Page 28 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

“But it’s true,” Charlotte cut in. “Aeneas led his people to our great isle when exiled.”

“Is The Iliad a true history? Don’t believe everything you read, sister.”

“The two of you may join the other scholars in the library.” Mrs. Gainsworth laughed.

A footman in immaculate livery stepped forward with a mouth trumpet to his lips, silencing the debate and the crowd alike. Those who had deposited their names in the slotted boxes left in the church were to come forward and collect a name.

Lucius shoved a card at Peter, who slid it unseen into his breast pocket. He watched his friend descend the steps, grinning at every woman he passed. Peter made his way to the balustrade and looked over the crowd. Alone, he removed the slip of paper and unfolded it.

Miss Margaret Cooper.

He stared at the name, willing it to transform into any other. Impossible. The woman who had hounded him relentlessly for an apprenticeship, organized his shop behind his back, and bounded into his workplace at an unnatural hour, demanding help with her gown. That night he’d glimpsed a fissure in her armor, her desperation palpable. Her chin had quivered, and he’d felt the frustration of wanting something beyond reach.

He glanced up. His eyes followed the trail of light until it landed on Miss Cooper, bathed in the glow of a hanging lantern, surrounded by women. She laughed and then extended her arm and twisted it this way, then that, showing them the cuff. She directed their attention to the hem. As one, the ladies bent to inspect the delicate, layered lace that puffed out in a soft frill, almost like fur.

She looked up. Her eyes caught his. She seemed to flinch as his chest tightened. How had he not noticed she was beautiful? He’d known she was pretty, a danger to the apprentices, absolutely. But that was not where the greatest peril lay. He’d agreed to truly teach her, requiring them to spend more time in close proximity.

She smiled at him and nodded, his valentine.

9

Grace’s sharp elbow dug into Meg’s rib.

“What is that for?” Meg asked.

“Go get your valentine.”

“I didn’t enter my name.” Meg turned to face Grace, mostly to avoid the hovering presence of Mr. Quincy, who stood near but never close enough to acknowledge. Why did he take an interest in her? Today, he dressed in vivid green from head to toe, like a spring leaf. A costume, perhaps?

“Well, it’s in there.” Grace winked.

“Grace. This is how you thank me for making you literate?”

“All you do is work. You need something fun.”

“Like I need a blister.”

Grace took her by the wrist and pulled her into a line of young, giggling misses. As soon as Mr. Lucius Ivy handed Grace a name from the box of cards, she squeezed Meg’s hand and disappeared into the glowing evening.

Mr. Ivy oft visited Sloan Tailoring to speak with Mr. Sloan, but Meg had rarely spoken to him. He approached her, extending a card. “Miss Cooper. I am pleased to see you. My sister Charlotte is here somewhere, and I am sure the two of you would get on.”

Meg doubted that. Other than Grace, she did not have friends; but she liked the idea of them.

“I hoped to introduce you.” His eyes searched the crowd. “There she is.” Lucius tucked the box of names under his arm and lifted his hands to his mouth. “Charlotte!” A young lady clad in emerald leaves and blue stockings bounced toward them.

“Miss Cooper, this is my sister, Miss Charlotte Ivy.”

“How do you do?” Meg asked.

Miss Ivy greeted her with a bright smile and a little twist that made the greenery of her skirt flare. She seemed the kind of woman that scarcely held still.

“Margaret, dear!” Lady Halverton cried from behind them.

Meg greeted Lady Halverton and introduced Miss Ivy.

“Oh.” Lady Halverton took Miss Ivy’s hand. “I have seen you at Havenwood.”

Miss Ivy brightened and said, “Indeed. I am presenting next month.”