by Kelly Bowen
He sipped the tea, sloshing the spices and scents on his tongue. “Carruthers, I admire the way you use tea to discuss things.”
The man took his copper pot and poured more liquid into his cup. “Warm tea can coat the driest of tongues. I believe it can extinguish heartache and confusion.”
“I’m not confused or heartbroken.” August took a sip, the hot fragrant liquid landing in his empty, lonely, thinking-of-her stomach. “Well, I’m not heartbroken.”
“The heart breaks for many reasons. You’re still mourning the loss of your parents. You’ve had to take on enormous responsibility caring for three sisters. Then the disappointment of a rushed marriage for your sister. This is a different challenge, and it means more loss… of your art and possessions.”
August didn’t like thinking of loss or death, or burial, or goodbyes. He picked up his cup again, but then put it back on the saucer. “Loss is a perspective. This young woman, Miss Nettles, she gives so much of herself to every one of her clients, the deserving and the less than deserving. She works harder than anyone I’ve seen. She needs someone to pour into her.”
The solicitor held his cup. Such a fragile thing in the man’s large hands. “Then what is the problem?”
“She won’t take my money directly. She wants no partner, but I’ve hired her for her talents to hopefully gain Haverthon and his fiancée’s attention. I want them to choose Miss Nettles as the wedding gown designer.”
“Your brother is going to help? The earl who did not help with your sister’s plight.” Carruthers shook his head “I’m not sure of this plan.”
“I’ve convinced Miss Nettles to be my guest on outings about town. Every outfit she wears will gain their attention. Haverthon will want the best, the newest, the talked about designer. His bride will too.”
“Gaining attention is not the same as the couple selecting Miss Nettles as the wedding gown modiste. I see your problem.”
“Miss Nettles works for those in delicate straits and …less delicate women. I want her to have more.”
Carruthers sat with arms folded across his waistcoat, an indigo silk with gold and orange threads about the buttonholes. More color than he’d seen on the conservative fellow.
“It is nice to hear that you want Miss Nettles to have more. Whether you complete this challenge or not, it is good to gain this insight.”
“But if Haverthon doesn’t choose Miss Nettles, she doesn’t win.”
“For a man with three sisters, you don’t seem to understand what wins with women.”
“Last time I noted, your sisters are in Assam, India. And you too are a bachelor, sir. ”
“My misfortune, but that part may soon change.” Carruthers leaned forward in his chair. “What happens if you set this high expectation and Haverthon and his fiancée refuse to do business with Miss Nettles? Some would rather a black maid than a business partner.”
August had forgotten about that.
But she was different than other women and so talented. It shouldn’t matter. “Haverthon likes to be above it all. An exclusive talent should draw him.”
“Mr. Sedgewick, you are a persuasive fellow. You’ve cleverly come up with a way to invest in her business. Be prepared to bolster her if her dreams don’t come true. I believe it is best to invest in a woman’s dreams, even if they are the wrong ones.”
“It’s worth trying, Carruthers. There is fun in trying. Serious minded people need fun, too.”
“At what cost, Mr. Sedgewick? I thought fees were the bane of your existence. But you are right, the benefactor is very specific about the amount and the sacrifice of selling your art, but not the specific pieces. So your approach is right, I now see your heart is too.”
“The benefactor must know me. Is it the earl? Has my brother figured out another way of torturing me? Is that why you are warning me? I can’t let Miss Nettles be hurt.”
Frowning harder than he’d ever seen, the solicitor stared at him. “I cannot reveal the benefactor’s identity. My integrity shall not be impugned.”
“Carruthers, I’m not meaning to do that. There is just a familiarity to this. Miss Nettles being the wedding gown designer for my sister.” Haverthon’s mistress? August’s art?
He drained his cup and looked at the bottom for answers in the tea dregs. “This all feels very close.”
“Sedgewick, send me paid invoices that show your investments into Miss Nettles, and I will account for them. I will credit you with twenty-five hundred pounds for this painting.”
The solicitor opened his drawer and counted out the coins. “If it sells for more, I will credit your account. If it sells for less, you will have to sell more possessions. When do you meet with Miss Nettles again?
“This afternoon.”
“Good, sir. You have two weeks remaining for this challenge. Make each moment count.”
August intended to. He scooped the money into his pocket. With a final look at his lovely painting, he shook Carruthers’ hand and headed out of the private office.
The solicitor’s kitty sat on the bench purring as if she wanted August to pet her.
There was no time with the preparations he needed to make before meeting Miss Nettles.
“Be open to the process, Marigold. You’ll find another patron.”
Marigold meowed, and August rubbed her head anyway.
He looked at his watch, he needed to hurry.
Late was something he didn’t want to be. Miss Nettles needed a benefactor she could count upon. And if he could count on Haverthon’s vanity, everything would be perfect.
10
A Carriage Ride
Mr. Sedgewick arrived at her warehouse on time. Two o’clock sharp.
Mary-Anne sent notes to her clients, the ones whose designs could be postponed a week and had her assistant, the widow who helped her out upon occasion, take measurements of the clients who could not.
She stepped out onto the pavement.
“Ready for our first strategic outing, Miss Nettles?” He doffed his hat and took her hand. “Your assignment is well done. Blue suits you.”
She wore a robin egg blue carriage dress with a wide shawl collar that swept into a three-tier cape over her shoulders. It had double breasted buttons and gathers at the high waist. The vision was sleek and modern. Mary-Anne thought she’d created the perfect dress to be seen from a carriage window.
He stared and smiled at her, a full smile, wide lovely eyes.
“Where is your carriage?”
“This, Miss Nettles, is a landau.”
“I know, but it looks very big and expensive. You must have paid a fortune.”
Fingers winding their way to her wrist, he led her closer to the landau. “If I’d paid for it, you would be right.”
“This is a borrowed vehicle?”
“Yes, Haverthon wasn’t using this particular one. My father had two. So I borrowed the lesser.”
“Efficient, sir.”
“And sort of a frugal choice.”
She started to grab her skirt to make the step up into the landau, but the size of it seemed so big. This carriage was wide and open—meant to show everyone, everything.
She stopped, her short boots drumming to a halt.
“You look lovely, my dear. Are you feeling well?” Mr. Sedgewick’s voice surrounded her. He was right behind her, tall and close, close enough to catch her if she fell, to stop her if she turned to run.
Mary-Anne didn’t move. She fingered the gathers at her waistline.
“I particularly like your bonnet, my dear. Styled like a military shako hat. Not sure if I should salute or address you in some other fashion.
“I am glad you like it.”
She still didn't move.
“We could keep looking at the landau or get in it.”
“It's a fine looking carriage, onyx?”
He slipped his hand to her shoulder. “Jet black as most carriages are.”
She didn’t move, or turn, or breathe�
��not really.
The sun became lower as they stood on the pavement at Wood Street, not moving, not climbing into the landau.
“Miss Nettles, I think we should have some tea.”
He made a turn, deliberate and precise. His boots clacked along the pavement. “Yes, tea.”
Mr. Sedgewick went into her warehouse, leaving her standing there staring at the showy carriage.
Blinking and thinking about how stupid she must seem, she finally turned and walked into her warehouse.
She found Mr. Sedgewick in the rear, bending over the hearth warming a pot of tea. His ebony tailcoat was draped over a chair. His perfect top hat rested on a dress form.
She took off her angular hat and set it on her work table. “You must think I'm silly.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “No, I assume you are a shrewd business woman and hesitant to climb up in a borrowed landau. Miss Nettles, may I use your first name? I feel like one of us will end up becoming a lecture if we continue like this.”
“My name?” Her throat was dry, but she found enough of her voice to whisper. “Yes, call me, Mary-Anne.”
“My sisters and my aunt, they call me August, not Augustus which sounds so very formal.” Digging into a waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a stack of sovereigns and set them on the mantel. “It's a deposit on our deal, Miss Mary-Anne. You are shrewd. We shouldn’t take our first step out into the world unless all the terms of our contract have been worked out.”
The man was being kind, when she was the one who let fear, fear of being seen tangle her up. “You shouldn't be paying me for dresses that I am to wear, and I should have more courage.”
Mr. Sedgewick, August, came near and offered her a cup of tea. “Courage is needed on both sides of a partnership, even a temporary one.”
Temporary.
Was that her problem—getting used to being out, of being noticed, no longer in the shadows, only to have to give it up again. She looked up at August, his brilliant white shirtsleeves, his dark waistcoat that needed silver threads about the buttonholes, the collar that was a little less wrinkled, and the half-smile that came closer and closer.
He kissed her forehead. “I think we all have to learn courage. We’ll try again tomorrow. But I’ve paid enough of our deal that you needn't fret about finances this week.”
“I… thank you.”
“I’ll be here at noon, Miss Mary-Anne. That will give me more time to warm you up.” He kissed her again, this time on her cheek. His sweet pine scent, mingled with a little sandalwood, lingered.
He gathered his hat and coat and walked out of her warehouse.
She sat in the chair where his coat had rested. Again, his scent, light and calming, surrounded her. It was as if he'd stayed, standing by her, encouraging her.
Tugging off her gloves, Mary-Anne waved her damp hands in the heat of hearth. She'd be braver tomorrow. She'd not fear a carriage ride or being out in crowds or wanting a half-smile to become a whole kiss.
After leaving Miss Mary-Anne, August had his driver take the long way back to his residence through Hyde Park. The gated stretch of land where couples went to be seen had a few carriages.
The other half of the park where the Serpentine lay was vacant.
Mary-Anne would’ve made a lovely companion driving with him here today if she hadn’t been so frightened.
And she was scared, and he didn’t know what to do.
He waved for his driver to take the landau to the Serpentine. The lake looked full after last week’s rain. The setting sun skipping across its width.
The Serpentine.
Oh, how he used to love walking it with his father.
August climbed down, made sure his hat was secure as to not gain a chill from the breeze coming off the lake and began to follow the circumference, chuckling over childhood memories. Spare-no-expense picnics to Box Hill, big family dinners. Papa’s generosity was pressed down deep, shaken into every fiber, always running over like his easy laugh.
Had battling Haverthon over money made August forget the important things, the true ways to measure life?
Head down, he made another lap about the Serpentine. It was times like now, quiet and still times, that August wanted to hear his father’s booming laugh. Mother was the one who was always sick, always fretting about temperatures and illnesses, but Papa died from a cold.
August would be his mother’s son, and now he had put himself in a position to coax another from their safe life. It was laughable.
The call of a bird, a hoot sounded in the trees—like an alarm.
He pulled out his watch. It was time to head home to his other responsibilities.
It was dark by the time August made it to his residence along Old Ford Bow. The Sedgewick seat was in Cheshire, but this home outside of Town, was willed to August by his mother. Her caution, not trusting that the heir would take care of her part of the family, proved true.
The house was quiet, but not the parlor. Papa’s favorite tune, Hail Smiling Morn seeped from beneath the closed door.
He popped inside and found his middle sister, Louisa playing on the pianoforte. The notes she pounded were mostly good, a little too pitchy, and not all on key.
Perhaps he should consider getting the brunette sprite a new music teacher, a female one or a very old, old man in the fall.
Louisa must’ve seen him. The music stopped with a plunk. She leapt from her bench and ran to him. The fourteen - year - old still had a bit of play about her. She grasped his arm and danced him about the parlor humming Hail Smiling Morn—just as he’d twirled Mary-Anne. Was he now the one who had no fun?
Louisa laughed, as did Aunt Kitty who sat on the sofa.
“I have been a curmudgeon lately, Louisa, Kitty. No more.”
He strengthened his grasp and proceeded to swing his sister, her feet went high over a table, his reading chair, and the scatter of books on the floor. “Say when.”
She held on for another minute then laughed so hard. “WHEN!”
He set her down, and she grabbed him about the waist like a dizzy drunkard.
“We haven’t done that in forever, August,” she said. Her grin was toothy, and it set him at peace. He didn’t even fret about overexertion in the drafty room.
“Louisa, take your new novels that your aunt has smuggled to you and off to bed.”
She offered him a look that said no, but scooped up her books and curtsied before dancing out the door.
His youngest sister, Eliza, a dark-haired moppet like himself, was asleep on the sofa. Her bobbing head lay against his cheery aunt’s shoulder.
“Nephew, you have returned.” Kitty said in whispered tones, setting aside her needlepoint. “Smartly dressed and in a good mood. Where have you come from?”
He sat in the simple chair opposite the sofa. “How long have you been here?”
“The girls and I had a great afternoon, tea in Town. Then we returned and watched your balloon project. The launches are amazing.”
He smiled, and his gaze lifted to the vacant space on the wall where The Shaladon had been, then drifted to The Boatmen. The colors, the growth in Turner’s skill from the painting he sold was amazing. Growth was powerful. So was change. So was fun.
“Thank you for today. They complain of the new governess’s strictness.”
“Rules are important.”
“But so is fun.” He pinched his fingers together. “A little.”
“I see one of your paintings is missing. You have started the challenge?”
“Yes.”
Kitty rubbed her hands together. “Well?”
“Things are progressing but Miss Mary-Anne…Miss Nettles…”
Grinning, Kitty leaned forward without jostling his snoring sister. “But what?”
He tapped the chair arm and again looked up at his treasure on the wall and then his treasures on the floral sofa. “How do you prepare for when things go wrong?”
“Miss Nettles is still not allowing you
to invest?”
“She’s warming up to me, but that’s not the problem, Kitty. When you ended your engagement a few years ago, how did you move beyond it? In society?”
Kitty’s smile faded, the lightness and play disappearing from her features. This was a topic they never spoke of.
“I’m sorry, Kitty. I should not have—”
“It was difficult, August, but it became easier with time.”
“Time and patience—hmmm.”
He bounced up and pulled down The Boatmen. His hands shook a little as his fingers touched the swirls of paint. “Kitty, take this painting with you. Have Carruthers sell it, but the money will be used not for the challenge, but for the girls. Pick an old, but good music tutor and more books. Let them know their miserly brother thinks they are wonderful, beautiful, and need fun.”
Kitty’s eyes shined with tears and stars. She knew what the painting meant to him, but his sisters needed to know they were more important.
“They know you love them, August. But this sacrifice will mean the world to them. What of your challenge? Don't you need to sell this for your investment? You’re not giving up?”
“No. I’ve my ideas how to succeed, but it’s still dependent on the modiste. And I think she needs more time, perhaps longer than the challenge’s timeframe.”
He scooped up his sleeping sister and put her over his shoulder. “Good night, Kitty.”
His aunt had that look about her, one that meant she wanted to interrogate August, but he didn’t know what to say about Mary-Anne or his intentions other than their current business arrangement.
But this was something to determine.
And he hoped Mary-Anne had ideas about him, too.
Mr. Sedgewick came again in his wide landau to Mary-Anne’s warehouse at noon, just as he’d done before. The knots in her stomach arrived on time too.
She'd watched him from the window and put on her grey bonnet before he knocked upon the door.
He was casual today, sporty in a tobacco brown greatcoat which hung too loose on his shoulders. His hat, a tall crowned felt ensemble possessed a curled brim, which highlighted the man’s oversized ears. And from his wry, I-have-a-secret smile, ears that might need to be boxed.
