Page 20 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

“Happened? Was I saying something?”

“You saw Deborah in a carriage but were too timid to speak to her.”

“Ah, yes. I did not disembark in Stinchcombe but followed her all the way to Bristol. Before we parted, Fortune smiled upon me, and I found her apart from her friends. I confessed my folly. She invited me to visit during her holiday, so I remained a week, neither of us thinking what would happen upon our return home.” He scratched his chest. “She had a lovely face, but it wasn’t just that. I knew her happiness was my own. Of course, our parents opposed the match. Tailors and dyers are not always friendly, you know. But after a few months proving our love, our families saw we were in earnest and gave up the dispute. Our marriage bound the guilds and silenced not a few quarrels.”

A fairytale, not the sort of relationship Meg knew. But this romance ended in tragedy: intense love followed by gutting loss. Even when this man could not remember his wife was gone, he was restless without her. An ache wrung Meg’s heart for what he’d lost, a nostalgia as poignant as her childhood longing for a father. Was there a balm for such sorrow?

“What is this?” Mr. Sloan became aware of the board. “We are in the middle of a game. Your move, Miss…”

“My name is Margaret. But remind me, where can these little finials go?”

“Pawns. Are you stalling for time?”

She laughed. Again he explained the rules, and several minutes passed before she understood her position well enough to move.

Mr. Sloan’s fortune in having so agreeable and patient a father touched a sore thread in Meg’s chest. Perhaps his father’s character partly explained his easy manner. She could not alter her parentage, but hard work and whatever lessons appeared along the way might stand in for the affection she had been denied.

6

Peter opened the door quietly in case his father slept.

“…seven times over in the time you are taking. Make your move, young lady.” His father sounded amused rather than anxious. Peter’s shoulders relaxed. Thank the heavens for Miss Henton.

“My name is Margaret.” Not Miss Henton, then. “How can I move when your horse is ready to pounce? Your horse and your tower⁠—”

“Knight and rook. But if they did, you’d lose a mere pawn.”

Peter peered through the partially opened door.

Miss Cooper gasped. “I have it.” A game piece swept across the board. “Bid your queen farewell.” Her partial profile showed delight.

He had never known Miss Cooper to display such a playful spirit, and her vibrancy captivated him.

“Not my queen!” Father clutched his chest and leaned back, gasping in mock pain. Then laughter drained from his face. “My queen is gone,” he rasped. “Where is Deborah?”

Miss Cooper leapt to her feet. “It’s time for tea.” Bending, she kissed Father on his head. He patted the hand she rested on his shoulder.

A queer wistfulness pricked Peter’s heart—strange for Miss Cooper’s seeming part to play in provoking it. He pushed the door open, hoping his presence would not disrupt the merry mood. “Father, I’ve returned.”

Father rose, thankfully recognizing him tonight. “Peter, this is Miss… er… Margaret, our neighbor. Margaret, my son Peter.”

He humored his father and cast a wry smile at his apprentice. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Margaret.”

“Peter.” Miss Cooper’s quick curtsy was a show of sarcasm, but he found himself studying her dress. The embroidery on her stomacher was simple but exquisite.

“Miss Margaret is fetching tea.” His father settled back into his chair, placid smile restored, the loss of his queen forgotten.

Something about her easy interaction with his father had Peter wishing they could forget about the shop, the apprenticeship, and the guild and simply enjoy one another’s company. However, he could not impose upon Miss Cooper, especially at such a late hour. “Father, I am sure Miss Margaret has somewhere to be.”

“She doesn’t,” Father insisted.

“I do not mind, Mr. Sloan.” Miss Cooper slipped past him, a clean scent lingering as she moved toward the kitchen.

He followed. “Where is Miss Henton?”

“She was needed in my kitchen.” Miss Cooper pulled his mother’s apron off a nail and tied it around herself. The apron hadn’t been touched in three years. He watched the pinafore glide around the room, fill a kettle, set it over the trivet. The kitchen came alive around a woman who was not his mother, and Peter didn’t know what to do with his hands. When she found bread and began slicing, he came to his senses.

“I can do that.” He opened his hand for the knife.