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“I also wanted to give you something. A belated token for Christmas. It has helped to know that I am not alone in this.” Anne fumbled with her reticule and drew out a paper-wrapped parcel.
“Thank you, Your Grace. Or should I say, my co-conspirator.”
Anne laughed. “You know I don’t like to hear that.” But it was true. They were in this together.
Miss Barrow slid her thumb under the edge of the paper and unfolded it from the gift. It was a wooden box that opened to reveal a pair of slim metal cylinders. She lifted one out of the box, her face puzzled.
Anne took it from her. “It’s a pencil, but without wood. There’s a mechanism here that propels the lead forward. The shopkeeper informed me that there is no need to sharpen such a tool.”
Miss Barrow’s face cleared. “How ingenious. This will be marvellously helpful while I work.” She beamed at her. “I don’t suppose you would wish to see it in its proper place—my workroom?”
“I would be delighted.”
Miss Barrow led her downstairs and unlocked a door to a small room that seemed to be more storage than anything else. A table in the center took up most of the space, covered in bits and scraps. Boxes bulged with fabrics along one wall, and shelves held examples of decorative wood and metal samples.
Miss Barrow flipped open a book and thrust it at Anne. “This fabric would be perfect to cover the armchair that I have planned for the corner of your room.”
“It is a pretty enough shade of green.”
“Go on, touch it,” she urged her.
She tugged off her glove and stroked it. The thick downy surface was like touching a kitten, and a sense of pleasure welled up inside her. “Indeed, it is perfect.”
There was a light in Miss Barrow’s eyes as she seemed to study her more closely than the fabric. “Then you must feel this piece of elmwood for the finials that I am designing for the bedposts.”
Anne blinked. The whole point of a bed was the mattress and coverings, so why should she bother with touching the posts as long as theylookedsuitable? But Miss Barrow was already pressing it into her hand, and the satiny gloss finish under her fingertips was lovely. She shucked off her other glove and gripped the wood in both hands. “It’s so smooth.”
She remembered what Miss Barrow had said once about finials being curved like a woman’s body and she bit her lip.
Miss Barrow leaned in behind her, slipping a sample of wallpaper before her. There was a chill in the room, and Anne yearned to press her backside against Miss Barrow’s generous front.Unlike the furnishings, she could well enough imagine how she would feel. Warm. Secure. Those strong arms would wrap around her waist, those clever hands would steal up to squeeze her bosom.
She shivered.
“Cold?” Miss Barrow asked. “I could stoke the fire.”
But the fire was already stoked, deep within her. It needed no encouragement. She cleared her throat. “Please do not trouble yourself on my account.”
“It would be no trouble at all, Your Grace.” That low voice was like a bellows, fanning her flames as she felt the warmth of her breath on her cheek.
“I feel as if I have new eyes,” she said. “I never thought about the details so closely.”
Miss Barrow gave a sharp nod. “Then I will concentrate on textures for your bedchamber if you find that you enjoy them. Now come back upstairs and let us have a cup of tea before your carriage returns to take you home.”
Anne followed her back up the stairs.
“I daresay none of the houses on this street have entertained a duchess before,” Miss Barrow said with a laugh as she settled tea and biscuits between them. “I shall be the talk of Holborn.”
Anne gripped her teacup. “No one can know that I visited,” she said.
“Trust me, the neighbors would have noticed that carriage already, and they would remember that it’s not the first time it’s been down this street.”
“What are you saying to them?”
“The truth. There is no shame in the work that I do. These are good honest people who understand a woman’s need for good honest work.” Miss Barrow raised a brow. “Are you concerned for your reputation, being around someone like me?”
“And what would that mean?” she managed to say.
“I am no stranger to this neighborhood. If a woman leaves my chambers in the evening with a flush on her cheeks, no one thinks it merely from too much wine,” she said dryly.
