With another sigh, Althea glanced about.
Matilda was correct, Willanton did need a bookshop, or at least a lending library. There was a wall of books in Lord Melcombe’s library, but Althea had not wished to interrupt him and ask if she might borrow a book.
Though, perhaps if she did while they shared tea, it might prompt a discussion not centered on studies. It was something that she’d need to consider.
After checking the list that she had prepared before she left Ambrose Hall, Althea confirmed that she had only one errand remaining, and crossed the street to the modiste,Les Modes de Monique.
Althea had thought it odd that the children would visit the dressmaker. When she was a child, a maid fashioned her clothing from either purchased fabric or dresses no longer worn by her aunt. Though there were a few servants in Ambrose Hall who could make repairs with a needle and thread, there was no longer anyone who could create and sew a dress. Therefore, Lord Melcombe had contacted Monique to inquire about a new wardrobe for his nieces. Had someone in Ambrose Hall been able to sew, the fabric would have still been necessary as the girls did not wish to destroy their mother’s gowns, but save them for the future, when they might be altered for a ball or other important event.
Upon entry into the shop, Althea was delightfully surprised by the array of bolts of material stacked upon shelves. She longed to run her fingers along the silks and satins but refrained. She was not here for herself, and she certainly didn’t need a ballgown.
As with the shops in London, there was a pleasant sitting area before a stove for heating and upon the center table were the latest fashion plates. Althea had spent many hours in such settings, deciding upon what she’d need for each Season, weighing needs against wants, ignoring beautiful rich fabric because it was too bold for a miss, and settling upon more demure tones. One day she’d be able to wear all the colors she wished.
“May I help you?”
Althea glanced to the beautiful blonde coming from behind a curtain, who she could only assume was an assistant to Monique as this woman was too young to own a business.
“I am here to schedule an appointment for measurements and fittings.”
“For yourself?” the woman inquired.
“For the nieces of Viscount Melcombe,” Althea answered. “They can soon leave off black and transition into half-mourning.”
“Are you Miss Claywell,” a voice called as the curtain parted again, revealing a lovely brunette with a smattering of freckles across her nose.
“Yes,” Althea answered. How would anyone know her name?
“I’m Charlotte Hawthorn,” the young woman came forward, smiling brightly with happiness in her grey eyes. She couldn’t be older than eighteen or nineteen and Althea was struck by her beauty. Oh, to be so happy and without a care, Althea inwardly sighed. She’d been much the same when she had been that age.
“Presto…Lord Melcombe has told me about you.”
Althea barely comprehended what Miss Hawthorn was saying, but instead picked up on the familiarity she had with Melcombe as she’d nearly called him by his first name. What were the two to each other?
It was then that the blonde offered a calm smile with a slight dip of her chin. “I am Monique and I own this dress shop.”
Althea stared at her. “You are Monique?”
At that Miss Hawthorn and Monique chuckled.
“You were expecting someone much older?” Monique asked.
Althea’s cheeks burned. “Yes. I was. I apologize for the assumption.”
“It happens often,” she assured Althea. “Let’s discuss the needs of the girls, then schedule an appointment.”
Soon she was seated with Monique and Miss Hawthorn, selecting materials, and deciding on the number of dresses for each.
“No white for Winifred,” Miss Hawthorn announced. “That child can get a stain on her dress simply by walking down the stairs. However, Delia would look lovely in white. As for Teddy, she should have only the darkest of lavenders since she’ll likely be visiting the stables at every opportunity.”
Althea agreed with her assessment, though her stomach churned. Miss Hawthorn spoke with familiarity of not only Lord Melcombe, but the girls as if she were an intimate of the family.
At the chime of a clock, Miss Hawthorn suddenly stood. “Goodness. I must be going. Lord Melcombe and his nieces are to luncheon at my home. I’ll be certain to let him know that you are preparing for their change in wardrobe.” Then in a blink she had her cloak on and was gone from the shop, leaving Althea with many questions. However, she feared asking the one that niggled in the back of her mind and wouldn’t. Did she really wish to know what kind of relation Miss Hawthorn and Melcombe shared? Did Miss Hawthorn already hold his affection?
With that, Althea inwardly prepared to leave his service at the end of their agreed month. As much as she adored the girls and enjoyed being a governess, she simply could not remain and watch while Lord Melcombe courted another. As a lord, he had a duty to marry and would need an heir, and Miss Hawthorne was most likely the woman he’d already chosen.
“I am free the day after tomorrow if you’d like to bring the girls to be measured,” Monique was saying.
“Yes, of course,” Althea answered absently.
