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“Yes?” Curiosity lined his mother’s face.
Damnation. It wouldn’t do to give away his interest or notice, no matter how small. If his mother thought there was something in the wind, she’d manage them more than she already was. He blew out a breath in frustration. “Nevermind. I’d be delighted to accompany Miss Cowan.”
Though the afternoon had been full of errands for his mother and there were enough parcels that he’d soon become overwhelmed and bored, the hours spent in Miss Cowan’s company made the numerous stops tolerable. They’d chatted about innate things as well as the plans his mother was making for her Christmas Eve event. And she’d directed him to the shop that had the shawl his mother had admired.
On the way toward the stretch of street where hired hacks waited, they passed a dress shop. His companion happened to glance at one of the display windows, and her breath caught slightly. When Bartholomew turned his head to see what had tripped her fancy, he frowned, for it was nothing more than a mint green gown in some sort of gauzy material.
“Is that something you wish to have, Miss Cowan?” He had no idea what her wardrobe consisted of, but as of yet, he’d not seen her in any sort of gown that flattered her or would make her stand out against the list of guests his mother had invited.
Her snort of laughter held a touch of self-deprecation. “I think not, Captain. Green certainly isn’t my color and I’m quite sure anything in this shop is far beyond my means.” But there was a longing deep in her brown eyes that tugged at his chest. “However, it’s a beautiful piece. I’m sure some lucky woman will wear it proudly.”
For long moments, Bartholomew stared at the gown then he transferred the packages he held into one hand and put the other one on the door latch. “Let’s go in.”
Her expression was almost comical in its mix of panic and excitement. “Oh, we shouldn’t. Already we’re running behind schedule. You know how your mother detests that.”
“In this moment, Mother can go hang.” For all the years he’d spent on the sea, he’d relied heavily on instinct. Right now, that feeling flared hard. “I’d like to see what sort of clothing this shop holds.” He swung open the door and the cheerful sound of a tin bell announced their intentions of entering.
“Do you wish to buy something for your mother? I’ve memorized the dimensions for gowns and other things in her sizes.”
“No, not for her.” It would be considered the height of scandal, but if he saw something striking, he would purchase it for his mother’s companion. The whys and wherefores of the matter could be mulled out much later… when he was sane once more.
The inside of the tiny shop was pleasant enough, and though it was clearly a woman’s domain, Bartholomew looked about with interest and a shrewd eye. When the shopkeeper—a petite, gray-haired woman with silver-rimmed spectacles—approached, he flashed what he hoped was a charming grin.
“Good afternoon, my good woman. We are in search of a gown suitable for a Christmas Eve event where dancing will feature heavily.” Why he’d decided to play up his mother’s soiree was beyond him, but he couldn’t very well say I’m in need of a gown that will transform my mother’s companion from drab to the envy of every woman who will be in attendance.
The shopkeeper glanced between him and Miss Cowan. “Is the dress for her?” she asked in a voice cultured enough and possessing of a slight French accent.
While a blush raged in Miss Cowan’s cheeks and dread jumped into her eyes, Bartholomew’s grin widened. “Yes, I think perhaps it is.”
“Ah.” She looked Miss Cowan up and down. Once finished, she nodded. “Come.”
His mother’s companion widened her eyes and shot him a frantic glance. “You wouldn’t dare. This is highly improper,” she hissed in a whisper as she trailed after the older woman.
“Aye, but so is arriving at my mother’s Christmas Eve rout looking less than spectacular against everyone she’s invited.”
“I have a brown silk—”
“No.” The shopkeeper shook her head and gave them a backward glance. “Brown is not for you. Your coloring needs life and vibrancy.”
“Vibrancy,” he repeated in a low voice meant for Miss Cowan’s ears only. “No need to hide in my mother’s shadow.”
“You’ll see me into disfavor with her,” she responded in an equally low tone, but the shopkeeper chuckled.
“That largely depends on her mood. Don’t you think?”
“This is what you should wear.” The shopkeeper led them to a workbench in the rear of the shop. Lying on a wooden worktable was a crimson gown of silk. An overskirt of crimson and black in some sort of delicate, sheer material twinkled with tiny clear glass beads. “I can add a wide ribbon at the waist of either gold or perhaps green, but this rich color will set off your hair and work well with your creamy skin.”
“Oh, dear.” The blush on Miss Cowan’s cheeks intensified, much to Bartholomew’s amusement. “A gown like this is well beyond my means. It would no doubt cost a handful of month’s wages.”
A cunning light lit the older woman’s eyes. “No, no. This gown was commissioned by a viscount’s daughter, but she rejected it due to not liking the drape. So if I don’t sell it, I’ve lost money and my hard work is forfeit.” She whisked the gown off the worktable. “Perhaps one fitting, yes? You are a mite shorter than she, so I’d take up the hem, and you’re slimmer so I’ll need to take in the waist.” She glanced between them. “And we’ll want to perhaps enhance the bodice. You’re not well-endowed but with a few alterations, it will look as if you are.”
“Good heavens.” Miss Cowan looked away with flaming cheeks. “How scandalous and embarrassing to even mention such things in front of a man.”
Bartholomew exchanged an amused glance with the shopkeeper. Suddenly, he very much wished to see that gown on Miss Cowan. He studiously ignored peeking at her “not well-endowed” decolletage, but to his way of thinking, she had charm enough to tempt any man. “Let’s you and I discuss cost. Since this is a ready-made garment, I should think the price is lower than a commission.” Then he looked at his madly blushing companion. “Perhaps you should browse for a wrap? Consider this purchase my Christmas gift to you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t accept that. What will people say?” But the way she kept darting her gaze to the gown the shopkeeper held confirmed his decision.
“People won’t know where the gown came from if you don’t tell them.” Then he grinned again as the shopkeeper whisked him into a back room.
