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Lavinia led Andrew up to the first floor and down the darkened passageway to her workshop built above the salons.

“Here it is,” she said, sweeping her arms out in front of her as though showing off a treasure trove. And in some ways it was. The bolts of fabric for dresses on order leaned against the far wall, tags hanging off them, each with the client’s name, dress description, and deadline printed in neat letters. Two bookshelves were packed with folios stuffed with loose drawings of her designs, and a specialized cabinet full of little drawers and cubbyholes in which to store notions sat across from them. Her pride and joy, however, were the mannequins clad in dresses in various stages of construction, from muslin draping to nearly completed dresses awaiting their final finishing touches. The room was a working testament to fashion, and it was the place she felt most at home.

“This isn’t what I expected,” he said.

“What did you think a dressmaker’s shop would look like?” she asked.

“I didn’t think it would be this big.”

The respect in his voice warmed her more than it probably should’ve. She didn’t need this man’s validation to know that she’d built something beautiful here, but she found she liked hearing it all the same.

“You might as well go by the stove,” she said, pointing to the iron monster that all of the seamstresses huddled around in the depths of winter. Even though it was only September, the nights were already cold and the chill had a tendency to seep through windows.

Still looking about him, Andrew settled himself down in her chair as she bustled around collecting large spools of thread.

“Hold these,” she said, dumping the thread into Andrew’s arms.

He juggled to keep from dropping them as she uncovered the sewing machine closest to the stove and set up two cups, one empty and the other piled with unfilled bobbins.

“You can put those down now,” she said, nodding to the side of the sewing machine’s table.

“This is a bobbin,” she continued, picking up one of the little metal spools. “It carries thread for the sewing machine. Each one needs to be loaded before it can be used.”

He looked down at the bobbins and then up at her. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you, no one enters this workshop who isn’t working. You can thread bobbins.”

He held her gaze for a moment and her cheeks flamed under the intensity of his stare. Still, she refused to look away. This was her workshop, her business, her home. If he wanted to speak to her here, he could do it on her terms.

“How do I thread one?” he finally asked.

“Sit here,” she said, pulling out the stool from the sewing machine.

She picked up one of the spools of thread and slid it onto the speed pin. Then she showed him how to hook the thread so that it ran across the machine. After tying it to an empty bobbin, she popped it onto its mount and pushed down to snap the mechanism into place.

“Now, you’ll need to make sure it’s taut enough that the string catches,” she said, demonstrating how to turn the hand crank on the Singer until the bobbin began to wind. “Once it’s full, snip it, take it off, and start over again.”

“How many of these need to be filled?” he asked.

“Enough that you won’t run out while we’re speaking,” she said.

Eyeing the machine, he gingerly placed his hand on the crank and carefully began to turn it. When the bobbin started to fill, he grunted, determination crossing his features.

With a little smile, Lavinia took up Mrs. Campbell’s dress once again and settled into her chair.

“What is so important that you had to come?” she asked.

“I received your letter.”

Ah. She should’ve guessed as much, except that the events of that morning seemed a lifetime away.

“You can’t attend that dinner party,” he said.

She arched a brow, even though his gaze was still fixed on the bobbin. “I can do whatever I like, Andrew. That’s the benefit of being a widow. I have all the freedom of a married woman without the bother of a husband.”

“You shouldn’t go to that dinner party then,” he amended. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

The arrogance of his surety grated on her. “I would’ve thought you’d be happy. I’m far more effective in Wark’s home than I will be out in public. After Tuesday, I’ll be able to tell you exactly the sort of men he associates with. I might even be able to steal into his study if I’m careful.”