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“I did not realize he had been to the shop,” Theo teased.
“Oh no, I meant—”
“I know what you meant. Well, you have a most kindhearted uncle, have you not?”
“Indeed he is.” Warmth lit Becky’s words and face.
“Not quite the ogre you once presumed?”
“Not at all.” Her smile faded as her brow puckered.
Theo moved to collect the basket of flowers she had been tending to before, and Becky followed her outside to the roses. Too often she seemed to prod Becky into careless speech, when perhaps the girl could benefit from more times of contemplation and reflection.
Busying herself with stripping off the leaves, Theo said, “We could perhaps go into the village later and see about purchasing the fabric, if you would like.”
The pucker smoothed, and Becky nodded. “Truly, you are so good to me.”
“That I am,” Theo said wryly. “But pray don’t advertise the fact. I should not want to lose my badge as eccentric any time soon.”
Remorse filled her at the stricken look Becky shot her. “Did … did you hear what I said before?”
“I’ve heard many things.”
“To the captain?”
Theo bit her lip. Lie she would not do. “I heard some of your conversation from here, and yes, I heard you mention that some of the villagers regard me as an eccentric. Which is true, we both know, so I do not judge you for that.”
“But you think I should not have spoken.”
She scattered the discarded leaves on the garden beds. “I did not hear the entirety of your conversation, but I will own it is not pleasant to be discussed, especially concerning matters of one’s appearance.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Stapleton. You have been so good to me, and I spoke heedlessly.”
“Well, perhaps if you are aware of this, you shall take heed the next time. Now, I am quite prepared to focus on other things, aren’t you?” Theo held out her hand, which Becky clasped.
“If you say that you’ll forgive me, then yes.”
“Oh, what a silly girl you are. Of course I forgive you.” She gently squeezed her hand. “Now, let us think of this no more, and focus instead on what will be. You preferred the violet? You are approaching half mourning, so that should be thought quite proper.”
Theo carried on in this vein for quite some time, doing her best to push the unpleasantness from her mind—and from the mind of her young charge—as they moved back inside to plan with Mama and Cook just what would prove an elegant repast, before seeking out the village shop.
In the village, she accompanied Becky to the haberdashery and requested the fabric be cut for transporting home. Wooler was not large enough to boast a modiste, but Mama’s talents meant she would ever be considered one of the more stylishly dressed of their acquaintance, and Theo had never seen the need to send out for their clothes to be made, not like others in the village.
Mrs. Crouch, the minister’s wife, entered, offering all and sundry a nod and smile.
After greeting her, Theo encouraged Becky to look at the feathers and ribbons, determining to purchase some so she could help refurbish one of Clara’s bonnets into something more appropriate for a young lady, and thus provide a birthday gift to her.
They were deep in discussions with the shop attendant about which color most exactly matched the chosen fabric when the sound of a carriage drew their attention to the window. Theo’s heart dipped.
Mrs. Cleever was descending, chin lifted and shoulders squared, as if readying for battle.
Perhaps if they hurried their purchases, they might escape her notice. Theo wasn’t sure if she would be quite ready to meet rapier thrust with the battered shield of her emotions.
“Becky, dearest, if we are to drop in the notes of invitation, then we should aim to do so before much more time passes,” she encouraged.
The door opened behind her, and the shop attendant’s “Ah, Mrs. Cleever, how good to see you again” made it apparent they were too late.
Theo nodded, offered a smile when she saw the solicitor’s wife’s head turn their way, then lowered her eyes to pretend interest in Becky’s conundrum about feathers.
