Page 35 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

“You may stop examining my person and tell me why you are here,” Miss Cooper said.

“I was told you are not feeling well.”

“I see no basket.”

He raised his brows.

“Containing soup and a loaf of bread to coax away my illness.”

“I have something better. There are eight mourning gowns requiring your care. You may attach any embellishments you wish.”

She crossed her arms. “Mr. Sloan, I am no longer at your disposal. I will not be treated as a scullery maid to your establishment. I give you my best work, clean, organize, instruct your other apprentices, all for the favor of your instruction. And you cast aside my efforts by denying the very thing I need most.”

“That is precisely why I’m here. Listen, it is a good thing you were not in the shop today because⁠—”

“You think you can do without me? Well, you promised to teach me in earnest, and I must study the process from the beginning, which cannot happen if you leave me behind.” She continued to berate him for not taking her along to the fitting of the Downsbury women, her hair catching the fading light in glorious color. That was it. She wore no mobcap. Curls haloed her face, so she appeared a devilish angel. The thought tickled his chest and he laughed.

“You find this amusing? We shall see how funny it is when you find the workroom in disarray, no one can find his scissors, and your customers line up furious at your delays.” She slammed the door.

Peter sighed. He had not intentionally avoided bringing Miss Cooper along to the fitting; the family had summoned him at three in the morning. And he wished to offer the education she craved, only he must do so surreptitiously.

He considered knocking again, but convincing her would require more time than he had. Together, they would find a solution, but then, he must get to work on the mourning gowns.

11

Mr. Sloan was an ungrateful, selfish man. Meg could do far more than attach embellishments to a dress. Why had she ever believed she could make headway with a tailor when a mantua maker would have served? Gross miscalculation.

Why had he changed his mind? When he’d promised, it had held all the appearance of sincerity. But no, the real question was why she had believed him. More fool she for beginning to trust him. His decision not to teach her after all did not hurt as much as realizing he had broken her trust.

When she’d learned that morning of his departure for a large family requiring mourning clothes, she had retreated home, where she remained all day. As irritated as she’d been, the day had not gone to waste. Many visitors arrived to leave work or collect and pay for finished orders.

She emptied her pocket onto the kitchen counter. A fine mountain of coins, a small balm to her dark mood.

The room smelled of stew bubbling in the hearth. The floor was swept, dishes were stacked in order, and not a speck of dust lay in any corner. Grace was an angel. Meg would never take for granted the glorious gift of leaving behind worries about cooking or cleaning.

“Are you alright?” Matilde stood in the doorway.

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your part in ordering the house.” Meg’s irritation had nothing to do with her own household. She swallowed her anger and forced a smile.

“I finished hemming the last shift for Mrs. Bosket. I’ll go tidy the shop and return shortly.” Matilde skipped away.

Meg counted the money. With Miss Matilde’s help, the stash grew heavier by the day. She stowed it in its secret place while Matilde swept the floor, then settled in with another of Mrs. Bosket’s gowns to wait for Grace.

“Miss Cooper?” Matilde asked once she’d finished.

“Yes?”

“What do you think of this pattern for Mrs. Smith’s stomacher?” She held up a sketch, roses growing up a trellis.

“Heavens, you’ve a fine hand. That will do splendidly. Now run upstairs and wash for dinner.”

Meg attempted to restore her placidity as she stitched, but she could not forget Mr. Sloan’s infuriating words. The silent rhythm of her needle tightened her growing irritation. A key sounded in the lock. She put away her work and marched toward the kitchen, indignation hot on her tongue.

“Grace?” she called. “Mr. Sloan is a thankless blackguard. I banish my guilt for cheating my contract. You will never believe⁠—”

She burst into the kitchen and met Lady Halverton, Miss Ivy, and Grace. Lady Halverton kissed her on the cheek. Miss Ivy, a longtime friend of Mr. Sloan, Meg now recalled, wore a less amused expression. Grace’s grimace confirmed they had heard every word.

“There you are, Meg. I found Lady Halverton and Miss Ivy searching for you, so I let them in through the kitchen,” Grace said, her expression apologetic.