Love Inspired Historical February 2016 Box Set

by Karen Kirst

  Jane stepped in hesitantly. “It is rather more like a home than a shop.”

  The milliner drew a chair before the hearth and stirred the fire. “I’ll have tea ready in just a moment,” she called as she bustled about, retrieving the tea things from a nearby cabinet.

  John watched her flying around, and once again, that mischievous urge tugged at him. “I’d rather like a chair, too, if you don’t mind.”

  Jane shot him one of her I-shall-throttle-you-if-you-don’t-behave looks, for his mild-mannered sister loathed his jesting nature. He thought he would be able to get away with his outrageous behavior, since Jane had not chided him earlier for goading the milliner, even though he’d been teasing her since she first walked up and started talking to them. He returned her look with his I-shall-force-you-to-a-London-soiree eyebrow raise, for his sister’s weak point would always be her hatred of all social events and functions. Jane’s cheeks reddened and she shifted her gaze to the fire.

  “Oh, of course,” the milliner replied. Though she trotted over obediently enough, he caught the sarcastic curl of her lips. She was playing at being polite although he could see it wasn’t exactly aimed toward him. That knowledge ignited the spark of jest within him.

  “Thank you.” He sank into the chair she drew up and crossed his legs with the practiced elegance of a dandy. “I prefer sugar with mine. And a biscuit.”

  She nodded, biting her lip as though biting back an acerbic insult or two, and he was hard-pressed not to laugh. She was jolly fun, whoever this Siddons girl was. Being in her company could almost make him forget that the weight of the world—or at least, the weight of his family’s good name—now rested on his shoulders.

  “Pay my brother no mind,” Jane spoke softly to the milliner. “As I said before, he loves to tease. And he’ll be happy with any kind of tea you have. I know. His tea appetite is simply appalling. Father used to say he would eat us out of house and home.”

  The milliner shot Jane a grateful look, and her small smile tugged at his conscience. He didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. As she swished past him to retrieve the tea things, he tried to give her a wink, but she was looking in the other direction.

  “You have the advantage of us, miss,” he observed, taking off his gloves and holding his hands to the fire. “You at least have heard my sister and I bickering enough to know our given names. But we know nothing of you, other than that you are a rather direct shop owner. Are you a Siddons, then?”

  “I am Nan Siddons,” she replied, graciously enough, as she set the tea table before them.

  Nan. He’d vaguely heard Nan mentioned in passing around Kellridge. Always her name, it seemed, was coupled with work.

  “I am Jane Reed, and this is my brother, John.” Jane stepped in gracefully, taking over the flow of conversation as she assisted Nan with serving the tea.

  John watched his sister, working with Nan so easily, talking to her as though they were old friends. Jane had never responded this effortlessly to strangers before. Jane was as quiet as a church mouse, bookish and given to playing endlessly on her violin. Her impending debut—once they were out of mourning, of course—was the cause of much consternation in their home. Yet here, in the comfort of the Siddons Sisters Millinery Shop, she was holding her own quite well.

  He accepted his teacup from Nan with a nod of thanks. This sudden change in his sister’s demeanor gave him pause. Perhaps Nan was the right person for this job after all. Not just for one bonnet, but for every agonizing step in preparing his sister for her London debut. Her calming nature, along with her candid manner, made her quite a good candidate as his partner in this venture thus far.

  Much as he turned to his friend Paul Holmes for assistance in wrestling with his father’s vast estate, could he turn to Nan Siddons for assistance in transforming his shy, reluctant sister into a diamond of the first water?

  He eyed her over the rim of his teacup. The color in her cheeks rose, and she twitched in her chair, moving so that he could only see her in profile.

  “Let us discuss the matter of your bonnets,” she said to Jane in a brisk tone. “What, do you feel, is lacking in the bonnet you have now?”

  “Nothing, really.” Jane cast a reproachful look at John. “My brother feels I should be more fashionably dressed. I don’t feel it’s right, since I am in mourning.”

  “You dressed plainly before Father died,” John scoffed. This was a familiar, and tender, point of contention between them. “When our mourning period ends and you go to London for your debut, you simply must dress as a young lady of your station should. No more unadorned gowns and simple hats. If I have to rise to the occasion, taking over as man of the family, so should you rise to the occasion of being a typical well-bred young lady.”

  “Whether it’s fair or not, people judge a woman by what she wears,” Nan put in quietly. “Here, in Tansley, a young lady can dress in basic, practical attire. In fact, my shop caters to the women of the village. My hats and bonnets are sturdy, rather than elegant, because I want them to last a long time. But in London, you will be compared to other young women, and if you look shabby, it could reflect badly on your family.”

  “It would reflect badly on me as head of the family,” John added pointedly. Nan understood his position, even if his sister did not, and for that he was ridiculously grateful.

  “So the intent of dressing you well, or at least to a certain outside standard, would have two purposes. First, and most important, to make you feel more comfortable in your role as debutante.” Nan took a sip of her tea. “Second, to assure your place in society as you try to find a husband.”

  Jane made a tiny groaning sound. John sighed. This was further than he’d ever been able to get. Normally by now, Jane would’ve fled. A tiny ray of hope shone into his soul. Nan Siddons could help him. Perhaps, if he could convince her to come, this one aspect of his new role would be a success. He might be a scoundrel, and he flirted with atheism, but all the same, he could do well at one thing in his life. It would be good not to be a bitter disgrace to his parents’ memories.

  But could Nan produce the kind of fashionable clothes that a London debut would require? He studied her once more. She was neat and something in her demeanor was attractive enough, but she would never be called stylish. He looked around the room, peering at the bonnets in various stages of creation. These were, as she indicated, sturdy and practical. Not at all suitable for, say, a ride along Rotten Row.

  “I don’t mean to be impertinent,” he began, and both Nan and Jane shot him disbelieving glares. “But how can we be certain that you can create a fashionable bonnet?”

  Nan squared her jaw and set her teacup down with a defiant clink. “Let me show you my sketches.”

  She leaped gracefully from her chair and bustled over to a wicker basket, pulling out sheet after sheet of foolscap. “My sisters and I started our business making bonnets and hats to order for The Honorable Miss Elizabeth Glaspell and her friends.” She held out a sheaf of papers, and he accepted them. “These are my sketches. I worked with the gowns Miss Glaspell already owned, creating bespoke bonnets that matched perfectly, as though they had been crafted at the same time.”

  John nodded slowly, perusing the sketches. As he finished looking at each sheet of paper, he handed it over to his sister. Assessing her work from the male perspective, the hats and bonnets looked stylish enough. The women of his acquaintance would not be ashamed to be seen in them. Judging by Jane’s smile, she was satisfied with Miss Siddons’s skill, as well.

  Jane’s smile was the first real sign that his sister was beginning to thaw a trifle when it came to choosing any garment that might show her off on the Marriage Mart. Jane was slow to accept change, however. If he insisted on more than just a single bonnet today, she would likely dig in her heels and vow to stay at their country home as a spinster forever.

  “Very well,” he began, casting the rest of the sketches aside. “You may make one bonnet for my sister. Something to go w
ith the gown she has on. If that works well, we may have other commissions for you. But I want to see your handiwork first. After all, these are mere sketches. I’d like to see the finished, fashionable result.” What he proposed was true, after all, and if he made it sound as if he was unsure of Miss Siddons’s talent, Jane might well jump to her defense.

  “I’ll create a sketch this evening,” Miss Siddons replied with a snap, two red spots appearing on her cheeks. “I think Miss Reed’s dress is perfectly suited to mourning, and I shall look forward to creating something to bring out her natural beauty.”

  John grinned. He couldn’t resist. Miss Siddons was just walking that line between trying to get a difficult customer’s business while maintaining her dignity. She was doing a smashing job of it, too. He touched Jane’s arm. “Come, Jane. We’ll leave Miss Siddons to it, then.”

  Jane cast an apologetic look at Miss Siddons and rose. “I am certain it will be more than lovely. Thank you for your time.” She shook her head at her brother, pursing her lips.

  “We’ll come back for the sketch later,” John added. “I assume you can have it done in one evening?”

  “You assume correctly, Mr. Reed.” Miss Siddons gave a defiant lift to her chin.

  His admiration for her restraint and her confidence surged, but he gave no outward sign of it. He trusted few people, and admired fewer still. So often, he had seen the reality of human nature—its pettiness and its greed. The people he kept company with in London were perfect examples of this, but they were all good for a laugh. Laughter was his most prized pastime, because it made him forget about Mother. He could forgive a great deal if it took his mind off Mother’s death. He shut off his thoughts with a snap. He could not show his admiration. After all, if Jane saw him weaken, then she might, too.

  “Glad to hear it.” He gave a brief nod and followed his sister out the door.

  *

  Why had she promised John Reed that she could come up with a sketch by morning? Nan scrubbed her hand wearily over her forehead. Because he goaded you, that’s why. She longed to wipe that smug expression off his handsome face. Handsome? She shook her head. Whether he was good-looking or not had nothing to do with her current misery. Since the pair had left her shop just a few hours ago, she’d done nothing but ponder over the lines of Jane Reed’s simple gown, trying to come up with an idea that would set Jane’s small but regal bearing off to perfection.

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed seven o’clock. She was due to have supper with Paul, Becky, Susannah and Daniel over at Kellridge Hall in less than an hour. In fact, Susannah and Daniel would come by in the carriage sooner than that. As a spinster, Nan had to rely on her wealthy wedded sisters’ largesse when it came to transportation. The shop, even at its most profitable, had not allowed Nan the funds to buy her own horse and buggy.

  Nan heaved a gusty sigh. What a day it had been, and it wasn’t over just yet. Not only was she creatively stymied, but she needed to put her frustration aside and pretend to enjoy yet another interminable family dinner.

  Not that she hated her family.

  It was just so difficult, watching her lovely older sisters with their doting husbands. Susannah’s small son would likely stay behind in the nursery, but her sister Becky would be there, her pregnancy just beginning to show under the high waist of her voluminous skirts. All her life, Nan had followed the path that seemed predestined for her, as the youngest, plainest and most sensible of the trio of Siddons sisters. She would be the one with a practical head for business. When her tempestuous sister Susannah finally surrendered to Daniel Hale’s charm, she’d left the shop behind for Nan and Becky. However, Becky was far too impulsive and romantic for such a prosaic occupation, and soon fled the millinery shop to become Paul Holmes’s wife.

  As the business at the shop settled, it created a pleasant enough rhythm for Nan’s life. She thought she could be satisfied with the lot she was handed. Even when Becky told her of her pregnancy, Nan fought back a rising tide of jealousy. She was simply never meant to be a wife or a mother.

  Once the village shop engaged the French milliner and her business began its sudden plummet—well, that was another matter entirely. Here she was, alone and with only her business to support her. She was beginning to question whether or not she even liked hats, which was entirely beside the point. Nan Siddons was the practical woman of the family, and managing the millinery shop was her destiny.

  What would happen to her if the business failed? She clenched the foolscap and breathed deeply.

  I know we are supposed to trust in You, God. Just please, please, please—don’t let the shop crash.

  Nan tossed the sheet of foolscap aside and sprinted upstairs, as though she could outrun the depressing thought of being a spinster aunt, a hanger-on, a charity case in one of her sisters’ grand homes. Quick as a wink, she changed into a somber silk evening dress and washed her face.

  She must look as pulled-together as possible. No need for her sisters to guess that her world might just tumble down around her ears.

  The sound of the carriage crunching on the gravel outside caused her to scurry down the stairs. She grabbed her shawl, winding it tightly about her shoulders as she rushed out the door. Why was she in a hurry? She couldn’t very well outrun her own troubling thoughts.

  Daniel was standing outside the carriage, ready to help her up. It was a particular trait of his, a brotherly gesture, as he wouldn’t let the footmen do the job for him.

  Nan smiled wanly at him as he held out his hand.

  “I do hope you can manage a happier expression than that, Nan,” Susannah scolded as Nan made her way into the carriage. “It’s more than just family tonight. Becky and Daniel are entertaining guests. We must make them feel welcome here in Tansley.”

  “Guests?” Nan arranged her skirts carefully about her as her stomach sank.

  “Yes.” Daniel clambered inside, tugging the door shut behind him. “An old friend of Paul’s, and his sister.”

  Oh, no. Surely not. Nan breathed carefully in and out. She was barely able to force herself to attend a family dinner tonight, but if the guests were whom she thought they were—

  “The Reeds.” Susannah tugged on her glove as Daniel rapped on the window of the coach. The carriage started forward with a low rumble. “John Reed, and his sister, Jane.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I daresay you’ll enjoy meeting my sister-in-law, even though she can be a little trying,” Paul Holmes muttered from his place by the hearth. “She’s got a fine head for business, but it’s difficult to get her to talk about much else. You won’t find her much of a dinner partner.”

  John shrugged. He didn’t really want to spoil the surprise by telling Paul about meeting Miss Siddons earlier in the day. No, it would be much more fun to play dumb until she walked back in the door. “Why won’t she talk about much else?” He might as well find out a little more about her while they were waiting for her to arrive. It would, at least, distract them from the real purpose of his visit. Learning how to be a proper master was certainly no stroll down Rotten Row.

  “I spent some time with Nan and with my wife, Becky, before even Susannah and Daniel were wed. Picnics, games, that kind of sport. Nan’s all right. A bit practical, mind you, but a good girl of a fine Christian family. Of course, my mind is always taken up with my wife—even before I knew I was in love with Becky, I spent as much time with her as I could.”

  “Even to the point of hiring her as your niece’s nursemaid?” John couldn’t suppress a roguish grin.

  Paul eyed him sharply over the rim of his teacup. “Watch yourself, man. As I said, the Siddonses are above reproach, particularly where the finer points of morality are concerned.”

  “I don’t intend to imply anything unseemly. Beg pardon.” John choked back his gleeful grin. It never failed to amuse him that he’d discovered Paul’s feelings for Becky before the man himself knew them to be true.

  “As I was saying,” Paul continued
, with the air of a man being robbed of all patience, “I concentrated my thoughts upon Becky. Susannah was, of course, already spoken for by Daniel. Nan was a bit of a gooseberry, I suppose. She is younger, too, than her sisters. I suppose she maintains her pretense of practicality, and devotes herself to her work, as a way of proving herself worthy.”

  “Worthy of what?” John desperately wished for a before-dinner sherry, but there was not a drop to be had at Kellridge Hall. Now that Paul had changed his entire life around and found, as he said, the Lord, anything that led to debauchery had been banned from the Hall, including liquor.

  “I don’t know exactly what. All I can tell you is that Nan is seeking to prove herself just as her sisters did before her. She lacks Susannah’s fire and Becky’s beauty and grace. But there’s a charm about her all the same, for all her plainspokenness. Once, Daniel told me that the Siddons girls work on a man like a tonic. I vow it must be true.” Paul broke off as the door opened and his lovely wife, Becky, entered the parlor. Both men rose to greet her.

  “Whatever are you two men talking about?” Becky stood on tiptoe to peck her husband’s cheek, and the sudden movement revealed the thickening about her middle. Paul would be a father soon, and he would be a good one, too. A rush of inexplicable emotion washed over John, leaving him feeling—of all things—envious. Paul was an excellent master, and a stalwart husband. He had taken in his niece, Juliet, as his ward, and was as good to her as a father would be. In a matter of months, he would become a father again by Becky, and would do credit to those duties, as well.

  What of it? John shrugged his shoulders, irritated by these thoughts. Paul never came to the gaming tables any longer, or squired women of ill repute around to dubious locations in London. Surely he missed that sort of fun.

  John watched hungrily as Becky patted her husband on the shoulder. What would it feel like, being that beloved by someone? “Jane and I are waiting for both of you. Why don’t you come join us in the little parlor off the dining room? Daniel and Susannah will be here in a matter of moments.”