He said, “I’m grateful you are working with my nieces.”
“Thank you.” A whisper.
“You are wise and compassionate. I do not know you well, but you seem to understand what is truly important in life.”
“This I cannot claim. But perhaps I have experience with what is... not important. In life.”
“I apologize for my sister,” he said.
When he’d circled the dining room to return for pudding, he’d encountered Timothea, hovering just outside the door. Her face was wet with tears. She was wringing her hands into a knot. He’d whispered a question, but she’d only shaken her head. He’d reached out to her and she cried for a moment against his shoulder.
“No apologies,” Miss Trelayne said.
“Just to be perfectly clear, I’ll not survive your tenure without copious apologies. Ask anyone. It’s the only way I get by.”
“I prefer it. I’ve learned to avoid people who cannot say I’m sorry.”
“One thing I’ve endeavored to do, despite everything, is take responsibility.”
“One thing I’ve endeavored to do is permit myself to move on.” She looked to him and again their eyes locked.
“From what?” he asked, a whisper.
For a long beat, she said nothing—that is, she said nothing with her voice. Her expression was filled with some unnamed intent, and anticipation, and portent.
“From what, Miss Trelayne?” he repeated, still whispering.
“Actually, Your Grace,” she said, pushing to her feet, “I’m afraid I must ask you to excuse me. It’s rather late, is it not? I believe we may have said—that is, surely we’ve reviewed all of the—”
“I’ll ask you again,” he threatened. She couldn’t go now.
“Yes,” she said, taking two steps back. “Perhaps you will ask again.”
Ian rose.
She slipped her arms from his coat and it slid from her shoulders. She held it out. The bulk of it sagged between them. Moonlight refracted off the sheen of her gown, setting her aglow. Her eyes shone turquoise.
He accepted the coat, absorbing the lingering warmth.
“Good night, Your Grace,” she said, backing to the door.
“Wait. What do you have planned next? For the girls.”
She paused. “The modiste,” she said, turning to open the door. “In a day or two. As soon as I can schedule an appointment.”
“Should I plan to come?”
“It’s up to you, really.” She looked back.
I’ll come.The thought popped into his brain, but he said, “Let me know your plan.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” she said and slipped through the doorway and was gone.
Chapter Ten
Drewsmina Trelayne’s Rule of Style and Comportment #4: There is no place for a man in a dressmaker’s shop.
Mrs. Jericka Tavertine (real name “Jane Tooth”) operated a custom dress shop in a cobblestone alley behind Bond Street. Tavertine’s Fine Apparel for Ladies and Girls was Drewsmina’s favorite type of merchant: little known, talented, trustworthy.
