His description settled upon Morgan like the breath of morning, a fresh breeze blowing through her exposed soul. Oh, to be so pursued, so cherished, so exalted by anyone! She rubbedher eyes to prevent even the hint of tears and nodded sidelong at him.
“An excellent plan, but for one flaw.”
He lifted his vacant eyes again from the road. “Flaw?”
“You vowed never to let a woman draw you close. What you describe is the very opposite.”
He grunted. “You asked how Iwouldwoo a woman should I ever choose to do so. I have chosen not to, as you so aptly explained.” He smiled at Morgan. “Yet another way in which you understand me. In which you befriend me.”
Ache and hope fought for supremacy in Morgan’s heart as she reveled in his surprising assessment. “You…you consider me a friend?”
“I do.” He laughed lightly. “Much to my surprise. I have missed such friendship for a very long time. You are reminding me just how much.”
***
Morgan’s head was still spinning from the paradox of friendship shrouded in deceit when they arrived at a non-descript house at the edge of Salisbury. She forced herself to talk to Steadman.
“I thought we sought a tailor. We appear to be calling on an elderly woman for tea and biscuits.”
He shot her anI-know-something-you-don’tsmile. “Excellent, Morgan. And not so off the mark. This happens to be the home of a remarkable tailor who retired from London’s most reputable shop a few years ago and now spends her days reminiscing.”
One word leapt from his reply. “Her? But tailors are men.”
“True. But Mrs. Habersham was the talent behind the business. The selector of fabrics. The designer of suits. The sewer of dreams. And now, she is here with little to do but improve your fortunes.”
Morgan dismounted with dismay and followed Steadman to the door. Trepidation dogged her steps. Not only a tailor, but a woman! Her ruse was doomed. While she spun visions of how to dodge the trap, Steadman rapped on the door. Before Morgan could choose an escape route, an elegant older woman answered the door. Her eyes lit with surprise.
“Why, as I live and breathe! Mr. Drew!”
“Just Steadman. And how are you, Mrs. Habersham?”
He managed to continue a civil conversation with the woman while physically dragging Morgan into the house and found the wherewithal to make introductions and explain their purpose in the process.
“Pish posh,” said Mrs. Habersham to Morgan with a flick of one finger. “A suit is elementary. It will be finished before your return to London.”
“But I don’t…”
Mrs. Habersham was already retrieving a measuring tape—a long strip of unmarked brown paper. “Here, Mr. Brady. Remove your coat and let us begin with a measurement of your chest.”
Morgan crossed her arms instead. “Really. This is unnecessary.”
She stared nails at Mrs. Habersham to make her point, apparently befuddling the woman. Steadman smirked and nodded.
“The boy is shy about his body. Perhaps you should instruct him how to measure himself and notch the paper.”
Mrs. Habersham coughed with affront. “As if a boy could learn my trade in five minutes. Ridiculous.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Steadman. “Let us at least decide how to outfit him and give his reluctance time to thaw.”
“Capital!” Mrs. Habersham clapped her hands. “What do you suggest?”
Steadman and Mrs. Habersham fell into a discussion of men’s clothing as if Morgan had ceased to exist. She simply stood to one side and repeatedly checked the door to make sure it had not moved.
“There we have it,” said Steadman after ten minutes. “Waistcoat of striped maroon and gray. Single-breasted close fit tailcoat, kerseymere. Breeches in lieu of pantaloons, with knee buckles of polished brass. Cotton shirt, plain fronted with ivory buttons, and high collar to mask the lack of a beard. And a new cravat, starched cotton, white. Top boots to complete the ensemble. Quite simple.”
Agitated fear, not interest, drew Morgan into the conversation. “Simple? Simple you say? I tell you, I’ve no need or desire for striped coats and cotton top boots and ivory breeches. I will wear my deplorable suit until I return to London no matter how long the investigation takes. Then, and only then, will I consider the services of a tailor. Until such time, I refuse to be measured, fitted, and dressed as if a simpleton!”
Steadman and Mrs. Habersham stared at Morgan in astonishment as she launched her diatribe. Their expressions were not unlike her own. Her father had sought to make her meek, so her outpouring of mettle came as a great and welcome surprise. For the first time in, well, forever, she felt in possessionof her own destiny. After a few blinks, Steadman’s brows lowered, and he grew a half-grin.
