to hold a handkerchief or a small keepsake, and a detachable train that could be unfastened with tiny covered buttons, so the gown could change from grand to graceful in a single movement.
There was a note about colour-changing thread, thread that would look emerald in one light and deep blue in another, and a note about a hand-rolled hem that would make the skirt fall like water instead of stiff fabric.
Lila had never worked with such ideas before, but she could see how they fitted together.
The gown would not just be beautiful.
It would surprise people, and surprise was what the judges in London would remember.
Lila knew she had only six days, and six nights, to make something that would normally take months.
She could not work in the daytime, because Regina would watch her, Tessa would ask questions, and the house would be full of noise and chores.
She would have to work at night, when the house slept, and hide everything during the day.
She made a careful plan in her head, then wrote it down on a small piece of paper she could fold and keep inside the cedar box.
Night one would be for cutting and preparing the fabric.
Night two would be for the bodice and the hidden corsetry that would give the gown its shape.
Night three would be for the skirt and the detachable train.
Night four would be for the embroidery and the colour-changing thread.
Night five would be for the hem, the pockets, and the finishing.
Night six would be for pressing, fitting, and packing the gown for London.
It was a frightening plan, but it was a plan, and that was better than despair.