Page 57 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

Each problem in turn, she would attend to them all. She rolled out of bed, sliding wool-socked feet into house slippers, a chill pricking her skin in the black morning. She pulled a blanket from the bed, its strengthening warmth fortifying against the rigor ahead.

First, Samuel. She rushed to his room to find him asleep and breathing easily. She felt his head. Fevered. Poor child. She went to the kitchen to prepare willow bark tea, hoping it would burn away the fever.

Miss Matilde and Miss Reed were finishing breakfast. Meg complimented their early habits and asked them to meet her in the shop in an hour.

“Didn’t we learn that waking early set us on the best course for the day,” Miss Matilde said, washing her dishes.

Miss Reed caught Meg’s eye with a withering look on behalf of Miss Matilde’s cheerful self-righteousness.

“Where is Grace?”

“With Mr. Sloan, likely forcing cream porridge down his throat,” Miss Reed said.

“I am glad someone is attending him.” A lump crawled up Meg’s throat. “We must be ready for a vigorous few weeks while Mr. Sloan grieves. Between the work we have here and Samuel’s illness, we’ll have to pitch in at Sloan Tailoring as well.”

“Don’t we have the bones for it,” Matilde said on her way up the stairs.

“Miss Reed,” Meg added, “you will tell us if your leg is bothering you.”

As always, Miss Reed brushed the concern aside.

“It is no weakness to take care of yourself,” Meg said. “We are all of us accustomed to work, and I mean to make use of that, but we must be honest about our limits.”

Meg brought tea to Samuel and stayed until he’d consumed the entire cup. Grace appeared with porridge for the boy, who ate a few bites before pushing it aside.

“I’ll read my book now,” Samuel told them.

“You have become quite the scholar, young man.”

“Speaking of, when can I return to school?”

What a question when that school bore responsibility for the illness. “James and I are thinking about that carefully.”

“Will James visit soon?”

This oft repeated question sank cooly to her stomach. Meg forced her features to remain steady. “I am sure he will.”

Samuel propped his book against his legs.

Meg turned to Grace. “How is Mr. Sloan?”

“I straightened up the house, but he didn’t emerge. You’d best get over there.”

Meg nodded. “I must start the day. Samuel, call out should you need anything at all. I am at your disposal, for every tiny thing.”

He grinned at her, a smile that took her back to the days when the two of them relied on one another. “I like school, but it’s nice being here with you.”

“I like it, too.” Meg patted his cheek and left to dress, but the mindless task allowed the very thing she did not wish to contemplate to drop forcefully into her consciousness.

Mr. Sloan fancied her.

Or so she was beginning to believe. He’d sought her company at the wake and gripped her hand like an anchor when his long-standing connections approached. He had not chosen Mr. Ivy, or Charlotte, or the vicar, or friends of his father’s. He’d chosen Meg. She rubbed the phantom imprints of his fingers from the back of her hand.

They had become friends, or at least she considered him a friend. His eyes told her he felt more.

And why not? She liked him. Were it not for her elusive valentine, she might consider Mr. Sloan for a suitor. But there was a valentine, a mystery she found more and more intriguing each week. And if her valentine maintained a strictly friendly interest, she was also preparing to open her shop to rival Mr. Sloan’s, breaching her indenture. The guilt of her deception set on her anew.

She could not undo the past, and the death of his father did not make a good prelude to a confession that would hurt him more deeply. She meant to make whatever amends possible by maintaining his shop in flawless order while he mourned. Then perhaps she could beg his forgiveness.