But unfortunately the lady walked away, and Rosamund returned her attention to Mrs. Grimley, who had decided to purchase one of Jameson’s Millinery’s last remaining winter hats. Mrs. Grimley had demanded a lower price because the season was over, and Rosamund had agreed. The hat sported some fur, an indulgence she regretted. That fur had been admired by her patrons, but it made the cost too high for her clientele. That meant her own money had sat in that hat all winter.
“Can I interest you in commissioning a bonnet for the spring garden parties?” she asked while she placed the hat into one of her special boxes. They cost more than she liked, but all the good milliners used them, and her ambitions required she swallow the expense. She had enjoyed choosing the pasteboard with its purple hue that contrasted nicely with her cream, printed label.
“I will think on it,” Mrs. Grimley said. “I am traveling up to London and will be visiting shops there with my sister, but I may still have need of something when I return.”
Rosamund smiled, but her heart sank. She would have never been able to open this shop in London and was grateful that Richmond afforded her the opportunity to start her business. Richmond was very close to London, however, and her best patrons gave her one commission to every five they left in London. One day she would have a fine shop in Mayfair that could charge double what she did in Richmond, but she needed to take matters one step at a time.
“I will look forward to creating a masterpiece for you, should you have that need.” She tied the cord over the top of the box and handed it to Mrs. Grimley. “I’ll have them caps you wanted in a day or so and will send them to your home. They be almost finished.”
She did not find much artistic fun in caps, but she sewed a great many of them. Even her wealthiest patrons felt there was no need to pay London prices for such utilitarian items. Caps kept her shop alive, in fact. That and the commissions that came from London, from old friends like Beatrice.
She thought about the bonnet she had sent there two weeks ago, and pictured Beatrice wearing it in the park. She had invented a new way to make grosgrain rosettes for it, a method she would not share with anyone else. Perhaps one day fine ladies would seek her out in London because of those rosettes.
Mrs. Grimley took her leave. Rosamund tidied up the counter, then turned to rearrange some trim on a shelf. She always let the ends fall out of their boxes and baskets, reflecting the light to show off their color. She used them as lures, hanging down to catch the eye of wealthy fish swimming by.
She was dusting the looking glass set near the window, the one on the table where she fitted hats and bonnets to patrons, when she noticed the lady in the blue pelisse was peering once more through the shop’s window. Rosamund smiled while she dusted, to encourage her to enter.
Enter she did. She paused inside the door, her gaze taking in the shop, moving from the bonnets to the shelves and counter, and finally resting on Rosamund. She looked Rosamund up and down, then stepped closer. “Are you Rosamund Jameson? Did you of late live on Warwick Street in London?”
“Yes. That be me.”
The lady fished a card out of her reticule. “My name is Minerva Radnor. I have been looking for you.”
Rosamund read the card.Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries. “It says here your name is Minerva Hepplewhite.”
“I married, but the office remains in my given name.”
“I think you did not come here because you want a new hat.”
Mrs. Radnor smiled. Her dark eyes brightened. “No, although yours look to be very nice. I have been trying for many months to find you and tell you about a legacy you have received. A substantial legacy.”
* * *
“You do not need to close your shop,” Mrs. Radnor said. “I will wait if someone enters and needs attention.”
“As if I could talk to a patron now.” Rosamund drew the curtains over the window and locked the door. “I can barely breathe.”
“Perhaps some medicinal spirits . . . ?”
Rosamund looked over her shoulder at her guest. “I don’t be needing spirits. Just an explanation . . .”
“Of course.” Mrs. Radnor moved a second chair to the table with the looking glass, so that they could both sit.
“Who would leave me this . . . legacy?”
“The Duke of Hollinburgh.” Mrs. Radnor looked intently at Rosamund. “Did you know him?”
Rosamund took a moment to absorb this astonishing news while she collected her wits. “I was acquainted with him. We had but one conversation.” She realized why Mrs. Radnor was looking at her so closely. “We were not lovers. It was nothing like that, if you be thinking that way.”
“I am not thinking any way. You see, he also left me a legacy. We were not lovers either. In fact, we had never met. I am fascinated that you and he spoke at least once.”
“It wasn’t a long talk, but he learned something about me.” She had confided too much, perhaps, but that conversation had occurred when she was weary and only because he had shown kindness to a friend of hers that he hardly knew. Rosamund had known who he was, and was surprised how easy it was to chat with him. “He was so very kind. He gave me a purse that held ten guineas. That was how I was able to open this shop.”
Mrs. Radnor looked around the shop again. “When did this happen? The only address given in the will was the street in London, but no one there knew of you.”
“I lived there for a mite bit over a year. I took it over from a woman I knew, and I confess we did not inform the owner because he might have increased the rent if we did. I kept to myself as a result. I lived there while I worked at a millinery shop in the City, learning what I could about accounts and finding sources for fabrics, notions, and such. It takes more than a dream to make a go of something like this.”
“And you figured out what it took and set about obtaining it.”
