“I’m looking for an assistant to help with sewing.” Genie tapped her mouth with a forefinger, the gold of her brown eyes bright as she considered. “Are you in need of work?”
Kitty’s first instinct, because of her present “business venture,” was to say no. But was spitting dried peas at someone’s window the way she wanted to earn a living the rest of her life? Of course not. It was a way to earn coin to help her father. This—her eyes scanned the contents of her basket—was what she longed to do.
“Yes, I am,” she said with conviction.
Genie smiled, showing straight white teeth. “I’ll send Aunt Lydia up with something. We’ll start with some hemming and check your stitches. If you are competent with what I need in an assistant, I’ll hire you. Then we’ll discuss the accessories and see what we can work out.”
Kitty blinked as her mouth gaped. She swallowed, ignoring her pounding heart. “That would be fine,” was all she managed to say without her voice sounding shrill.
When Miss Chapelle left, Kitty fell back against the hard wooden chair. An employee of Madame Chapelle’s? She was confident in her sewing skills, even if it wasn’t her passion.
Mama, I wish you were here.
Shortly after, a knock interrupted her thoughts. Why would Mrs. Peckton knock? If her hands were full, nick ninny! Kitty leapt to the door, tossed it open, then gasped.
“Mr. Cooper,” she said in shock.
“Yes, that’s me,” he said, standing on the top step of the front staircase that led directly to the shop.
Her mouth was open again, so she quickly shut it. “I-I thought you were Mrs. Peckton.”
He grinned, and she noted his blond hair was smoothed back, no spikes to be seen. “I am definitely not an elderly widow.”
“Did he say elderly?” demanded the woman in question, coming up behind Mr. Cooper.
“No.” Mr. Cooper’s eyes widened in shock.
“Yes,” Kitty said at the same time. He tossed her a glance of mock outrage when she disagreed with him. Kitty smirked at the blush creeping up his neck. “Oh, my manners.” She stepped aside so he and Mrs. Peckton could enter.
Mr. Cooper hung his hat on a wall hook, then walked into the kitchen as if he was familiar with the apartment. Kitty followed behind the older—but not elderly—woman, carrying a heavy cerulean-blue velvet gown.
“I’ve brought a project for you,” said Mrs. Peckton. “I’ve already torn out the hem and indicated the new length. I have needles and thread, so you won’t need to use your own. I assume you have your own thimble?”
Kitty nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”
“Let’s save the gratitude until we see your stitches,” she said, all business. “I thought I’d observe your sewing a bit and peruse your crafts while I”—she gave Mr. Cooper a side-glance—“watch.”
“Chaperone, you mean?” asked Mr. Cooper with a smirk. “Shall I make some tea?”
“You speak with your lady, and I’ll make the tea.”
Kitty’s eyes grew wide at the term “your lady,” and she looked at Mr. Cooper, whose flush had spread to his cheeks.
“I’m not his?—”
“I just wanted to check on you, see how you were faring in your new surroundings.”
His smile made the wings flutter in her belly. Perhaps he would visit more while she was here. That would be a bright spot in a cloudy sky. Kitty wanted to know him better.
“Miss Chapelle and Mrs. Peckton have been more than kind.” She picked up the velvet gown and inspected the pulled hem, spreading it out on the table to snip off the frayed edge.
“Thank you again, ma’am,” he said. “Clayton mentioned this solution, but I didn’t want to put anyone out.”
“No thanks needed. You may have found us a new assistant,” said Mrs. Peckton, joining them again at the table while the water heated on the coal stove. “We might owe you a favor.”
“I’d say we’re even if it works out,” agreed Mr. Cooper, his eyes never leaving Kitty as she threaded a needle with dyed thread, then began measuring the hem according to the mark.
As she worked, Kitty told Mrs. Peckton about her hope of making accessories to earn a living. The woman inspected her work and nodded her approval.
