Freya would prefer to remain at home, but she nodded her agreement. She might require her mother’s support for the plan bouncing around in her head. “Should I change?”
“For where we are going, you are still quite acceptable.”
A bit over forty minutes later, they stepped down before a terrace house in Cheapside. “Are we assured of the street, Mr. Tucker?” her mother asked.
“Yes, ma’am. As I understand it, Lord Thompson owns all the houses on this street. He lives in the first and his betrothed runs a seamstress shop out of the attached house until her new shop is available.”
Her mother’s eyebrow rose. “Interesting. Please go ahead and release the knocker, Mr. Tucker,” she instructed.
Freya laced her arm through her mother’s and guided Lady Cunningham’s steps to stand upon the walkway before the house. “Permit me to lead, Mama,” she whispered. “I know you are not accustomed to calling on those in Cheapside.”
“And you are, Child?” her mother accused.
“Not in Cheapside, but I do enter the shops on Bond Street more often than you,” Freya assured. “And then there is my assistance for the needy with the church, which occasionally has me traveling in areas of less refined communities.”
Mr. Tucker quickly returned with a proper butler, who offered them a bow. “If you permit me a moment, my lady, I have sent someone to Macalhey House Two. The ladies inside, generally, do not speak to patrons directly. In fact, the house is furnished only with mismatched furniture stored away for the other properties His Lordship owns. I would not have you shocked by the quarters. If you would prefer, ma’am, I would be happy to see you served tea and cakes in Lord Thompson’s main sitting room, and I will bring the lady in charge of the seamstresses to you. Her name is Miss Whitchurch, and she is His Lordship’s betrothed.”
Freya noted her mother’s slight frown, but whether it was for being served tea in a house in Cheapside or the idea of being handled by Lord Thompson’s butler, who could say. “What do you think, Freya?” her mother unexpectedly inquired.
“I would be appreciative of a cup of tea to take away the chill,” Freya said with as much innocence as she could infuse in her tone. God had answered her prayer, and, if all went well, she might learn more of Lord Graham from those inside.
“Tea, it is, sir,” her mother announced royally.
“Mr. Patterson, ma’am.” He offered her mother his arm, and the gesture was accepted. “Permit me to steady you on the steps, my lady.”
Freya followed, but she noticed the flick of the drape in the other part of the house. She could not be happier with her mother’s choice on this day, for she knew Lord Graham was “brother” to Lord Thompson, a detail Mr. Sustar had evidently not provided her mother when he sent them to Cheapside. If Freya could not connect with Lady Beaufort to learn more of Lord Graham’s plans, perhaps she might learn them from Lord Thompson’s intended. Freya was putting all her faith in Lord Graham’s goodness, as well as his reputation for assisting those in need, and she was assuredly in a quandary.
Mr. Patterson had barely seated them in a very masculine-style sitting room when a beautiful, dark-headed woman rushed through the door. She stopped quickly and curtsied. “Lady Cunningham,” she murmured.
“You know me, girl?” her mother asked.
“Only by appearance, my lady,” the woman answered in refined tones, and Freya instantly knew the woman was Lady Annalise’s friend, Miss Whitchurch. Both women held a frankness in presenting themselves. “I was the seamstress who made the orange-gold velvet swags and the sheer drapes for your alcove in your London home.”
“I see,” Freya’s mother said. “At least I am happy to have come to the correct house.”
The young woman turned to the butler. “Has tea been ordered, Mr. Patterson?”
The butler nodded what appeared to be his approval. “Yes, miss.”
The young woman said before she sat, “I am Miss Whitchurch, Lord Thompson’s intended. His Lordship and I are overseeing an expansion of Mr. Sustar’s facilities, as well as those of other London merchants, using many of the existing buildings in Cheapside to make the area a more productive and refined place to reside and work.”
Freya’s mother frowned. “I was not aware of the magnitude of Lord Thompson’s investments. I had simply called upon Mr. Sustar to order drapes made for my daughter’s new home. She has recently married Lord Dickerson and has been asked by His Lordship to refresh his home so they might entertain more often than he has in the past. Mr. Sustar directed me here.”
Freya noted how Miss Whitchurch relaxed a fraction. “Naturally, we would be happy to assist you. Might you tell me whether the fabrics have already been chosen?”
“Yes, I have made several decisions and Mr. Sustar has graciously presented me with samples of all my choices.”
Again, Freya noted the slight adjustment Miss Whitchurch made, for, evidently, her mother had broken Mr. Sustar’s business rules. If Freya made a guess, she would say Mr. Sustar had purposely sent her mother to Cheapside to place the blame, if there was blame to be had, on someone else.
Thankfully, for Miss Whitchurch’s sake, the butler returned with the tea cart at that very moment. “Should I serve, Miss Whitchurch?” he asked.
“Please, Mr. Patterson,” the woman said as she accepted the portfolio handed over by Freya’s mother and sat on the edge of a nearby chair. Miss Whitchurch examined each small piece of cloth. Some brought a slight frown. The young woman waited until Mr. Patterson had served each of them, though Miss Whitchurch took only a small sip of her tea before she asked, “Have the measurements been taken, my lady?”
“Not officially,” Freya’s mother responded after taking an accompanying sip of her own tea.
Miss Whitchurch said diplomatically, “I would not wish to upset Mr. Sustar by overstepping my authority, but perhaps I might view the areas and see the swatches of cloth in the light of the various rooms. From my experience, certain cloths do not do well in areas of the house often employed by the family. Theyfray quickly with overuse, for example, and tats and tears are common. Drapes and bedding and cloths for tables in the family wing should be those of a tight weave to withstand the wear and tear.”
Freya was instantly impressed. Miss Whitchurch appeared to be an expert, which she knew her mother was not. “I know you have plans,” Freya began cautiously, “for this afternoon, but, if you agree, I could escort Miss Whitchurch to Imelda’s home. Miss Whitchurch and Imelda could converse on the areas Dickerson wishes for my sister to address. Then you and Imelda could make the final decisions. From what I have seen of Lord Dickerson’s tastes, they are much simpler than my father’s.” Which meant Freya’s father had no opinion, considering instead that such matters were his wife’s domain.
