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She dressed quickly, donning a simple dress of light gray with playful loops of black piping at the cuffs and neck, and clattered down the stairs in her serviceable black boots. She’d be going out today, as she was due to make a call to Lady Barrett’s Rothesay Place home, where she’d fit Mrs. Moray and the lady of the household. Both women ranked among Mrs. Sullivan’s clients, and both had made happy marriages, with Lady Barrett expecting her first child with the baronet in five months’ time.

On her way down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Lavinia stuck her head into the workshop.

“Siobhan, could you . . .” She trailed off before she could finish the sentence, because her brother was in the workshop wearing a plain blue coat and standing next to the cutting table. He was folding a piece of inexpensive calico in half under Kelsie’s watchful eye.

When Caleb looked up, there was challenge in his eyes. “I came for breakfast.”

Whether he liked it or not, her brother had heard Lavinia and stayed to show her he understood. It wasn’t an accord or a peace offering, but it was something.

“I was just looking for Siobhan,” Lavinia said slowly.

“He is cutting,” said Siobhan, stepping into view from between several stacked bolts of fabric.

“I see that,” said Lavinia, glancing at Caleb again.

“He says he must if he’s to have any food. Doesn’t he have an occupation?” Siobhan asked.

Sometimes she wondered that herself.

“We’ve so much work and my having to go to dinner yesterday didn’t help. We can use all the extra hands we can get,” she said.

“What can I do?” asked Siobhan.

“Mrs. Moray’s and Lady Barrett’s dresses. Could you package them? I’ll take them directly for their final fittings,” she said.

“It’s a wonder Lady Barrett’s ordering a new dress with her confinement so near,” said Siobhan.

“She’s only four months along, and we discussed a design that could be easily altered after the birth.”

“Confinement? Is this the sort of thing you all speak about up here?” asked her brother.

Siobhan’s mouth pressed into a line as she tried to hold back her laughter. “You’ll be wanting a cup of tea. I’ll see to the gowns.”

Downstairs, Lavinia filled the kettle. She’d just set it on the stove plate to boil when a rap came on the back door. When she opened it, Anika was standing on the step, a thick shawl wrapped tightly around her with the cold condensing her breath.

“Good morning,” said Lavinia.

“Tea,” Anika croaked, and pushed past her into the warm kitchen. “How you can stand this weather, I don’t know.”

Lavinia grinned. “You’re either born with it in your blood or you aren’t.”

“You wouldn’t last a week in the Bombay heat,” Anika grumbled.

“You’re probably right,” said Lavinia, pulling a chair out from the little table where she took her meals when she had only a few moments between appointments.

“Hari doesn’t mind the cold,” Anika continued, sitting down and spreading her hands before the stove. “He never complains about it.”

“Scotland’s in his bones,” said Lavinia with a shrug.

Anika snorted. “He’s a little boy who never stops moving. That’s why he’s never cold. But I didn’t come to talk about the weather.”

“No?” asked Lavinia, pulling down stoneware mugs for their tea.

“What happened at Mr. Wark’s house?” Anika asked.

“He gave us dinner.”

“There must be more than that,” said Anika. “Were any of your clients there? Perhaps someone recognized you and there’s set to be a terrible scandal.”