— E. Whitmore
Rose stared at the strong scrawled signature. No apology. No excuses. Just statements right on point. In hisopinion. No one considered her…bold. Did they? Stanford had referred to her as shrewish. She preferred adventurous. The old Rose would never have traveled in a coach that appeared as a hackney and allowed amerchantto drive her to the docks. The docks!
She’d obviously lost her wits. But…it was…adventurous… Bold.
Warmth blossomed in her chest. Slowly, she set the note aside and, with shaking fingers, untied the twine from the parcel and pulled back the brown paper. Her breath caught.
The bronze silk.
Not just any silk—thesilk. The one she’d admired at his warehouse. One he’d said was too fine for the Hope House young ladies.
She lifted a portion by its edge. The silk spilled through her fingers like melted sunlight. Rich, shimmering, warm.
Intimate.
A single, sharp pang pierced her chest that stole her breath. He hadn’t sent this parcel as a merchant. He’d sent it as a man who remembered her very reaction.
This was more than a beautiful swath of material. This was a gift.
A most personal gift, the likes of which she’d never received before.
Slowly, she refolded the fabric to the bolt and laid it beside the letter.
“I hate him,” she whispered aloud. She hated how he set her heart pounding. She had no desire in becoming involved with a man such as he.
Yet the color gleamed in the morning light beaming through sheer curtains. Oh, but how tempting to turn this gift into the most beautiful ball gown thetonhad ever seen. She stared fora long moment at the bronze, unable to tear her gaze away. Her own reaction startled and dismayed her. Dropping her face in her palms, she groaned. “Iabsolutelyhate you,” she whispered, not certain to whom she was referring.
Disgusted with herself, she rang for Jane, who appeared almost immediately. “Yes, my lady?” Her gaze went straight to the silk, and she gasped.
Rose moved away from that lethal bolt of material, refusing to touch it again, though how it beckoned. She waved her hand in its direction. “Do something with it. I don’t give a fig what.” Without looking back, she strode from the room and demanded her carriage, heart pounding, breath constricted.
~~~
Rose entered Hope House to find the young women busy in the converted scullery—now a modest workroom—where bolts of fabric from Mr. Whitmore’s delivery lay open and stacked near sheets of muslin marked in chalk ready for cutting.
Gilly knelt nearby, pinning a hem on Kadida, who stood patiently on a short riser with one hand on the small of her lower back. Rose turned from her quickly, blinking back a sting of tears at the poor girl’s plight.
Most times, she was able to keep from dwelling on how Kadida been treated—treated?No. She’d been abused—abused so abysmally, and at only fourteen, her life ahead would be a difficult one. “Good morning,” Rose said, her gaze already moving away and surveying the bits of silk and wool.
“Lady Stanford. Good morning,” Vella returned, with a mouth full of pins. “We’ve just finished fittings for Miss Botha and Miss Clark. Miss Macy is next.”
Kadida stepped from the riser with Gilly’s assistance, both hands now pressed to her lower back. Rose had a singular thought that perhaps Kadida should refrain from attending the tea. Vella snapped her fingers, and the thought fled.
“Right. Come along, Miss Macy. Your turn.”
Inez stood by the door, half shielded by a hanging linen sheet. Her eyes darted to Rose, begging, before shifting to the others, then back down to her feet.
“I’m not…” She swallowed. “I’ve never worn anything like that.”
Gilly, still crouched with a pincushion strapped to her wrist, looked up. “That’s the point, innit?”
Vella patted the riser. “Come now, Miss Macy. It’s just a frock, not a curse.”
Inez appeared frozen.
Rose went to her and took her chapped hand and moved her slowly forward, leading her like a tethered horse—one she wasn’t certain wouldn’t bolt. The muslin was already waiting, seams basted, sleeves pinned.
“You’ll want to remove your outer gown, dear,” Rose said gently. “One of the housemaids can assist.”
