Of all the things that Hannibal had pictured he might get questioned about, fashion was not even on the list. He wondered if it was just that he was here, alone, or if she had looked at him and seen something in him that he had never seen himself. But he had promised to give his honest opinion, and so he would.
"I think you could wear it to a fancy restaurant, perhaps an evening of theater. It is not too short, but it is not long enough for some things. I have seen this length worn to the opera, but is not what I would deem acceptable to do so." Hannibal put down his tea cup and leaned forward, feeling the fabric between his fingers. "The color of the dress is good for your skin, the fabric is soft enough that it should flow with the smoothness of your hair to give you an ethereal quality some might kill for. If you were to wear your hair up or pulled back in some manner, then accent yourself with long earrings and a dazzling necklace, you would make for quite a sight."
He leaned back again, sipping from his tea cup but keeping his eyes on her. "The answer is no. You would not look like a tart in that."
He could picture her perfectly in the dress. Though he wouldn't say as much out loud. She seemed skittish enough, whoever she was. But brave to ask such things of a stranger.