Page 40 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

When satisfied, he wrung it out and coiled it into a basin of buttermilk, which would strip the creamy hue left by lye and leave the cloth bright white.

Half an hour remained before the Downsbury carriage arrived for him and Miss Cooper. Perhaps not the wisest invitation, but he wanted to acknowledge her work and could think of no better way. The outing may provide an opportunity to discover what she might like by way of valentines.

He found her in the workroom when he emerged. The room lay in spotless order, and she was scribbling something.

“How do you do, Miss Cooper? You are early this morning.” He stood behind her and saw she was making a list for the apprentices.

“I hope you don’t mind. They work so much better when⁠—”

“When you guide their labor?”

She made a noncommittal noise and continued writing. Though she inserted herself without questioning whether his methods served a purpose, he felt no resentment. Her apprenticeship ended in seven months, and her interference allowed him time in the dyehouse and with his father.

“I will return in a moment,” he said, making for the door to his living space.

“You will make us late.” She did not look up.

Her assertion proved correct. Nearly an hour later, they settled into the roomy carriage, the smell of warm butter and caraway rising from the basket between them.

“Seed cake?” He pointed his chin at the basket.

“Miss Henton made three yesterday as your father took a longer nap than usual. What kept you? Is anything amiss?”

“One does not visit Lady Downsbury in work clothes.” It was half the truth. He had splashed a bit of cologne over his freshly shaved face with thoughts of Miss Cooper.

Her eyes settled over him, examining the impeccable turn of his collarless, single-breasted frock coat of indigo superfine wool with eighteen fabric-covered buttons down the front. He felt her attention move to the ten-inch cuffs and matching waistcoat, the intensity of her regard sliding warmly into his chest.

“You might have warned me.” She smoothed her chestnut linen gown. Her fingers, covered in thin wool gloves, clutched the edges of her cape as if drawing a barrier between them. “Did you eat? There is plenty of cake.”

“I am in fact ravenous. Clever of you to have brought refreshment.” He helped himself. “Your Miss Henton has a talent in the kitchen.”

She nudged the basket toward him and looked out the window.

His best efforts at friendliness did not crack her. He didn’t understand why he wanted her to like him. He was teaching her, taking her all the way to Gloucester because he thought she would enjoy it.

“You grew up in London?” he asked.

“For the most part.”

“Where else?”

“The occasional year or two in a country cottage, here and there.”

Vague. “Do you miss London?”

“Not at all. It is dirty and crowded. I find Stroud suits me, just a wander away to sheep-dotted hills.”

She waxed poetic. He hadn’t expected that. “And your family? You’ve mentioned a brother.”

“Samuel. He studies in Gloucester.”

“That is all the family you have?”

Her manner turned stiff. “What are you doing with a dyehouse at the rear of your workshop?”

“I did not mean to pry.” He knew the rumors that Lord Halverton was a relation but couldn’t recall how. An ill-begotten cousin? He had no use for gossip. “My grandfather was a dyer bent on learning the trick of Turkey red.”

She puffed dismissively.