Page 60 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

At that time, Meg’s mother had a new beau who kept her comfortably with a cook and a housemaid. An ill woman and her child might ruin the situation, so while Samuel’s mother was too unwell to move, Meg kept him quiet. Then his mother died, and Samuel became Meg’s. She’d cared for him through every blessing and hardship when they sunk into poverty in Rosemary Lane.

Lord Halverton found them only a year prior. If Samuel had not been ill when Lord Halverton discovered them, Meg never would have accepted his help. Trust came hard when he resembled her father—a man devoted while it pleased him and cost him nothing.

“I raised him.” She turned to hide the emotion on her face. “I know what he needs and what is best for him. You cannot dictate his life simply because you are wealthy and an earl.” But he could and most probably would.

“Since we are at odds, perhaps we might consider what Samuel wants. He asked when he might return to Gloucester, misses his school chums something fierce—his words.”

“At least we agree that won’t happen.”

“Yes. However, it would keep him close. We might visit the school together, look into the workings and recommend some changes.”

Meg nodded slowly. “I am loathe to trust the institution, but I will consider a visit.” She would certainly prefer Samuel to stay close—if she could guarantee his safety.

18

Peter’s scissors hovered over brown superfine wool, his eyes following Miss Cooper, whose puckered brow glared at a fine example of silk brocade. She stood at a table, moving pieces of a sleeve around. She glanced up, caught his gaze, and her hand moved to her neck before she returned to her work.

He applied himself to the line he’d been cutting, now crooked from inattention. The letter she’d written to her valentine some weeks ago weighed heavy in his breast pocket. He knew why her face appeared tight, why her hands trembled over the cut pieces of a gown. She’d explained her fear of failure to her valentine, but he could not address the matter without betraying himself. He wished her correspondence as regular as his own, that he might receive a weekly letter in return. Lately he thought of her more as his valentine and less as his apprentice, a dynamic and capable woman with whom he wished to spend a little time. Or a great deal of time. But she had no idea that Peter was her valentine, a fact that felt increasingly like deceit.

Peter had sent the apprentices away for an hour with a shilling each for supper at the tavern to thank them for the additional work while he grieved over the past month. He lingered because Miss Cooper remained.

“I should have spent more time with the apprentices today.” He’d planned to, but the papers from Leonore had made time disappear and his imagination soar.

“You are missed, but we understand,” Miss Cooper said, distraction evident in her voice.

She looked up, face pale, mouth slightly open. “I’ve made a terrible mistake. This fabric—I’ve ruined Mrs. Gainsworth’s gown.”

“It cannot be so bad.” He went to her side.

“I assure you, it is.” She pushed the sleeves toward him. “I shall reimburse you.”

“Nonsense. The sleeve is not salvageable, but the bulk of the fabric is usable. Perhaps recut the shoulder piece and add pink silk to the bottom.”

“It is worse than that. I cut the sleeves first and mislaid the pattern. There is not enough width.” With her elbows on the table, she collapsed her head into her hands. She didn’t make a sound, would probably rather swallow glass than weep in front of him.

Damaged silk did not cause this level of sorrow. Peter recognized the shape of her grief. The abyss she’d described in her letter, the conviction that if she failed, she was ruined and would be separated from one she loved.

“Mistakes are part of the trade, something to learn from.” His hand hovered over her back before he allowed himself to touch her. He rested his palm between her shoulder blades, felt the tick of tensing muscles, then the sharp rise and fall of her breath. He did not tell her of the many bolts he had ruined. He hoped his touch would convey what he could not say, that he accepted her, that mistakes don’t alter worth or belonging. Under his hand, her breathing slowed. “It will be alright. It is as much my fault for not being more available.”

“I cut with you standing right there. My foolish pride.”

“My father used to say that mastery is not the absence of mistakes but the willingness to pick up the shears again.”

She lifted her head, not flinching at the inches between them. “Thank you.”

The small smile that followed filled him from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. He could either fold her in his arms or step away. He forced himself to retreat a stride, leaving him cold.

A carriage rumbled to a stop in front of Miss Cooper’s residence. She went to the window.

“It’s Dr. McCully. Please excuse me. I shall return shortly.”

Half an hour later, she had not returned. Peter did what he could to salvage Mrs. Gainsworth’s gown, half his attention on Miss Cooper’s home. A glance out the window told him the doctor had gone.

He knocked on Miss Cooper’s door to no avail. He pounded. He shouted. He lifted the latch and entered. Silence met him.

“Miss Cooper?” The kitchen and parlor were empty. He went upstairs and found a boy played on the floor with a line of wooden soldiers. “Hello there. You must be Samuel. Do you know where Miss Cooper is?”

“She went to find Grace. Would you like to play?” Samuel asked.