By Sophie’s elbow, Mrs. Narayan muttered something under her breath, and rolled her eyes.
Miss Narayan and Mr. Samson settled up for the clothes she had purchased, as her aunt stuck the last pin into Sophie and helped her out of the green frock, which now bristled like a hedgehog, waiting for the hand that would transform it back into something safely wearable. The plain brown dress felt even plainer than before—Sophie thought of princesses disguised as kitchen maids, and gossamer gowns that turned back to rags at the stroke of twelve.
Miss Narayan poked her head back behind the screen and looked at Sophie with knowing eyes. “I hope that answered at least some of your questions.”
“About Mr. Samson, certainly,” Sophie replied. But now she had even more things to ask Miss Crewe the next time she—the next time they—
Sophie’s face flamed and she yanked her thoughts away from that precipice.
Miss Narayan cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you are interested in the velvet? It’s lovely.”
As Sophie shook her head, Mrs. Narayan’s patience ran out. “Gitanjali, if you like that boy as much as I think you do, I wish you would let him know it. He brought that dress for you, it was clear as anything.”
“It’s a rare suitor indeed who brings gifts that must be paid for,” Miss Narayan said tartly.
Mrs. Narayan snorted. “Theyalldo that, beti, one way or another.”
“I didn’t leave London and Bapuji just to toss my heart at the first person who comes along,” her niece shot back. “I’m here to prove to you I deserve to be part owner of this shop. A husband will only get in the way.”
Mrs. Narayan snickered. “Who said anything about a husband?”
Her niece looked scandalized. “Aunty Noureen!”
Sophie, at the counter, gave a little cough.
Miss Narayan’s cheeks glowed with embarrassment; her aunt only laughed again. “Youth fades, my dear, and beauty with it—you have both, and you should be getting more use out of them.” She winked at Sophie, and took the green dress to the workroom in the back.
Miss Narayan gave a long-suffering sigh and tallied up Sophie’s purchase.
“You do like Mr. Samson, though?” Sophie asked hesitantly.
Miss Narayan snorted. “What’s not to like?”
Sophie cocked her head. “I suppose a person can betoohandsome,” she said.
Miss Narayan sputtered a laugh at that, and some of the tension in her posture eased. “He isfartoo handsome, and too kind, and—and I find him far too distracting.” She sighed, as her eyes met Sophie’s curiosity with a wry and wistful confession. “And well-off, to boot. His family supply all the best secondhand shops between Carrisford and London, and if they move into manufacturing like the rumors say, they’ll make more money still. All in all, he’s a very eligible young man.” She handed back Sophie’s change and noted the payment in a book. “Either his intentions are less than honorable—in which case, I want no part of him—or his intentions are honorable—and I have no time for him.”
“Why are the prettiest ones always the least convenient?”
Miss Narayan’s lips tilted at the corners. “Maybe if they were convenient they wouldn’t be so pretty?”
Sophie laughed. She left Miss Narayan staring wistfully at the amber velvet, and walked home trying to think of anything but a lying pair of rosebud lips.
Chapter Six
The alterations to the green linen were finished within the week—but the first time Sophie wore the dress was not to Harriet’s next lesson, or to any confrontation with Miss Crewe.
She wore it when Mr. Frampton and his father asked the Roseingraves to tea. Mrs. Roseingrave had to decline, as the ringing in her ears was giving her more trouble than usual; when Sophie and her father left, she was lying down upstairs while Robbie took charge of the shop with solemn sixteen-year-old dignity.
Mr. Augustus Frampton had the same rich brown skin and kindly eyes as his son. Last spring he had retired from King George’s orchestra, but he still wore the eye-catching silk robes in the Turkish style that had brought him so much attention as a young musician new at court. They were less fashionable now than they had been in days past, but they still gleamed with jewel-bright colors and lush embroidery.
Sophie was pleased to see that Miss Mary Slight was also present, chatting with the elder Mr. Frampton with the ease of long acquaintance. Mr. Roseingrave came entirely alive when Mr. William Frampton introduced Miss Slight as the most gifted builder of clockwork mechanisms in Carrisford; the mechanical talk soon overflowed the bounds of all but their own enthusiasm, and the three went out to William’s workshop to see how his latest design for a calculating engine was meant to work.
Sophie poured herself and the elder Mr. Frampton each another cup of tea.
“I am truly sorry your mother could not join us. I heard her sing Susanna at the peak of her career—her expression was wonderfully moving. I should have enjoyed thanking her for the joy she brought to her listeners.”
Sophie’s hands fussed anxiously with her teacup. “Mother often finds it hard to catch conversation, even in small gatherings,” she explained. “She told me once that the sounds get so muddied and jumbled together, it’s as though she were completely, not partially deaf.”
