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The Second Chance Boutique by Louisa LeamanA delightful, warm-hearted story about how the right dress can transform your life
Francessa Delaney has a knack for matching a bride-to-be with the perfect gown. Her shop, The Whispering Dress Boutique, is no ordinary bridal boutique. Every gown is vintage, and the dresses seem to share their stories with Francesca, pointing to which woman needs them next. Fran credits her success to two rules: never covet a dress and never sell a dress that lead to a doomed marriage. But then she finds a beautiful 1950s couture floor-length gown, and her talent veers into obsession. The owner, however, would quiet like the dark past of the dress to remain hidden forever. |
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About the author:LOUISA LEAMAN has a degree in art history and currently writes for the V&A (Victoria and Albert Museum), researching and writing about the museum's archived wedding dresses. It's the stories behind the exquisite dresses in their collection that sparked the idea for the novel. She lives in Epping Forest near London. When she isn't busy writing or rearing three lively children, she paints portraits, goes running and spends far too long browsing in vintage clothing shops.
VISIT LOUISA ONLINE:
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Read an Excerpt
The Whispering Dress is no ordinary wedding dress shop. There are no oversized Pay Here signs. No mass changing rooms crammed with seminaked brides, all eyeing the same white satin fishtail while stealthily noting the merits and pitfalls of one another’s body types. No pitiless sales assistant pressuring for a stretch of the budget or a buy before it’s gone. Above all, there are no rails of white upon white, all dresses squished together, flopping off their hangers, same but different, a monotonous rack of matrimonial sardines. At this shop, every gown sits apart. Every gown is different. Every gown has its story. After all, the most important dress of a woman’s life should surely have something distinct to say.
Outside, a new customer lingers. She stares through the glass panels of the quaint Victorian bay, her eyes wide at the sight of the window display— antique lace, satin slippers, and old leather suitcases signifying honeymoons of old: a drive along the Amalfi Coast in a 1950s Aston Martin or the duplex suite of a 1920s ocean liner. Her thoughts soar, finally hopeful that she might find a dress of character, one that feels special, personal, particular to her. The One.
The interior of the shop convinces her. Everywhere she looks, there is something to admire, an Aladdin’s cave of wedding parapher-nalia: veils, tiaras, silk slippers, and jewels. They hang from the walls, drip from the shelves, or sparkle on dressers, each item carefully dis-played to announce its full splendor. The wooden floors are crowned with a faded Afghan rug, aping the atmosphere of a bohemian country retreat. The beamed ceiling appears to sway with strings of dried white roses and orange blossom flowers, while an enormous art deco chandelier illuminates the central space, its geometric crystal swirl conjuring images of palm courts and jazz quartets. The light bounces from wall to wall, aided by several floor- length mirrors, each one draped with pearls and ribbons and bows. The main stars, however, are the dresses themselves. They occupy their space with such intensity, it’s as if, at any moment, they could spring to life and dance across the floor.
The customer is no expert, but immediately she recognizes a few tropes of twentieth- century fashion. There is the ballerina cut of the ’50s, its nipped waist and white tulle puff promising fairy- tale femininity, then something tall and slinky behind it— she’d like to say ivory satin— echoing the glamour of those Golden Age cinema stars whose names all end in a: Rita, Ava, Mara, Maria. Her eyes fall next on an extravagant ’80s princess gown, an old- fashioned corset- and- bustle affair, then a feathered number in red (which, to her mind, looks barely qualified to be a wedding dress), and finally, within the glow of a lava lamp, she spots something distinctly ’60s, a tiny mini dress with a silver plastic collar…for a wedding? Her mind cartwheels, thrown by the sight of all these twists of wedding dress history, somehow forgotten within the ceaseless full- length- and- strapless- big- gown obsession.
“Welcome,” says a voice, “to the Whispering Dress.”
The shop’s owner, Francesca Delaney, red hair sculpted into an immaculate chignon, ivory skin, floral tea dress, plum lips, and a certain sparkle in her sea- green eyes, steps out from behind a tray of tiaras and smiles warmly.
Outside, a new customer lingers. She stares through the glass panels of the quaint Victorian bay, her eyes wide at the sight of the window display— antique lace, satin slippers, and old leather suitcases signifying honeymoons of old: a drive along the Amalfi Coast in a 1950s Aston Martin or the duplex suite of a 1920s ocean liner. Her thoughts soar, finally hopeful that she might find a dress of character, one that feels special, personal, particular to her. The One.
The interior of the shop convinces her. Everywhere she looks, there is something to admire, an Aladdin’s cave of wedding parapher-nalia: veils, tiaras, silk slippers, and jewels. They hang from the walls, drip from the shelves, or sparkle on dressers, each item carefully dis-played to announce its full splendor. The wooden floors are crowned with a faded Afghan rug, aping the atmosphere of a bohemian country retreat. The beamed ceiling appears to sway with strings of dried white roses and orange blossom flowers, while an enormous art deco chandelier illuminates the central space, its geometric crystal swirl conjuring images of palm courts and jazz quartets. The light bounces from wall to wall, aided by several floor- length mirrors, each one draped with pearls and ribbons and bows. The main stars, however, are the dresses themselves. They occupy their space with such intensity, it’s as if, at any moment, they could spring to life and dance across the floor.
The customer is no expert, but immediately she recognizes a few tropes of twentieth- century fashion. There is the ballerina cut of the ’50s, its nipped waist and white tulle puff promising fairy- tale femininity, then something tall and slinky behind it— she’d like to say ivory satin— echoing the glamour of those Golden Age cinema stars whose names all end in a: Rita, Ava, Mara, Maria. Her eyes fall next on an extravagant ’80s princess gown, an old- fashioned corset- and- bustle affair, then a feathered number in red (which, to her mind, looks barely qualified to be a wedding dress), and finally, within the glow of a lava lamp, she spots something distinctly ’60s, a tiny mini dress with a silver plastic collar…for a wedding? Her mind cartwheels, thrown by the sight of all these twists of wedding dress history, somehow forgotten within the ceaseless full- length- and- strapless- big- gown obsession.
“Welcome,” says a voice, “to the Whispering Dress.”
The shop’s owner, Francesca Delaney, red hair sculpted into an immaculate chignon, ivory skin, floral tea dress, plum lips, and a certain sparkle in her sea- green eyes, steps out from behind a tray of tiaras and smiles warmly.
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