Page 28 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

The first place he visited in Annesbury was the seamstress. Mrs. Chandler was known throughout the county as a talented designer. He’d heard of her being called away to wait on entire families. As her work usually consisted of gowns for the gentry and nobility, he hoped his request would not be seen as a slight.

He entered her shop, a bell jingling merrily above him, and saw the woman herself sitting on a settee with notebook and pencil in hand. A girl sat on the floor near her, playing with a doll. He instantly recognized Janie from the bramble adventure and winked at her when she smiled at him.

“Mr. Devon,” the seamstress said, coming to her feet. “Good afternoon, sir.” She curtsied and he quickly bowed.

“Mrs. Chandler, good afternoon. How are you this cloudy day?”

She did not smile, though he offered up a broad grin of his own. She clasped her hands before her and pressed her lips together a moment before answering. “I am tolerably well, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

One would almost think she did not like him standing there, in her shop. Ignoring the slight frost in her tone, Harry went on cheerily. “I have come with an odd sort of request, Mrs. Chandler. My sisters have spoken highly of your work for years. They say your dresses are finer than any that can be found in London.” It was flattery, but his sisters really had said such things about the woman.

“Most kind of them,” she said, her eyes growing wary behind her spectacles. “They are lovely ladies. I am happy to be thought of when they need something new.”

“It is because of your great talent that I thought to enlist your help with a particularly unique project. I hope you will not see it as an insult, but rather understand I am attempting to pay a compliment to your skills.” Harry took a step closer, but stilled when her frosty expression returned. “You see, I have discovered that the household staff, the women in particular, have been woefully neglected in my absence. Their salaries have remained stagnant, and their uniforms cheaply made. I would not presume to ask you to outfit an entire household, of course, but I am wondering if I might commission you to make aprons for them. Serviceable, yet lovely. If you would consent to this, I would want them to be prepared so they may be given as Boxing Day gifts.”

Her nostrils flared and her chin came up. The lines around her mouth, though they appeared to have been created from years of smiles, deepened with her frown. “You wish for me to create garments for your servants? I think you would find Mr. Harper’s shop the better place to obtain such things.”

Heat flew up his neck and into his ears. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Chandler. I promise I meant no offense, but rather to pay a high compliment to the servants. You see, last year they received second-hand gloves. The year before, paper fans. I only wanted to make up for their neglect by offering a gift of true value. Everyone knows your handiwork is the finest in the county.” He bowed again, deeper than before. “But I have misunderstood what such a commission would mean. I apologize. Please, forgive me for wasting your time.”

When he looked up again, contrite and kicking himself for not asking Christine if his idea had merit, the woman’s expression appeared less affronted and more curious.

“Not at all, Mr. Devon,” she said at last. “I suppose I can understand the gesture.”

He bowed again. “You are most gracious, Mrs. Chandler. Thank you. Good day. And good day to you, Miss Janie.” At least the child’s name had returned to him in time to bid her goodbye.

The little girl, who was frowning up at her grandmother, turned to smile and wave goodbye to him. Harry left with a tip of his hat and the bell ringing mockingly behind him. He hadn’t realized making aprons would be such an affront, but he supposed one did not ask such things of women who had created gowns for countesses.

He went, as she suggested, to the shop owned by Mr. Harper. No bell clanged above the door when he stepped inside, but Mr. Harper and his daughter were at the counter. Behind them on shelves were bolts of cloth, most of somber colors meant to be serviceable rather than eye-catching, Harry imagined.

Miss Harper was a girl of perhaps fifteen. She stepped up to the counter before Harry, her eyebrows raised and an expectant smile appearing on her face. He relaxed somewhat and opened his mouth to greet her, but her father’s voice spoke first.

“Betsy, go on back and inventory the thread. I need to send to London for more black, I think.”

The girl’s smile vanished and she looked to her father with consternation. “Yes, Papa.” She cast a look over her shoulder at Harry, who offered her one last smile, and disappeared behind a curtain into a back room.

Harry turned his attention to Mr. Harper, a tall, reedy man with more gray hair than brown. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harper. I have come today to inquire about the possibility of commissioning aprons for my household servants.” Best to get to the point this time, Harry decided.

“Aprons?” the man asked. “Usually your housekeeper orders the cloth necessary and I deliver it to her. The maids do their own work. It’s cheaper that way.” His eyebrows drew downward and he folded his arms over his chest. “Would you like me to ask the missus what sort of fabric the maids will need for aprons?”

Why such a simple idea for a gift had spiraled into such a complex situation, Harry couldn’t understand. Had he gone about everything wrong? Was the housekeeper supposed to supply the family’s gifts to the servants? It didn’t seem right.

“No,” Harry answered, his spirits drooping. “I suppose I should consult her myself. I had hoped to secure the aprons as boxing day gifts. But perhaps that was impractical. Thank you, Mr. Harper. Good day to you.” Harry bowed, which seemed to take the man by surprise, but he didn’t wait to see if the gesture was returned.

Here he had thought the people of the village would leap at the chance to have his funds, whatever he asked. Obviously, he had been sorely mistaken. His plan to obtain new grooming kits, the finest he could find, for the male members of the household had also withered away to nothing. When he returned to the Gilbert house, he would apply to Christine for better ideas. Boxing Day was weeks and weeks away. There was time to think of something else. Maybe he ought to just give everyone especially large bonuses.

Hopefully, Mr. Carew wouldn’t mind Harry turning up early for their meeting. There was nothing else he could accomplish in the village today, it seemed.

§

Rain came at the most inappropriate moments, of that Daisy felt certain. She stood in the doorway of the inn watching the torrent of water fall from the sky. In her arms she clutched a parcel delivered to the inn with her father’s name upon it. The hand was firm and dark, and she knew it must be from her sister Lily and her husband. All she wanted was to get home swiftly and open it with her father. The thunder rolling overhead mocked her wish most cruelly.

Mr. Ellsworth, a gentleman only a few years older than Daisy, stood at her side. His arms were crossed and he glared at the rain, too. “If I had my carriage,” he said to her, “I would see you home, Miss Ames. But blast it, I rode to the village today.”

“Language, Mr. Ellsworth.” Daisy raised her eyebrows and shook her head at him, but she smiled before he could make an apology. “You must simply be in debt to me another time. As we are both rather stuck today, I will forgive you this once.”

He chuckled and looked behind them at the inn’s common room, where there were a handful of patrons scattered among little square tables. Some drank, others smoked. Daisy had several acquaintances among them. A few were fathers to girls she hoped to one day teach. That thought kept her from wishing to converse with them. It would only make her heart ache, to keep back her dreams still longer. She wouldn’t speak of her desire for a school to the people who needed it most. Not with things so uncertain still.

“How is your family, Mr. Ellsworth?” she asked, attempting to be a good companion.