Page 82 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

His knuckles turned white as he clutched the letters, not to destroy them, but as one might grip a handhold when tripped and falling.

He stood and marched toward the door. Was he going after her? He pivoted and paced the length of the room. His body wanted to follow her, to demand she reconcile the two parts of herself. But he doubted she would impart any new information that could change what had happened. He knew the best of her and the worst.

He dropped into his chair and pressed his palms to his eyes. He recognized this feeling. It had followed him to his mother’s burial, to his father’s, but there was no ritual to accompany this loss—no rosemary, no tolling bells or string of mourners. No priest spoke gentle words at a funeral to bury the hurt of discovering the woman you love was not who you believed her to be. Only himself, sitting alone, mourning the woman who lived across the street.

The following week, Peter emerged from his home for another day of work only for Johnathan to direct him to the office, where he found Lord Halverton standing as if he possessed the whole shop.

“I hope you don’t mind my visit. It is an awkward time”—Lord Halverton nodded toward the window—“but I am anxious to speak with you.”

Peter gestured for him to sit.

Lord Halverton obliged and leaned forward. “Ever since I learned of your interest in chintz, I have wanted to encourage your endeavors and invest in your potential. I trust Meg’s judgement, and she assures me your ability to stamp cotton is beyond reproach. I would like you to consider this offer.” He extricated a few sheets of folded paper from his jacket.

Peter took them and tapped the paper against his palm. “I am not interested.” But it was a lie. He could not wait to discover what Lord Halverton proposed. Still, Peter continued, wishing to vent his hurt. “While The Golden Thimble has compromised my business, all is not lost.”

“And you would disappoint your deceased father should you put your hand to other work? I understand that fear.”

Peter’s feelings on the matter had changed, however. With each day he ruminated on his plans came a growing sense that Peter might step further from the constraints he’d imagined his father and grandfather placed upon him. Neither of those men wished to wall Peter in by false belief but to gain sound judgement and move forward.

“Do me the honor of examining the terms I’ve outlined. I believe your skills hold a great deal of potential.” Lord Halverton stood.

“Is this some scheme of Miss Cooper’s?” Peter asked.

At first glance, one saw a stern, humorless man in Lord Halverton, but his golden eyes held depth and compassion. His expression softened. “It is not. But I can tell you that Meg has not been quite herself since her apprenticeship ended.” He rubbed his chin. “She thinks highly of you.” He bowed and was gone.

She wasn’t herself? She thought highly of him?

With what purpose did Lord Halverton plant those seeds when Meg had delivered a letter not one week prior, reinforcing her selfishness?

Peter entered the work room. “Has anyone seen the book containing patterns for men’s coats?” Peter withdrew a sheet from his pocket and read a list of missing items he’d drafted the evening prior, including his favorite pair of thread snips with Sloan engraved on the side.

“Miss Cooper pinched them. She liked those shears.” Arnold raised his own snips.

“You know that isn’t true.” Peter found he could laugh. “None of you know where they are?”

“Miss Cooper kept order. You may have to cross the street and ask her.” Johnathan lifted a shoulder, a sly look crossing his face.

Well, Peter was curious to see her shop. And why not? She interrupted his work whenever she pleased.

An early fall breeze tousled Peter’s hair as he marched the short distance between his shop and Miss Cooper’s. When had the leaves begun to change? With his head bent over patterns and color, he had not noticed the passing of summer. He pulled the door open and was met with a loud jangling. A bell. She had thought of everything.

Miss Matilde rushed forth. “Mr. Sloan. What a pleasure to see you. You will wish to speak with Mr. Giles, our tailor, who will see to all your needs.” She made as if to lead him to another part of the shop.

“I have no wish to purchase anything. I must speak with your mistress.”

“Yes, of course.” Miss Matilde smiled and retreated.

Left alone, he examined the room. Shelves running across the back wall displayed brilliant fabrics, buttons, ribbons, lace—everything. The Golden Thimble was more than a dressmaker’s shop. It was also a haberdashery and mercer’s shop. The walls were pure white. At intervals throughout the space, tidy displays featured pattern books and dolls clad in the latest fashions. Not a single person sewed by the great window. He had not expected it to appear so different from a tailor’s shop. It was a place primarily for women.

Female voices grew louder on approach. Mrs. Gainsworth tittered alongside Meg’s full laughter. Peter’s stomach dropped, though he had fully expected his childhood friend to become The Golden Thimble’s best customer.

“Peter, it’s been an age. Look what Miss Cooper did for me.” Mrs. Gainsworth demonstrated her treason with a spin and popped a parasol over her head. “I am a picture, am I not? Mr. Gainsworth will love it, I am sure. Well, and how do you do?” She glanced between him and Miss Cooper, a too-innocent smile gracing her face.

“I am well, Jane. I came to ask Miss Cooper if she knows the whereabouts of a few missing items.” Peter held out the list.

“Mr. Sloan. How do you do?” Miss Cooper took the list. “The snips are in the third drawer to the right of the cutting table. The pattern book is in the cupboard where the chalk is stored.” She knew the place of each item.

“You are both attending the Michaelmas festivities, of course. Together, perhaps?” Mrs. Gainsworth leaned on her parasol, smiling like a little devil.