Page 50 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

Her brief smile faded. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something. I am taking on another boarder from Havenwood. The women under my roof are helping me prepare my shop for opening.”

“I suppose they will become seamstresses when your time here ends?” Of course she would begin preparing for her shop’s opening. “I wish you the best in your preparations.” His heart insisted on this truth while his stomach felt uneasy.

Her brows drew together. Had he mistaken her expression? She showed suspicion, not confusion. Or was it something else entirely—perhaps yearning?

Blast Lucius for their stupid wager. It forced him to imagine feelings where there were none.

“You are spending an awful lot of time in the dye room,” she said. “It is none of my concern, but what are you doing in there?”

Her words felt like a challenge. Perhaps he wasted time, but he was a treasure hunter on the brink of a grand discovery. “I’ll show you.” His step faltered. He was about to reveal his own fears, the very dread he’d spoken of in his letters. But she did not know that, after all.

Her heels clicked behind him. He unlocked the dyehouse and welcomed her in. She covered her nose.

“Dying is dirty and malodorous. When you already have a trade, why engage⁠—”

“—in a filthy and foul-smelling task? Allow me to show you.” His thudding heart reminded him that he was inviting a new level of intimacy and judgement. He cared what she thought, craved her reaction. If she was like an egg, he was like a peach, friendly softness concealing a stone.

He stepped into the dyehouse. The rising sun cast harsh, brilliant light through red cotton hanging to dry near the open windows.

Miss Cooper stilled, her hand dropping from her face. “You did this?” she uttered with the reverence of a prayer. She stepped forward and took the cloth with both hands, stretching it tight. “You said that you… I didn’t imagine…”

“Lucius thinks I should sell the recipe. Or join his venture.”

“Would that please you?”

“I can’t.”

“The vow to your grandfather?”

Peter assented, feeling confined by a promise that had always felt like a sacred gift, made more precious for being his alone.

“Little wonder you spend so much time in here. What an accomplishment.”

“Not one I discovered on my own. My grandfather unraveled the mystery.”

“Your mother would have been pleased, though.”

She would have. The acknowledgement grew in his throat, words his father might have said if he were able.

Miss Cooper examined him. “You are surprising. All those drawings, this color. What can’t you do?” She noticed his illustrations on the table. “You are decorating the fabric?”

“I’ve tried stamping without success, but victory may lie around the corner.”

She leafed through the drawings. “These sketches are lovely. You are talented, Mr. Sloan.”

His heart swelled at the honest praise. She had written that she’d never felt so understood as when reading his letters, and now her praise answered an unspoken need for approbation in return. A smile spread unbidden, and no swiping the back of his hand across his mouth reduced it.

He wanted to send her yards of floral chintz, patterned after the one she’d loved at the cloth fair, fashioned into a gown that might crack her shell. But that lay beyond his skill, and he could never deliver the gift without revealing himself as her valentine. For the first time, Peter found himself wishing the partition separating the master tailor from the anonymous valentine would grow thinner.

15

The following afternoon, after delivering the final gowns of the Downsbury commission, Meg and Mr. Sloan followed the Halvertons’ butler down a white and gold hallway to the drawing room, where Lady Halverton leapt to her feet with a squeal. She kissed Meg’s cheek before grasping Peter’s arm and dragging him to the sofa. The two sat like old friends whilst Meg remained forgotten near the door.

Though aware of Mr. Sloan’s acquaintance with the Halvertons, witnessing his charm at work sent a surprising twist of jealousy through her. She could never compete with his affability. Would anyone patronize her shop when it opened? She must discover what she could offer clients that he could not.

With his dimples on full display, he removed a packet from his breast pocket, and Lady Halverton nearly swooned.

“I met with Leonore,” he said.