by Abigail Agar
Reginald rested a hand upon his shoulder and gave him a nod of support. With that, Eric stepped through the door and into the shop.
Inside the dressmaker, bolts of fabric surrounded Eric. He did not immediately see anyone in the shop, and he began to wander a bit, followed by Reginald.
But the shop was not large, and it took only a moment before he saw the door to a little room where two young ladies sat.
First, his eyes landed upon the petite frame of an exquisite young woman. Her hair was nearly black. She had the sweetest face with a delicately pointed chin and large orbs for eyes. When she looked up and saw him staring at her, she paused and he was able to take in the faint grey of those eyes.
For a moment, Eric did not move. He could not tear his gaze from her.
But then, Reginald gave him a slight nudge and he looked to the other young woman as she turned to them.
She had red hair, the same shade as his, as well as the same blue eyes. A more feminine version of his nose ran from her brow to her cupid’s bow. It was only the chin and cheeks that differed. Two features that he was well known to have received from his mother.
There was no doubt. This was Amelia.
When they made eye contact, Eric could see from the way that she looked at him that she had also noticed the resemblance, but she quickly brushed it off with a welcoming smile.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said with a glance to Reginald as well.
“Good afternoon,” Eric greeted them, trying to focus on his sister rather than her beautiful counterpart.
“If you are looking for a couple of new suits, I fear you have come to the wrong place. But you will find Mr. Carter’s shop a few streets away and I am certain that he can tailor something to your taste,” the one that he presumed to be Amelia said.
“Oh, well…” Eric had only given this the faintest hint of a thought. He was not yet ready to come out and tell her that they were siblings.
“Yes?” she asked, provoked by his strange behaviour.
“Well, we are actually looking to have a gown made for my mother. As a gift,” Eric said.
“Oh, of course. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bonham are out at the moment, but perhaps I can help you. Or Miss Sproul, if you prefer,” she said.
Eric looked back at Amelia, realising that he had been caught in a glance to the other young lady. His sister, unaware of their connection, was being rather cheeky and teasing him in as subtle a way as she possibly could.
Of course, Eric assumed, most of her customers would not have caught onto this. Perhaps many of them, blinded by their wealth and power, would have considered it simply the young woman giving them options as to their preference.
But Eric saw it for what it was. She was mocking him. And she was doing it well.
“We would love to be shown the materials by whomever is more well-versed. But as it appears that you are the spokeswoman, I imagine you might be quite forthcoming with information,” he replied, giving a bit of his own subtle teasing.
“Miss Sproul and I will assist the both of you,” she said.
Eric recognised that both young ladies were staring at him. Amelia was watching him with keen wonder, and he knew that she must be curious about how similar their features were.
Did she know about him? Did she know who her father was? Was it possible that as he stood there, spying on her in a way, she was observing him with the full knowledge of his identity?
But he also noted that Miss Sproul was looking at him and he found that a great deal more interesting, despite the fact that he knew his intention and purpose in having come.
Was it possible that Miss Sproul was also trying to discern whether or not there was some relation between them?
For a moment, Eric wondered if he was being a fool in attempting to hide the truth of his identity. Why wouldn’t he simply come out with it and confess who he was?
But no, he was not yet ready to do that. And if Amelia didn’t know, she might be shocked to learn the truth and he was also not ready to have that conversation with her and to tell her all about the fact that his father was responsible for what had happened to her mother.
“What sort of complexion does your mother have? And what event is this gown for?” Amelia asked him, leaning against a bolt of burgundy velvet.
“She is very fair. Light brown hair and brown eyes,” he said.
“Very well, that is a very easy complexion to work with. It goes with a great many colours. What about this?” she asked, showing a lavender fabric.
“Yes, that is lovely,” Eric replied, having no idea whatsoever what his mother would like and not really caring anyway as this whole thing was a ruse.
“Is it for the season or an everyday dress?” Amelia asked.
“For any average day,” he replied.
“Very well. Then you would not need anything fancier than this,” she said, apparently understanding his ignorance in the matter.
Amelia, he could see, was knowledgeable about her subject. She had an eye for what was fashionable, even though he imagined she could not afford to be so herself. And yet, the dress that she wore was nice enough. She took pride in her appearance.
But she was also full of personality. There was a cleverness and a sense that she was quite witty, although not necessarily kind.
Eric tried to observe her without being too noticeable.
“Miss Sproul, what do you think?” she asked the other, stunning young woman.
“I like the lavender. It would be good with what you have said about her appearance. Does she own much in this shade?” Miss Sproul asked.
Eric tried to think about his mother’s clothing. She preferred darker colours and for now would be donned in black. But that hardly mattered. He was not buying this for her anyway.
“Not that I have seen her wear,” he replied.
“Well, it might be good to observe what she prefers before purchasing a gown for her. But you must also be aware that the London season is coming soon and dressmakers will be starved for time,” Miss Sproul said.
She was very sweet and considerate. She had not the wildness of his sister, but rather a sweet demeanour that he was charmed by.
“Thank you, that is a very helpful bit of information,” Eric said.
“Certainly. Is there anything more that we may do for you?” she asked, looking at him with those beautiful grey eyes.
“N-no, I think that will be all,” Eric said.
“Well, then, have a nice day,” she said.
“Yes, enjoy your day,” Amelia added.
Eric and Reginald looked at one another and turned to the door, departing from the shop.
Eric had never been so confused in all his life.
He had just met his sister. He had also just met the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in all his life. And the entire affair lasted no more than ten minutes.
“What do you want to do now?” Reginald asked.
Eric looked at him with uncertainty regarding the question that had been posed. It was something that he would have to consider.
What did he want to do now?
Chapter 4
A day had passed and Emma was still unable to get her mind off the two gentlemen who had come into the shop the previous day. Despite being such a short encounter, there was definitely something strange about it.
They had both been quite handsome, although the one who spoke, who had come to have the dress made for his mother, was quite intriguing.
His voice, so deep and smooth, had been extremely comforting and it had bothered her a bit when Amelia teased him.
Of course, it was silly to begin thinking about a man like that with any interest. He was evidently a man of wealth and position, judging by his countenance and his clothing. She would be a fool to really look at him with any interest.
Emma tried to let go of the interest that had suddenly sparked about the man. After all, she would likely never see him again unless he returned with the desire t
o have the gown made for his mother after all.
But she also laughed about the fact that he looked so much like Amelia. After the two men had gone, she had teased her friend who denied the resemblance.
“What are you dreaming about over there?” Amelia asked.
“Hmm? Nothing at all. I was only wondering about how many gowns we will have to make before the season begins,” Emma replied.
“You mean, you were wondering if you would be making a lavender day dress for the mother of a rather handsome gentleman?” Amelia teased.
“You only think he’s handsome because he looks like you and you love your own reflection,” Emma shot back.
“Ha! He looked nothing like me,” Amelia replied.
“He did and you know it,” Emma said.
Amelia shrugged.
“All right, perhaps he did. And yes, it was rather strange, maybe even a bit uncomfortable. I thought I did well to hide it, but I really did not like the fact that we shared so much of a resemblance,” Amelia said.
“Uncomfortable? You should not feel uncomfortable about it. It was just strange,” Emma said.
“Yes, well, I could see that you were uncomfortable about how much he stared at you. My goodness, his eyes were simply unable to peel away. And do not think that it escaped my notice how you watched him in return,” Amelia said.
Emma blushed, but tried to ignore the comment. She hadn’t meant to notice him. He was just so…noticeable.
It warmed her to think about him, which was quite silly. They did not know one another. She had no idea if he was a decent man or not. And yet, somehow, she found herself wishing that she had the opportunity to get to know him, a chance to interact with him.
“Do not worry. I hardly mind the fact that you found him handsome, even if he is one of those awful noblemen,” Amelia said with a sneer.
“I can hardly help noticing a handsome man, it’s true. But regardless of his appearance, he was rather kind,” Emma said. Of course, she had only seen him for a few moments.
“Maybe he appeared that way at first, but you can never trust those men. I told you about how my mother was treated. Do not let him fool you, Emma,” she said, picking out a stitch that she had just made and was unhappy with.
“You do not know that all of them are that way. Just because your mother was wounded by a terrible man does not mean that all men are terrible,” Emma reasoned.
“No, it does not, but one really should not take the chance. I would hate to see you hurt by someone like that just because you were tempted by a handsome face,” Amelia said.
It was clear that she really was trying to warn Emma without being overbearing. But Emma knew better than to respond to that. After all, Amelia was always ready to give her lecture on the topic of staying away from men who were wealthy.
There was only the option of trying to tease her in reply.
“You mean your face?” Emma asked with a laugh, wanting to get the subject changed back to Amelia instead of being focused on herself.
“It was not my face. So he happened to look like me, what of it?” Amelia asked, trying to brush it off.
“You have no brothers?” Emma teased again. Immediately, she wished that she had not. Given the situation of Amelia’s family and her father, she wanted to be sensitive and not cause division between the two of them.
Amelia sneered once more, but she did not seem annoyed so much at Emma for the comment as she did about the reality of her family.
“None. My mother never trusted another man again and she told me that his wife was barren. It is only me. Whatever resemblance he has to me is purely coincidental and ought to be forgotten,” Amelia said.
Emma was running out of ways to keep the conversation focused on Amelia. She did not wish for her friend to turn it around on her again.
The previous day, Emma had teased Amelia about having noticed the other man, the one with the man who spoke the most. And while she had seen that Amelia had noticed him, it was also clear that Amelia would never trust a wealthy man.
So Emma was out of ideas and ways to keep herself free from Amelia’s teasing and she decided that she would simply have to try and focus on her work. It was easily done and she was quite busy.
For the next hour, they had little to say, simply noting the easiest ways to mend certain types of fabric and the silhouettes that they expected to grow more popular during the London season. It was mindless talk, but that was the easiest kind.
“What would you wear if you were attending a fancy ball?” Amelia asked.
“Me? I think I would have to choose the pale grey muslin with the little black tulips,” she replied. It had long been one of her favourite fabrics in the shop and she felt that it was thoroughly underused.
But Amelia stared at her for a moment, barely blinking, her brows nearing one another, and a frown settled upon her face.
“What is it?” Emma asked, defensively.
“I asked what you might wear to a ball and you described the drabness of a funeral gown,” Amelia said.
“It is not! It is the same colour as my eyes. And I like that the flowers are small and delicate,” Emma said, defending herself against the comment of her friend.
She disliked hearing an insult towards the material of which she had grown so fond. It almost felt like an insult against her rather than a simple preference in taste and appearance.
“You ought to wear a pale blue, something that would make the grey of your eyes appear brighter. Perhaps with a white pearl beading. Oh, I do love the one that Lady Greemore chose. That is just the right shade of blue for you,” Amelia said.
Emma considered it and smiled to herself. She really would love a gown that looked like the one that she had made for Lady Greemore. It was beautiful and her complexion was not far from Emma’s, although her age was far higher.
For many years, Emma had tried to make herself small. She was unaccustomed to wearing bright colours, not knowing how to remain unnoticed if she was seen. It was in her nature to stay out of the way of others and, although she often thought about the freedom of being more like Amelia, she did not mind remaining quiet.
Wearing the grey was in her nature. Wearing the blue was something that she wished she would have the boldness to do.
Not that it mattered just now anyway. She would never be invited to a ball. They were seamstresses. If she was fortunate, her mother and father might find her the right spouse and she could wear it during the courtship.
But she imagined wearing the blue with white pearls to a ball and dancing with the handsome man from the previous day. She would love such a moment, even if it was unlikely to ever happen.
“You are daydreaming again,” Amelia noted.
Emma wished that she was not so observant.
“We do tedious work. Daydreaming is the way that I survive it,” Emma replied.
“Survive it by working harder and faster. Maybe Mr. Bonham will allow you to leave early if you finish,” Amelia said.
“And then what? Go home to help my mother cook? You know I would much prefer to sew than to cook. As much as I wish I were better, it is not my skill,” Emma said.
