“She’s doing well,” said Ben.
Mr. Felton nodded, unusually quiet. He probably missed his daughter.
“Someone is tailing the suspect, hoping to catch him when he goes after the next man.”
“Good to hear,” said the night watchman.
“A man will also be surveilling your place. My brother reasoned that, if no one comes looking for Miss Felton, the suspect doesn’t know her identity.” Ben saw the deep lines in the older man’s face soften.
“This business needs to be over, so I can bring my Kitty home.”
Woof!
Terry’s agreement made both men chuckle, easing the tension. Ben plowed ahead, throwing subtlety to the wind.
“I’d like your permission to court your daughter.” He was appalled at the relieved sigh that had forced its way out of his chest. And shocked at Mr. Felton’s reaction.
“It took you long enough,” he said, slapping Ben on the shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’re a solicitor and not a barrister. You wear your heart on your sleeve, son. Or in your eyes, at least.”
Ben grinned. “I can’t deny it. It’s a fault I was born with.”
“Not a fault, my boy. It makes it easier for people to know you speak the truth.”
“Are you giving me your consent, then?” This had been too easy.
“I’m for it, but you’ll have to convince Kitty. She has it in her head that a husband would keep her from doing the things she wants to do. She’s dead set on making of business with her gewgaws.”
“She’s against marriage?” Ben asked, flabbergasted. Didn’t all women want a husband and a family?
“No, nothing like that. She’s just willing to wait for the right partner. You’ll have to prove you’re that man.” Mr. Felton looked at Ben and let out a guffaw, slapping his knee. “You’ve turned as pale as the mornin’ milk.”
“I always thought women?—”
“There’s your first mistake. Don’t try to rationalize a woman’s actions, for their minds don’t work the same as ours. You’ll end up in Bedlam.”
Ben began to laugh, and soon Mr. Felton joined him. “I wish you luck, my boy. Nothing I’d like more than to welcome you to the family.”
Ben’s smile crumpled. Luck? Oh nooooo.
CHAPTER 11
Two days later
Madame Chapelle’s, Clements Lane
Kitty popped the thread in her mouth, closed one eye, and threaded the needle. She was in the workroom of the shop, where she could easily access all the supplies necessary to complete her tasks. Life had taken such an unexpected turn.
In only a few days, she had witnessed a murder, been torn from her home, and become an employee of Madame Chapelle’s. Genie and Lydia treated her like family, and she wanted nothing more than to do well by them. But she would prefer to sleep in her own bed. The workroom was bright with a large window facing the church across the street. The room itself was up a short flight of steps, so it wasn’t at street level. Kitty could keep the curtains and window open without worry of a passerby spying her.
There was a long wooden table used for spreading out and cutting material. Several mannequins wore different orders in progress. Shelves across one wall held small bins of buttons, beads, threads, sequins, paste jewels—anything Kitty could imagine needing for her embellishments. She had proven to be fast and precise with a needle and would be paid according to the work finished.
Genie had decided to provide Kitty with a sketch the next time a client ordered an accessory to match a gown or pelisse. Kitty would be able to use Genie’s own supplies but would work on the piece after shop hours. Lydia had suggested paying by the hour, having Kitty give them an estimate of the time needed to complete a project. They would add their profit to Kitty’s estimate to figure the cost to the customer.
She would be under the aunt and niece’s watchful eye to begin with. Kitty understood and had no qualms with that. Madame Chapelle’s could open impossible doors for her. It already had with this new position as assistant. If only she could share her news with Pa and Joe. Hug Terry to her chest and feel his warm tongue tickling her cheek when he gave her a kiss.
Mr. Cooper would join them for supper tonight. Her breath caught as she thought of his handsome face, the kind, tawny eyes, and that devastating smile. She sighed, remembering their last goodbye. His warm lips against hers, his knuckles feathering her jaw. Her body craving more.
“Must be some fine thoughts running through that pretty head of yours,” said Lydia Peckton, grinning at her. “I remember that expression well.”
