Page 55 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

“Is that how it was for you?”

She picked at her fingernail. “My mother’s death certainly changed my circumstances. Can I see what you are working on?”

They moved to the long table. He watched for her reaction. Her eyes widened, bright with surprise, and a delighted smile flashed across her face.

“Incredible. What will you do with it?”

He merely lifted a shoulder.

“Mr. Sloan, you could make this your livelihood.”

He could not keep the smile from his face. “Only in fancy. To create enough to turn a profit would require a vast and complicated system, years of work I cannot afford. Besides, what would happen to Sloan Tailoring?” With his father gone, the rolls of fabric, the scissors and chalk, the needle and thread seemed a necessary connection to his father.

“Will you show me how you paint the fabric?”

“I have begun testing this method.” He showed her the kalam, soaked the wool in green dye, and began filling in a leaf. “Would you like to try?”

“Never. I fear I may ruin it.”

His stomach fell, an irrational sense she was rejecting more than the pen.

“And you designed the pattern yourself. A wasted talent if the world never sees it.”

“I do not require recognition. It is enough to create it for—” He almost finished with “for one I love.” He glanced at her sharply. A mistake. His eyes surely spoke the truth.

She stepped back, upsetting a stool. “Pardon my clumsiness.” She dipped down and set things to right. “I must go. Thank you for showing me your work.” In a moment she stood at the door. Turning, she said, “I’ll not be far should you require anything.” She paused, studying him as she seemed to reassess something. “Come, let’s go across the street. It’s warm and lively, there is plenty to eat, and I think you need a little society.”

If he required company, he could dine with his apprentices, something he rarely did, knowing young men required time away from their masters. He wished only for Miss Cooper, so he offered his arm. She glanced at it, then slid her hand beneath his. A fullness gathered in his chest at her touch.

“I think my mother would have liked you,” he said.

She stiffened against him. “You do not know me well enough to make such a judgement.”

Inside her warm kitchen, the hearth blazed, the air smelled of thyme and stewed onions. A vase of peonies adorned the table, set with mismatched plates.

The Havenwood girls bustled around the room, setting a new place, taking Peter’s coat, speaking gentle condolences. Miss Cooper’s countenance altered, the tightness around her eyes giving way to smiles and laughter as she joined the other women. Still, she held herself a little apart, the others looking to her for direction and approval. Peter sensed she did not desire the distance but did not know how to close it.

“My brother Samuel is here, recovering from illness,” Miss Cooper told him. “I will check on him and return.”

Miss Reed ladled soup and Miss Matilde sliced crusty bread and brought it to the table.

Miss Cooper returned with Miss Henton, and they all took their places around a table not quite large enough for them. Peter sat next to Miss Cooper, her skirts brushing against his leg. Miss Matilde said grace, calling blessings of comfort upon Peter.

“I enjoyed knowing your father,” Miss Henton said, resting her hand on his arm. “He told me once that he had a little boy, seven-years-old, the smartest lad in Stroud, possibly Gloucestershire. Filled my ears, boasting of his Peter. ‘The little lad can sew a seam and is learning the secrets of the dyehouse. Cleverest boy there ever was.’ ”

Peter’s throat thickened. He couldn’t speak but nodded his appreciation. People tended to remember the more hilarious things his father had done as his illness progressed. The times he wandered into the street wearing nothing but breeches. The customers he was too honest with. “You are five stones heavier, my lady.” It warmed him to hear a different kind of story.

For a time, the room held the sounds of spoons clinking against bowls.

“Flowers came from Mr. Godfry, another of Matilde’s admirers,” Miss Reed said, taking the conversation into a lighter turn.

“Pooh. They are for you.” Matilde slapped the table.

“I thought he admired me, but since he laid eyes upon you it is over.” Miss Reed didn’t seem sorry for it.

“Well, I will return home soon. Mr. Godfry is nothing to me,” Matilde said. “Though don’t I love it here, the clothes and fabric and pretty things.”

“Ladies, you forget we have a visitor. Mr. Sloan does not wish to listen to you prattle about your beaux,” Miss Cooper said.