by Jade Lee
“It isn’t.”
Helaine continued as if she hadn’t heard. “—or if you are rude to the customers, then I can’t have you here. I won’t.”
“I have waited on all manner of customers all my life.”
Helaine knew it was true. It would simply be a matter of the craftsmanship. If Penny truly was as good as she said, then perhaps they could work out an arrangement. Perhaps.
She was so busy thinking that she completely missed the man who stood by the doorway until she was almost right upon him. He was lounging there as if waiting just for her. And when his chocolate eyes danced with joy at seeing her—or at catching her unawares—she was hard-pressed to think of anything at all. Lord, was there anyone more of a ninny than her?
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mortimer,” he said, his voice as smooth and rich as everything else about him.
She swallowed and tried to gather her wits. “Good afternoon, Lord Redhill. I don’t believe I have anything for your sister right now, but if you could step aside a moment, I shall check.”
He obliged her by stepping a good half inch aside. She glared at him because she knew he wanted to crowd her, to have his body close to hers. And as she undid the lock on the shop door, her entire right side tingled at his proximity. But that wasn’t what sent shivers down her spine. No, that came the moment she heard his voice all soothing and warm as he spoke to Tommy.
“Well, hello, young man. I see you are most fortunate, held aloft in the company of two beautiful women.”
Helaine pushed open the door and turned around just in time to see the boy grab hold of his lordship’s gloved finger and try to draw it to his mouth. He didn’t succeed, of course. The babe hadn’t the strength, but he did manage to play a game of tug back and forth with Lord Redhill, drawing the finger close only to have it slide down to chuck him under the chin. And all the while Helaine watched in horror as Lord Redhill’s expensive calfskin glove got covered in baby drool.
She would have said something. Indeed, she shared a shocked look with Penny. But there was nothing to do, as Lord Redhill appeared completely enthralled by his play with the child.
“He’s a handsome boy,” he said without pausing in his game.
“Thank you, your lordship,” said Penny with a soft-spoken deference in her tone. “His name is Tommy. I’m afraid he’s cutting teeth and your glove—”
“Teething, are you?” he said. “Well, that’s a painful process. What have you done to help him?”
Helaine looked to Penny for an answer. She was too flabbergasted to say anything. Imagine a man asking about the care of a baby! Most men would have dismissed the child from their thoughts within seconds of registering the annoyance. Meanwhile it was left to Penny to answer.
“I give him something hard to chew on. Bread if we have it. Papa used to let him chew on an old wood foot measure.”
Lord Redhill’s eyes raised. “A foot measure?”
“Miss Shoemaker and her brother are children of a rather famous, er, shoemaker, obviously. She’s come to visit my mother and me for a time.”
“So I have interrupted an afternoon visit,” he said as he walked into the shop. He moved slowly because Tommy still had hold of his finger and Penny had to follow at an equal pace. Then they were all inside and Helaine could shut the door. “But perhaps I could beg a moment of your time, Mrs. Mortimer. I do have something I wish to discuss with you.”
Helaine nodded. What else could she do? He was the brother of her most prestigious client, and truthfully, she was rather intrigued by his cheery mood. “Penny, if you would but follow me, I will show you upstairs. Your lordship, if you would disentangle yourself from Tommy?”
Lord Redhill grinned as he looked down at the boy. “Well, old chum, it’s time for the women to whisk you away. Here, why not keep my gloves? They’re clean and tough enough. Chew on them all you like. Much better than an old wooden tool, don’t you think?” So saying, he stripped off his gloves and left them clutched in the boy’s hands.
“Oh, your lordship!” gasped Penny. “They’re too fine for a baby to use!”
“Nonsense. I have another pair, and Tommy likes them.”
Helaine shook her head, both appalled and warmed by his generous act. Did he truly not understand the worth of his gloves? What man casually gave up fine leather gloves to a teething child? One who was too rich to understand their value or one who truly had a soft spot for children. Looking at Lord Redhill’s face, she knew the answer. He gazed at the boy with the same kind of wistful hunger she sometimes saw in her own mirror. He wanted a child, but despaired of ever having one.
Which was a ridiculous thought. Of course he would have children. He would marry a high society wife and start begetting children. It was only herself who would likely never marry, never have children. She was the daughter of a disgraced earl. No man of her set would have her, and even the tradesmen kept their distance. They sensed her education and upbringing even if no one knew of it. Besides, she had set herself up as a mistress to Lord Metzger. No decent man would have her now.
So rather than comment, she turned away and began climbing the stairs to the upper rooms. Her mother was there, dozing in a chair, but was soon roused, and her eyes gleamed with interest when she learned from Penny who waited below. Both ladies then shooed Helaine back downstairs, and she was all too willing to abandon them. But she didn’t burst in on him. Instead, she slowed to a stop just out of sight so that she could watch him.
He was sitting on the settee, paging through one of her sketchbooks of dress designs. All in all, he was of a rather normal sort for an aristocratic male in his prime. As was typical, he was slightly taller than the general public, with strong hands, broad shoulders, and clothing to emphasize his power. His hair was dark brown and wavy, and his eyes were a soft chocolate brown that reminded her of her favorite morning drink, once upon a time. His skin was clear, his teeth well placed, and even his nose wasn’t too pronounced. In short, he was normal and nothing about him explained the fluttering in her stomach whenever she saw him.
He looked up as she neared, and his expression warmed with delight. Maybe that was the reason. She could recall no other gentleman who seemed genuinely happy to see her. Not even her father, though he could be delightful for short periods of time. Or maybe it was the way Lord Redhill simply looked at her, his eyes steady and clear. What did he see when he stared at her like that? She saw a man who did not drink to excess, who had a clear understanding of himself and the world, and who—apparently for this moment—wanted to spend his time with her.
She was powerless to refuse him. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t tweak him a bit.
“Looking for something in tulle, perhaps?” she asked gesturing to the book. “I don’t recommend flounces on someone as tall as you. But perhaps a dash of lace somewhere around the bodice, perhaps?”
His eyes lightened in merriment. The edges crinkled a little, and she would swear they shifted to a honey brown. “I’m afraid I’m not much interested in lace. Itches too much, you know. My valet is forever starching my collars until they are hard enough to cut wood. Or my chin. I shudder to think what would happen to my tender skin should he get hold of lace.”
Helaine laughed. “Well, then I would definitely steer away from that. Perhaps a lovely ribbon or two.”
“For my hair, you think? A big bow, perhaps, to bring out my eyes.”
“Definitely.”
They were joking, of course, and about a silly thing. Lord Redhill generally dressed in simple lines, clean masculine attire that was serviceable, casually fashionable, and wholly himself. The idea of him as a dandy just made her smile. That they could joke about something like this was completely unheard-of in her experience. Certainly she teased her female friends, but never a man, and never with someone as unsettling as him.
“Would you care for some tea, my lord? I have recently acquired a rather unusual oriental blend. Imagine, but it just appeared in my cabinet the other day.�
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“How odd,” he said. “Shall we repair to the kitchen to try it out?”
Helaine felt her skin heat at his words. The intimacy of the idea, not to mention what they had done the last time they went to the kitchen, made her fingers tighten and her thoughts scatter. When had she become this silly girl, distracted by the slightest memory of him, unable to form a coherent statement?
“Helaine?”
“Um, I believe my mother is heating tea for Penny upstairs. We have a small cookstove up there as well. She will make extra for us, I am sure.”
“And the special tea blend?”
“I believe that is Wendy’s, as she is the one who opened the door to the messenger who brought it. Mama will make something from upstairs. Unless you wish me to go tell her specifically—”
“No, no!” he cried. “Pray don’t leave. I have a need to talk with you.” Then he gestured to the chair opposite the settee. “Please, won’t you sit?”
He was inviting her to sit in her own salon, but somehow the gesture felt right. Or as right as anything this afternoon had been. Truthfully, Lord Redhill possessed the quiet confidence that would allow him to command in whatever location. But oddly enough, he wasn’t commanding her to sit, merely asking. And looking a little flushed himself as he did it.
She settled into the chair, using the motion to cover her nervousness. And when that did not ease the quivering in her belly, she glanced back at him. “This is most odd, you know. I cannot imagine what you would like to discuss with me.”
“Actually, Helaine, I came seeking your advice.”
She frowned. “My advice? I don’t understand.”
“Pray let me explain. My father purchased a coal mine that is having some problems. Not the mine itself, though that is difficult enough. I had to shut it down for some much-needed repairs. You cannot imagine the danger those people endure every day. I went down there once and was caught in a collapse. It was horrible.”
“You were caught in a collapse?”
“I was on the good side of it, if there is such a thing. Not hurt at all, though I have suffered a nightmare or two.”
“I can imagine,” she said with a shudder of her own.
“I really ought to tell you how I made a heroic rescue of the miners and the like, risking my neck in feats of derring-do, but truthfully, it happened so fast. I simply reacted, and then when the dust settled, we grabbed on to each other and ran for our lives. It wasn’t until everything was over that I started shaking. And then, let me tell you, I was terrified.”
“We? So there were others with you?”
“The former manager, whom I promptly fired. The new manager, who had helped me escape. But none of that happened until afterward.”
She scanned his face. He wasn’t even pale, and he certainly wasn’t crowing about what he’d done. He was simply relaying what had happened as if it were incidental to what he wanted to talk about. And yet, she kept thinking of it. This man could have been killed in a mine collapse. Possibly a few feet difference and he would have died.
“That is horrifying,” she whispered. She felt chilled to the bone.
“The conditions in that mine were horrifying,” he returned. “Which is why my problem right now is so very baffling.”
She was about to ask what he meant, when they were interrupted. As she expected, her mother had made tea. She was coming downstairs with the tea tray, her eyes sparkling with interest. Helaine leaped up to help her. The woman had never been one for lifting anything, much less a full tea tray while coming down stairs. And while Helaine was taking command of the tray, her mother beamed at Lord Redhill. Helaine had only a moment to look at her mother and realize that she was in trouble. The lady was dressed in her best gown, her hair obviously brushed and rapidly pinned up in a style from ten or more years ago. While Helaine was busy settling the tea things, her mother was extending her hand like the countess she was.
Except she was not a countess anymore. Their identities were hidden, their names changed. But one look at her mother and she knew the lady wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret. Not when this was the first lord in years to make anything resembling a social call. Even if it was in the salon of a dressmaker’s shop.
“Good afternoon, Lord Redhill,” her mother began. “I trust my daughter is making you comfortable? So kind of you to send her that oriental tea. I had it made up especially for this afternoon so that you could taste some. An excellent choice, I must say. Quite stimulating.”
Her mother paused for a breath, which gave Helaine time to rush in with the “correct” introductions. “Lord Redhill, please allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs. Appleton.” Appleton was her maiden name, and Helaine hoped that by speaking it so clearly, the woman would remember that she was no longer Lady Chelmorton. Sadly, it had no obvious effect. Her mother simply smiled and sat down in the chair Helaine had just vacated. That, of course, forced Helaine to sit beside his lordship on the settee, which had no doubt been exactly her design.
“It is a lovely day, is it not, my lord?” her mother began as she waved for Helaine to serve the tea. “I vow the summer will be here before we know it. Why, Helaine was remarking on that just the other day.”
Lord Redhill answered exactly as one would expect, moving smoothly into the polite social banter one exchanges with a debutante’s mother. Helaine tried to participate. She even managed to comment once or twice, but the whole time she was on pins and needles praying that her mother didn’t slip up, that Lord Redhill remained blissfully ignorant of how bizarre it was to take tea with a dressmaker’s mother, and yet all the while secretly pleased that her mother could have this one moment of her former glory. One afternoon’s tea wherein she got to be the lady of the manor again. One short twenty minutes of what should have been her life.
And then, thank God, it was done. Her mother gasped in mock horror at the time and pushed to her feet. “I’m terribly sorry, my lord, but I must beg your indulgence. Penny has been upstairs with that rapscallion all this time, and she really needs help with the boy. Please, do excuse me.”
Lord Redhill stood and bowed over her hand. “It has been a pleasure, Mrs. Appleton. I hope that I may call more often.”
“Of course, of course! And now you really must excuse me. That boy, you know.” And off she went. She even left the door to the back staircase open just as any good chaperone would do if she were stepping out of a parlor for a moment.
Helaine released a sigh of relief. Her mother had enjoyed her moment of remembered glory and no harm had come of it. Or so she thought, until she turned to look back at Lord Redhill. She should have realized he was too intelligent to be fooled. She should have barred her mother from joining them, because one look at his thoughtful face told her that he was seconds from figuring it out. Not exactly who she was, but that her parentage was much more elevated than any dressmaker’s.
“My lord,” she began, not even knowing what she wanted to say but she had to distract him somehow.
He turned his chocolate eyes her way and all her words disappeared. He knew. She could see it in the way he kept his expression extremely neutral, and yet his eyes seemed to sparkle with a secret understanding. He didn’t say anything and neither did she. She was too busy fighting panic to formulate any thought at all. Finally he spoke, his words confirming her fears.
“Your mother is lovely, but sad. As if she has suffered a great loss.” He tilted his head. “If I might ask, what happened to your father?”
“Gone,” she said, the words choking her. “Many years now.”
“I’m sorry. How did he die?”
Helaine shook her head. “Not dead. Just gone. We don’t even know where. Just…gone.”
His eyes widened as he worked through the implications of that. “But what of his money? His employer or…or other income?”
Like from his lands? Unlike most earldoms, the land had not been entailed, as Helaine’s grandfather had been as irresponsible as her father. The pape
rwork had never been filed, which meant the land was free to sell. And it had been, shortly before Helaine’s fourteenth birthday. At the time, it had been great fun. They left the moldering old estate for a set of rooms in London. But without any income at all, the money steadily disappeared. A year after her father had disappeared, there was nothing left and creditors were banging on the door.
“We had nothing, my lord, except what I could manage here.”
His eyes roved the small shop, taking in the wallpaper that was beginning to yellow, the cheapness of the furnishing. He was likely remembering that the mirror in the back required resilvering and that she usually kept the very cheap tea for herself.
“You’ve had a difficult time of it, haven’t you?”
She looked at her hands, ashamed of the tears that burned her eyes. Things were going well for them. Lady Gwen’s order alone would see them through much of the winter, or so she hoped. This was not the time or place to become weepy.
She felt his hand caressing her cheek, the slow stroke of his thumb across a tear that had escaped. She pulled away.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I’m afraid it has been a long day.”
He did not pursue her, but neither did he pull away. He simply let his hand drop from her face to land on the settee near hers. Not touching, but the merest shift would bring them into contact.
“No,” he said softly. “Forgive me. I believe I have upset your life more than I realized. You have a business to run, and yet I am here taking up your time with tea and chats with your mother.”
Helaine released a sad snort at that statement. “As you can see, we are overflowing with customers right now. They are lined up around the block.” Obviously it was a lie. Sadly, they had no more appointments for another few days. It had all been a downward spiral the moment the fabric sellers had refused them credit. From then, they’d needed to request prepayment from their customers, which had many of them fleeing to other dressmakers. Helaine’s only hope was for Lady Gwen to look so excellent that she pulled in more customers from her references.
