Page 113 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Murmuring voices drew James from his bedroom. It was seven in the morning. Who on earth would be in the parlor at this hour?

“Lord Halverton finally convinced the tailor to apprentice me.” Meg’s animated voice carried into the corridor.

“You must call him James.” It was his mother. “He is your brother, after all.”

She called him James only when no one else was around.

Meg laughed, a sound James had not heard for a while. “When I went to his shop for my first day of training, Mr. Sloan glared at me like I was vermin and set down his scissors to gape at me. I actually felt my neck to make certain I hadn’t sprouted a second head.”

His sister made jokes?

“He is threatened,” his mother said. “With a female mantua maker in town, the ladies of Gloucestershire will flock to you.”

“I hardly⁠—”

“Not yet. After you finish your apprenticeship. And you must remember, you are a gentlewoman. Think of yourself that way, and the world will treat you thus. Dressmaking is quite a respectable trade for a lady.”

“Yes, my lady.” A smile warmed Meg’s voice.

James hesitated then entered the parlor.

“Mother,” he said, “I did not expect you.”

“I missed the green hills.”

“Of what are the two of you speaking?” he asked.

“As though you were not listening on the other side of the door!”

The ogling Margaret described was no exaggeration, but James recognized admiration in the young tailor’s eyes. Meg was exceptionally pretty.

“I shall leave you, my lady.” Meg rose and curtsied, smiling at James on the way out.

James sat across from his mother and poured himself tea. “You have made a friend of her.”

“I have. I’m rather proud of myself. But I have news. A letter.”

“From Miss Thorpe?”

“Yes, but even better, I have a letter from the captain of HMS Frolic. You must take it to her.”

“You know that is impossible.”

“Rubbish. Look at you, moping around, too blue-deviled to dress properly.”

“It’s not yet eight in the morning, and you just arrived. You have no evidence I am at all unhappy.”

“Business is not happiness. Besides, your young charges are adapting well. And you know from my letters that Louisa has quite successfully spread her wings. It’s time you visit her, and I’m giving you an excuse.”

“Has Charles died?”

“Heavens, no!”

“Why would I deliver a letter in person when it contains nothing sensitive?”

“Pretext, James.”