Mending the Duke's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “I don’t find this tedious; I enjoy it,” Lady Pamala informed them. “Besides, this is meant to be special, and nothing would be more dear to me than a dress of my own design and workmanship.”

  Lady Pamala looked up at her big brother with matching rich chocolate eyes. He held her gaze for only a second before rolling his eyes and letting loose a big sigh. The Duke was stern and demanding in just about every aspect of his life, except when it came to his litter sister.

  “I suppose you will just let her have her way then,” the Dowager spoke with her own sigh, not letting her eyes leave the book she had returned to. “You know, your father had a much firmer hand with her.”

  The Duke looked to his sister, questioning the validity of that statement, and Lady Pamala scrunched her nose again and shook her head in disagreement with her mother’s statement. They both knew that it was, in fact, the Dowager Duchess who had been the serious and proper parent of the two.

  He leaned back in his seat and relaxed. Already the tension of the trip, with its impending societal obligations, seemed to melt in the background as he enjoyed the company of the two most important ladies in his life.

  “If I do recall correctly, Pammy obsessed over horses after Nurse read her one bedtime story about a little girl and her pony. After a mere week of this little five-year-old asking for her own, Father presented the little pony with a ribbon tied about its neck. I believe he even taught her to jump it,” the Duke ended on a chuckle.

  The Dowager closed her book loudly.

  “It was you who taught her to jump,” the Dowager countered.

  The Duke looked at his sister again, who this time shrugged and nodded to the truth of her mother’s statement.

  “Perhaps, I did.”

  The Duke tried his best to remember.

  “So I suppose my advice will fall on deaf ears, and you will let her have her way on this matter too,” the Dowager Duchess spoke serenely, “but I won’t have you staying up and losing sleep over it. I won’t have you stand before the court sallow-faced and exhausted.”

  “Of course not, Mother.” Lady Pamala did her best to hide the smile that played on her lips.

  “Nor will you shirk your duties regarding the preparations. We still have the ball to plan for.”

  “I am sure whatever you choose will be perfect for the event. I would only nod in agreement with whatever you pick. You can’t possibly want me for that?”

  The Dowager Duchess pursed her lips at her daughter. She was still a beautiful woman, though on now in years. Her hair, once matching the soft honey brown of her son’s, had long ago turned white. Like her son, she shared the same angular features and jaw with matching scowl.

  Lady Pamala, on the other hand, had favoured her father in looks and temperament. Both with darker hair that curled quite tightly naturally. Like her father, she was a bit round in the face, always making her look slightly younger than she truly was. With her sweet looks and gentle temperament, Lady Pamala was perpetually cherished by all. She would always be a heavenly ray to the rest of the family.

  The Duke did tug on his sister’s hanging ringlet at that comment.

  “You really are hoping to get away with everything, aren’t you?” he joked. “This is a very important Season for you,” he continued in all seriousness, “and Mother does know what is best for a proper introduction. It is best to do as she requests, at least some of the time.”

  Lady Pamala stuck her tongue out at her brother before turning back to her work. It was clear she was conceding to his advice.

  “Oh, Pamala, most unbecoming!” their mother scolded. “And it is not just for her this Season holds weight,” she continued, now turning her attention on the Duke.

  “Me?” he stuttered out.

  “Yes,” the Dowager spoke with exasperation that she would even have to explain such a thing. “You bear your father’s title and the weight of the Dukedom now. It is time you made a proper match.”

  The Duke’s face instantly darkened, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “I will make the inquires ahead of time and find the best ladies suitable,” the Dowager pressed on, “and thereby give you easy navigation of all the unattached ladies. It won’t be like what happened before.”

  “I’m far too busy to find time to do a marriage justice. Perhaps in a few years.” The Duke tried to brush off his mother’s suggestions.

  “Your sole responsibility is to secure the line of your title. Nothing is of more importance than this,” the Dowager pressed on. “It must be dealt with now. I assure you I plan to thoroughly vet any lady I put to you first.”

  “I really am exhausted. Perhaps we can discuss the matter later.” The Duke attempted to change the subject.

  “You were so young back then, it was easy to be…well…anyway…” The Dowager stumbled as she knew she was now treading on a very sensitive matter. “The point is, you are older and wiser now. It’s not good for you to hide away from the world, busy yourself with jobs that could be easily given to another, all because of one silly girl.”

  “You’re mistaken, Mother,” the Duke did his best to force a smile, “I hardly even think about her. In fact, I can’t remember the last time she crossed my mind up until this moment. I simply have no desire to waste my time among shallow and unreliable people. Shallow and unreliable is the pure definition of society ladies in my opinion.”

  “Hmph! You would rather assume that than risk being disappointed again. You shut yourself out from the whole ton all because of one bad experience.”

  “That’s not true. I haven’t shut myself from all of the ton. I still have you and Pammy,” he did his best to lighten the mood. “The two best members of society if you ask me. And let us not forget Lord Fennimore.”

  “Your family hardly counts, nor does the second son of an impoverished viscount who is in your employ.”

  “I’m afraid, Mother, it will have to be enough for now.” The Duke spoke with finality to his tone.

  The Dowager pursed her lips again but said nothing. She knew better than to push the Duke any further. He was just as stubborn as he was severe. Pushing the matter would only cause him to dig his heels in deeper.

  “I’m exhausted. Long journey and all that. I’ll expect my room has been made ready by now, so I think I’ll wish the both of you goodnight,” the Duke said, coming to a stand.

  The light mood had been lost, and the Duke had no desire to stay longer in his mother’s company when she was bound to find a new way to approach the subject. His sister gave him a weak, sympathetic smile as he bid the pair good night and retired early to bed.

  Chapter 3

  “Mother, that’s our fifth order today for a new ball gown,” Ella stated excitedly after the pair of ladies were completely out of the shop.

  Ella had thought the knowledge of Mr Brummel complimenting their shop would encourage more clients and on the upper end of society. For the first few days, this didn’t seem to be the case.

  It was clear that Mr Brummel had recommended the shop to the two ladies that first day, knowing that word of it would spread quickly. When it didn’t, Ella resigned herself to the task of altering Lady Pamala’s dress.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t get the accolades she had dreamed of or the highest members of society desperate for a look at one of her new designs. Yes, it was a disappointment to shelve this dream yet again, but at the same time, she was the daughter of a realist. It was her mother’s voice in her head that shamed her for hoping to gain more than allotted for her station.

  Instead of sulking over the fact that nothing had changed, Ella kept her head bent long into the nights for the next three days to complete the gown as well as their other various menial tasks. Though she wouldn’t hope for much, she took pride in her work and endeavoured to make the dress ordered by the Duke of Winthrope’s sister the best it could possibly be.

  However, it was on the fourth day that things seemed to change drastically. Several finer ladies
made their way into the shop, commenting that they had heard this to be a favourite of Mr Brummel, and asking to see various designs.

  By the fifth day, Mrs Ward was beginning to contemplate turning people away.

  “Another ball gown? We won’t have time for it. I hope you told them as much,” Mrs Ward commented as she poked her head around the curtain.

  It was getting late in the evening, and with the departure of their last customers, Ella went around the counter to lock the door and set the shop to rights.

  “Turn them away? What would I do that for? This is the most work we have ever had.”

  “Yes, much more than you or I could possibly complete in a timely fashion,” Mrs Ward spoke as she put her hands on her hips.

  On the one hand, she held the spoon she had been using to stir whatever she was concocting in the kitchen. Ella could smell a distinct waft of salt and fishiness, suggesting it had something to do with the remaining kippers.

  “I told the last lady that it may be a bit more of an extended wait for the gown, and she was all too happy to wait,” Ella explained to her mother.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s more work than you or I could do in the entire Season,” Mrs Ward shot back.

  “So we need to hire some help,” Ella suggested, coming back to the other side of the counter.

  “And how do you expect I pay that help while we make the gowns and other regular orders?”

  “Many of these ladies were happy to pay the full amount in advance,” Ella informed her.

  Her mother still huffed at the notion of hiring help, but already her will was weakening.

  “You always seem to find the answer for everything, don’t you?” Mrs Ward huffed again before turning back into the private rooms beyond the kitchen.

  “Don’t you see, Ma? This is our chance to break away and make something of ourselves. Maybe if we do well enough, we could even move to a better location, one right there on Covent Garden.”

  “You are always reaching for the stars, Ella. You are old enough now to learn that stars are simply not in our arm’s reach to grasp. This is a heavy risk. What if it doesn’t end well. Your fancy ladies could decide that they don’t like your design or not approve of our rushed work, what then? We lose your fancy customers and the regulars who don’t wish to wait all the extra time for their sewing needs.”

  “It’s not reachin’ for the stars to want enough food to eat and a roof over our heads.”

  “We have that.”

  “Today. But what about tomorrow. What about when you can’t even do the little sewing you are managing now?” Ella held up her hand when her mother tried to interject. “No one is to blame for it. It is what it is. But I still remember those first years after Da died when just you were workin’. We need to increase our clientele. We need more women seekin’ out our shop. It might be a rush now, but we need to take advantage of it and hire outside help. Then we can take that and keep our bellies full when your hands won’t work any longer.”

  “We got by fine before. We can do it again.”

  Ella wanted to pull her own hair in frustration. There was a difference between humility and contentment in a poor situation.

  “Near starvin’ was gettin’ along fine?” Ella did her best to control her frustration as she sat at the worn wooden table.

  Mrs Ward turned her back to her and began to scoop some of the fish broth with bits of floating cabbage and potato into two bowls. Ella kept her hands busy, slicing the loaf of brown bread that always held its place in the centre of the table.

  “Mr Brown is always raising the rent. What got us by then, won’t get us by now. Even though we have a few more regulars than in years past, it will still just be my hands. We need the gentry to notice us, Ma. We need their patronage asking for my dresses.”

  “That’s what it boils down to, I’m thinking,” Mrs Ward said, setting the bowls down on the table a little too hard. “You want your dresses worn and seen. Maybe you wish to move up in life like Mr B did. Be a favourite and all o’ that. Well, I’m sorry; life rarely works like that, Ella, and wishin’ for it only sets you up for heartache.”

  “You knew who he was, didn’t you? All this time, you knew it was Beau Brummel comin’ in our shop and passing out your handkerchiefs, but you said nothin’.”

  “Of course, I knew it was him. He told me his name ‘imself. I have the sense to know my place and not go blabbin’ it all over town. You on the other hand…” Mrs Ward shook her head with disappointment. “You wouldn’t know how to keep the knowin’ to yourself. So I didn’t tell you.”

  “Ma, it’s not wrong to want more for us. It’s not wrong to have a dream to make my own dresses. I don’t understand why you see it that way! Years he came here or had our things sent to him. Years wasted!”

  “We are never going to see eye to eye on this, so just eat your supper,” Mrs Ward huffed. “You think someday you are going to be seen and taken in as one of them, and I’m tellin’ you it ain’t ever goin’ to happen. But why listen to me?” Mrs Ward scoffed, taking her first spoonful of the meal.

  Ella gritted her teeth. This was a long-standing argument between the two. Mrs Ward thought Ella’s aspirations lay in being a lady of society, wasting away her days in drawing rooms and nights at the opera.

  Certainly, she had taken an interest in the ton via the gossip columns and had often entered conversations with customers over famous members of society, but she wasn’t dim-witted. She knew that such a society was far beyond her class. She simply wanted enough of their attention and patronage to build her mother’s business and keep them alive, if not comfortable, for the rest of the days allotted to them.

  “I don’t want to get into that again,” Ella cut off the argument before it started. “All I am sayin’ is we have the work and the funding to hire a girl. Just to help with the mending or simple jobs. Just to get that work out of the way.”

  She waited as her mother chewed her tough bite of rye and oat bread. She could tell she was at least considering the matter. If they could hire even just one girl to help with the mundane work, Ella could focus on her designs’ more complicated aspects. Ideally, she would have liked to hire a lace maker and embroiderer as well—and they certainly could with the amount in their small money chest—but didn’t want to push her luck tonight.

  With those three time-consuming tasks out of the way, she could easily take on more work. She hadn’t told her mother, but already today, she had turned away two mending jobs simply because she wouldn’t have the time for it.

  If things continued on as they currently were, she would have the means to get them through the lean season when many of their clients returned to the country for the winter and save enough extra to hire even more seamstresses the following Season. Perhaps she could even afford enough fabric to showcase two of her designs at the same time.

  Images of morning gowns alongside evening dresses in the shop window filled her head as her mother chewed and considered.

  “I suppose we could ask Henrietta’s daughter to come by a few days a week,” Mrs Ward finally said reluctantly.

  “Rose?”

  “Mmm hmm. Henrietta says she has been stuck with the third-light ever since she started at her lace shop. I don’t doubt it’s not without its reason. After all, Henrietta is always boasting how her Rose was self-taught and escaped the factory. Still, self-taught can only get you so far. I expect she won’t ever get to first light.”

  “But Rose could do all the simple stitchin’ and the mendin’. She would be fine with that and perhaps some simple lacework. It wouldn’t be hard for us to beat the price of a third-light lacer pay.”

  Ella’s heart was swelling with anticipation. Though her mother was reluctant to the idea of hiring another to join them, she was never one to turn down the much-needed money that extra hands could bring to the shop.