And so she churned.
In fact, she embraced the process.
Once the mixture cooled, she would divide it, pouring half into another pot before adding more of the scented oils she had prepared earlier. This was her favorite part. The moment when the entire shop—and the small apartment above it—became bathed in rich, luxurious fragrance, the kind normally reserved for royalty.
Because, contrary to common practice, soap did not have to smell like pig fat, cows, or—God forbid—fish.
It could be heavenly. It could transform a mundane task into a ritual of indulgence. It possessed the power to elevate even the simplest life.
And lucky for her, there were plenty of Mayfair residents who had the means—and the good sense—to pay for such a luxury. The discerning ones, at least.
They paid well enough that she and Gilbert never went hungry. Well enough that he could attend a proper school—one that would give him opportunities he never would have had if they’d remained at Woodland Priory.
She had gotten good at that—finding silver linings in every storm cloud.
A quick glance into the large pot confirmed the lye had dissolved completely into the oils, the mixture thickening just as it should. But before she could turn her full attention back to her work, the familiar ringing on the shop’s door rang out.
“Just me, Daisy!”
Gilbert’s bright voice carried through the space, pulling a smile to her lips.
Her brother—not quite ten years old, but already so dependable—never failed to come straight home from school. First, he would run any errands she needed, then settle at the table with his books, scratching away at his studies until it was time for their evening meal.
It was just the two of them now.
But that was enough.
Daisy was more than a sister to him—she was his mother, his father, his guardian. And Gilbert… he was not only her younger brother.
He was her heart.
Aunt Theodora, well into her sixth decade by the time she passed, had taught Daisy everything she knew. Daisy, already enamored with mixing scents and oils, had taken that knowledgeand built upon it—developing new soaps, growing the business, and somehow managing the impossible.
She was making a life for herself and Gilbert.
They were by no means wealthy, but they were comfortable, safe, and happy. Her income covered Gilbert’s education and the costs of maintaining the small building she had inherited—left to her explicitly in Aunt Theodora’s will. A rare independence for a woman, but one her father’s elder sister had ensured she would have.
But Daisy had also brought a small piece of the country with her.
Behind the shop, she had fenced in a tiny courtyard, transforming it into a protected garden where she grew herbs, spices, and fragrant flowers. The deed to her property was vague about who, if anyone, owned the narrow strip of vacant land between the buildings, but since none of her neighbors had claimed it, she had quietly made it her own.
Gilbert came up beside her, and she pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before handing him the paddle.
“Will you stir this while I collect some petals for this batch?”
Rose petals added a special touch to the soaps, and early May was when they bloomed at their best.
“I’ve got it,” Gilbert declared, taking over the stirring with a proud grin. A few streaks of dirt smudged his cheeks—a reminder of the errands he had run—but his face was full, healthy, unlike so many of the lads who lived in the shadows of this city. Furthermore, his eyes, bright with intelligence, met hers with excitement.
“And then I’ll show you my essay! Third highest marks!”
Daisy’s heart swelled. “I knew it was good when you showed it to me,” she said, smiling warmly.
Still beaming, she made her way to the back of the shop, pushing open the door and stepping into the filtered sunlight of her small, carefully tended garden.
The space was by no means vast—she could cross it in fewer than eight steps—but it was enough.
With the high fence and colored netting stretching from the posts to the cottage wall, it remained overlooked, ignored, hidden. Just as she preferred.
