“No,” Fancy said truthfully. “Is it difficult?”
“More difficult than getting an appointment with Madame Rousseau. Is that not so, Madame?”
Aunt Esther turned to the dressmaker, who’d been standing there, Fancy realized, discreetly observing all the while. Madame Rousseau had a handsome face and intelligent eyes that gave the impression of missing little.
“Lady Brambley speaks the truth,” Madame Rousseau said. “My establishment, it is exclusive. But only a select few ofmyclients can secure vouchers to Princess Adelaide’s salon. It is open only to thecrèmeof thecrème de la crème.”
“Andyouwill be amongst them, Francesca.” Aunt Esther’s look of awe turned into one of determination. “The princess’s salons fall on the last Friday of the month…which means we have just over a fortnight to get you ready. We do not have time for shilly-shallying!” The lady turned to the dressmaker. “Madame Rousseau, Francesca needs a new wardrobe, top to bottom, immediately. You will havecarte blanche, of course.”
“Would you please ’elp me, Madame Rousseau?” Fancy asked anxiously. “I ’ave to make myself o’er into a proper lady.”
“In terms of the outer trappings,oui, this is true. The rest, I think, requires no transformation.” Madame Rousseau smiled, then said crisply, “Follow me, ladies. Let us begin the preparations.”
22
Although Severin owned multiple manufactories,he spent the bulk of his time at his main office. His mentor and former business partner, James Hessard, had converted this block of terraced houses close to Petticoat Lane Market into weaving ateliers. The buildings had been built for the craft, the floor to ceiling windows letting in ample natural light. Having lived in dingy, windowless dens for the first half of his life, Severin liked having a view of the sky.
In accordance to the customs of weavers, the lower floors of the buildings were used as residences for the workers. He kept the rents low to make his weavers happy. Happy employees, to his mind, made for enhanced productivity. On the upper floors were the weaving rooms, vast spaces occupied by the looms.
Severin’s office was on the top floor. Antique tapestries hung on the walls, muffling the clacking of the looms outside. The mahogany furnishings that graced his sanctum were of the highest quality. To the left of his large desk was a wall of windows that gave him a bird’s eye view of the bustling Spitalfields markets.
At present, he was sitting in his chair, looking out the window as Dutton, his man-of-business, delivered the monthly report in a droning voice. Typically, he didn’t have difficulty concentrating, but this afternoon his mind was elsewhere. Thoughts of Fancy kept distracting him, along with feelings of guilt.
Since Imogen’s unplanned visit two days ago, he’d been working late every night. It wasn’t just because he had much to catch up on after his hiatus. The truth was he was avoiding his wife.
Fancy deserved better than to be around him when he was in a brooding mood. The state that seeing Imogen often put him in. This time, it had been worse because Imogen had arrived unannounced, taking him off guard with her rare agitation.
I am s-sorry, Knight.She had dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief he’d given her.It is just that your letter…it came as a shock. Are you happy, my dear?
My wife is a fine woman,he’d said gruffly.
I am certain that she is.Imogen had bit her lip, the glimmer in her cornflower blue eyes causing a reflexive tightening in his chest.If only things had been different, thenIcould have been your duchess…
Then Fancy had come in, and Severin had jerked away from Imogen like a criminal caught red-handed. His excuse had been asinine. He didn’t know why he’d made it; he had not done anything wrong. Yet the look on Fancy’s face when she realized who their visitor was had twisted his gut, filled him with a strange panic. For an instant, he’d regretted telling Fancy as much as he had about Imogen…but that was one of the things he valued most about his new wife: her candor and frankness, her acceptance of him and his shortcomings.
Since then, she hadn’t asked him about Imogen’s visit, and for that he was profoundly grateful. Because he, himself, was confused. When Imogen had asked him if he was happy,he hadn’t known how to answer.
What he felt for Fancy wasn’t the adoration he felt for Imogen; he acknowledged that. In his mind, Imogen rested upon a pedestal of perfection whereas Fancy was, well,Fancy. A cheery, tender, and down-to-earth tinker’s daughter with a whimsical streak. Comparing the two women was like comparing apples and oranges and did neither of them justice. Moreover, his reaction to them was different. Imogen elevated his thoughts, made them pure and gallant. She inspired him to be a gentleman.
His thoughts about Fancy, on the other hand, were far from civilized. His desire for his wife was proving insatiable; he hadn’t been this lusty, this needful with any of his former bedpartners. Luckily for him, Fancy seemed to welcome his attentions, and not only was she sweet in bed—God, thetasteof her honey—she was just as sweet out of it.
He could talk to her, share his problems, laugh with her. He’d never had anyone like her in his life before. Given the less than auspicious beginnings of their marriage, they were off to as good a start as any he could imagine.
Then why did Imogen’s visit unsettle me?
“Shall I proceed, Your Grace?”
He snapped his attention back to his man of business. Annoyed at himself for losing track of what the other was saying, he asked, “What are you referring to, Dutton?”
“The order for the Jacquard mechanism, Your Grace.”
Right. An innovation in weaving, the Jacquard mechanism automated operations that previously required skilled weavers to carry out. Attached to a loom, the device consisted of a chain of punched cards that controlled the raising of the warp threads and, thus, the pattern of the fabric. As a result, complex designs including damasks, brocades, and matelassé could be achieved in a fraction of the time and at a lower cost.
Severin’s mentor, Hessard, had resisted the technology, stating that no machine could produce fabrics as exquisite as those created by his skilled weavers. At first, Severin had been willing to follow in his predecessor’s footsteps since their handcrafted silks commanded a hefty sum from a select group of clientele. The latest version of the Jacquard mechanism, however, had changed Severin’s way of thinking. The intricacy and beauty of the fabrics produced by this new generation of technology surpassed anything made by even his most experienced weavers.
Severin had to face facts: he could not compete with other companies using this mechanism. He would have to adapt to the times…and his weavers were not going to like it. In truth, they weren’t wrong to fear that their specialized skills could soon be replaced by a machine. He had to convince them that the wisest course of action was not to resist inevitable change but to find a way to profit from it. He would train his workers in new skills—how to design the patterns and create the Jacquard cards, for instance—but they had to work with him.
And therein lay the crux of the problem. He hadn’t lied when he told Fancy that weavers were a contentious lot, and the most contentious amongst them was a head weaver named William Bodin. Fiery and defiant, Bodin was a natural leader who had the ear of the other workers. He’d made trouble for Severin before, yet he had the backing of his peers, which made it difficult to oust him without causing a work stoppage or, worse, riot. Bodin would no doubt oppose the use of the new Jacquard looms.
