“It is fine, yes?” Mr. Julien said. He beamed. “My Mari is remarkable with a needle.”
Nestled inside the box was a scarlet silk taffeta scarf embroidered with daisies. The stitches were small and even, farbetter than anything Kitty herself had ever produced. She dearly wished to wrap it around her neck, but that would have drawn unwanted attention. Instead, she slipped the box into her pocket and smiled. “Please express my appreciation. Your wife has a rare talent.”
Mr. Julien’s cheeks reddened. He bobbed his head, then gestured to his table. “Have you come seeking anything in particular?”
Kitty’s arms erupted in gooseflesh as she took in his wares. The cream linen would make a lovely shift. Or she might choose the sapphire velvet, its pile so lush, she could almost curl her fingers into it. The weight would make for difficult sewing, but she could practically see herself twirling around on ice-skates wearing a cape of the material.
She quickly banished the indulgent thought. This trip was for a specific purpose. Lady Ferron was an impatient, cheap, snide woman, but she had connections Kitty desperately needed. Any day, her parents might demand she repay the money they’d lent to help her open her shop. Unless her business increased significantly, she would be forced to beg her parents for more time.
That was one of the many reasons she didn’t like owing anyone. Such things were like small tears in the fabric of a relationship. Once started, a tear would follow along a seam and become a ragged hole that required much more time and careful stitching to repair.
“Youmustchoose this one,” a lilting voice said.
Kitty jerked upright. A tall man in a brown, woolen suit stood beside her, stroking the sapphire velvet. His light-brown hair was tucked beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and he held a cane in the crook of his arm. He tilted his head toward Kitty—such piercing, blue eyes!—and pursed his full lips. “Can you not afford it?”
The impudence of the man, to question a stranger’s financial situation in front of a merchant. Kitty would not give him the honor of a response. She turned her head and leaned over the table to inspect an emerald silk twill. It was darker than what she needed, but Lady Ferron was unlikely to notice.
The stranger shuffled closer. “No, definitely not that one. It’s much too plain.” He placed his cane on the table, eliciting a gasp from Mr. Julien, then wrapped an arm about her waist.
An outraged scream lodged in her throat. She tried to squirm away, but the man held her tightly, and the places where he’d touched tingled, as if his hands had slipped beneath her skirts and caressed her skin.
“Yes, you’re much the same size as my mistress,” the man said. “You must trust my instincts. Choose the velvet.”
“Sir!” Mr. Julian shouted. “Unhand Miss Carter!”
She shot him a grateful look. She was entirely unaccustomed to being touched, especially by strangers, and in such an intimate manner.
As she squirmed, the clouds above them opened up, bathing the alley in bright sunlight.
The man uttered an odd hiss, grabbed his cane, and flitted off, leaving her staring at his back, unsure of how she ought to have felt. He’d insulted her, accosted her, and made a mess of Mr. Julien’s wares. It should have been enough to have her temper rising.
“Are you well, Miss Carter?” Mr. Julien asked. He patted his sides ineffectually. “Should I summon a bobby?”
“N-No,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, then tried again. “No, thank you. It was unpleasant, but I am not injured.”
Nor did she want to spend any amount of time that could’ve been occupied working talking to a constable about an impudent man she’d likely never meet again.
Mr. Julien’s heavy eyebrows drew together. He glanced in the direction the man had gone and placed his palms on the table, as if preparing to leap over it and give chase. But then two men strolled closer, and his frown transformed into a welcoming smile.
Not wanting to interrupt other potential customers, she pointed to the fabric she had been considering and wordlessly passed over the price Mr. Julien quoted without even attempting to barter. It was foolish, and she would likely regret it later, but the stranger had unsettled her.
What had that hiss been about? When the sunlight had landed upon his pale, delicate features, he’d winced, as if in pain. As she tried to focus on what he’d looked like, her mind readily supplied details about his cravat and hat, but nothing in between. It was as if his face had become a blur in her memory.
It didn’t matter. There was no need for her to give him a second more of her time.
“…was quite the scandal,” a woman near Kitty said. “I hear the Viscount Grayson’s mistress is now seeking a replacement. Although I cannot fathom any dressmaker brave enough to take that post. Miss Griffith is a harpy.”
Kitty’s pulse pounded in her neck as she left Mr. Julien’s stall, assault forgotten. If she secured the mistress of a lord as a client, she might earn enough to pay her parents. Despite what the woman had said, she would endure any amount of abuse for the right amount of money. She knew well how finicky customers could be, having sat tight-lipped through a full hour of Lady Ferron’s complaining when the woman had visited her shop for her last fitting. If Kitty could manage Lady Ferron without losing her temper, she could handle anyone.
She would have to hurry. Other dressmakers would be vying for this Miss Griffith’s patronage, but she had an idea. The viscount, she guessed, would be paying for Miss Griffith’sdresses, and so she would send a personalized invitation not to Miss Griffith, but to Lord Grayson. It would be easier to find an address for him as well.
A man knocked into her shoulder, causing her to nearly drop her bundle. She curled her arms more securely around it and proceeded with care through the crowd until she reached a stall that sold ladies’ accessories. She had visited this merchant several times, but when Mr. Hendricks finished with another customer and met her gaze, his lip curled beneath his black-and-silver beard. He spat a chunk of tobacco onto the ground, nearly splattering her boots.
“Miss Carter.” The man folded his muscular arms over his chest. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
She straightened. “Pardon?”
“Yer pap owes,” Mr. Hendricks said. “I won’t be offering wares to a family that can’t pay its debts.”
