She paused, waiting a little bit longer before pushing out a frustrated breath and standing. These velvet ribbon flowers she had learned to fashion were part of the reason Blackmore hats sat atop some of the finest female heads in polite society — she had a knack for creating new ways to adorn the same old bonnet or beaver hat styles so that a woman of a certain class stood out among her peers.
This ability was both a blessing and a curse, it turned out. Her creativity meant Tabitha brought customers through the front door, to the shop she and her father had built after her mother died when she was seven years old. It had brought Tabitha and her father, the baronet Elias Blackmore, closer together in their time of immeasurable grief, and the shop had flourished.
The relationship between father and daughter remained strong, and when she was twelve years of age, he approached her and told her he wanted to marry a baroness from the North Country. The baroness had a daughter about her own age, he’d added. Tabitha had been happy for her father and excited at the prospect of having a sister. She had welcomed her new family with an open heart and open arms.
What a silly little fool she’d been, Tabitha thought with derisive snort as she pushed herself to her feet and through the brocade curtains to greet the newcomer. Lord only knew where Frances had gone off to. Likely shopping with her mother, Ellora.
Upon the untimely death of Sir Elias Blackmore three years after the marriage, Tabitha had been utterly devastated. Lady Blackmore, however, hadn’t wasted much time in putting Tabitha in her place. No longer the family’s most cherished daughter, Tabitha had been shoved into the workroom and largely ignored, but for her skills as a milliner — they kept just enough of her stepmother’s attention on her.
The more she stood up to Ellora, the more her stepmother threatened to throw her out on the street. Knowing it was within Ellora’s nature to follow through on her threat, Tabitha did her best to ignore and avoid her stepmother, focusing instead on her work and her ambitions.
It was better, Tabitha supposed, than staying in their townhome all day long worrying about social calls that never came or invitations that would never arrive. The family name had suffered greatly under Lady Blackmore and Miss Frances Denner, her daughter from a previous marriage.
In truth, Tabitha was little more than a servant with no money to speak of, no family to lean on, and no real prospects other than her creations on which to pin her hopes of ever escaping the lot she’d been given after her father died.
In the showroom, Tabitha scanned the floor in search of the new arrival. It took a moment, but her eyes finally landed on a small, older man in a fine suit. He had a slip of paper in his hand, and he approached Tabitha with the air of someone who didn’t waste time.
“Good afternoon, Miss,” the man began with perfect, practiced speech. “My name is Mr. McEwan. I serve as the steward in the house of Her Grace the Duchess of Stowe. I have a receipt for a series of hats I believe she had ordered, and she is requesting that they be delivered tomorrow afternoon.”
Tabitha felt her stomach sink. If this was the order she was thinking of, the one currently on her worktable, there was no way under the stars that the three hats would be ready by tomorrow. She was only one flower (out of seven) into the first bonnet, and it was a slow process to convince the requested velvet ribbon to behave.
“I am sorry, sir,” she began, trying to get his eyes off the wilder ostrich-plumed hats next to her and back on her. “That is almost four days before we agreed upon. I’m certain there is no feasible way the work can be done, and done well, by tomorrow.”
That got the older man’s attention. He huffed, turned a bit pink around the cheeks, and sputtered.
“There is simply no choice, my dear,” he said abruptly but not unkindly. “His Grace is arriving home from his trip to France early and therefore the parties his mother has planned for him will be adjusted accordingly. And so, her wardrobe must be ready — she said so herself. She is willing to pay handsomely for your ability to expedite the process.”
Tabitha drew in a breath at that and considered. She was having such a difficult time scrimping a small savings together to buy herself a seat at the Paris School of Millinery that this “bonus” money might perhaps get her there that much quicker. Assuming, of course, that Ellora didn’t catch wind of the extra earnings. She was quick to snatch up all but the barest pennies.
Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment and drew a steadying breath. If she worked through the night and her needle and thread held true, there was a slight chance that she could finish in time. She said so to Mr. McEwan, who beamed brightly at her.
“I knew it,” he said with a laugh. “I have faith you Miss — er, I apologize, I did not hear your name?”
Tabitha sighed.
“Tabitha Blackmore,” she said, noticing how quickly he’d changed the subject on her. “I did not exactly say that I would be able to—”
She was cut off again by Mr. McEwan, who gave her a slight bow and provided directions to the home of the Dowager Duchess of Stowe on the other side of the city.
“I shall see you tomorrow, then, my dear,” he said with a quick grin. “Be sure to pack a bag to stay at least one evening, maybe two. I am certain Her Grace’s attendants will need proper coaching on how best to pair the hats. You will be paid, of course!”
With that the short man with wisps of white hair on his head that stood up like smoke was gone, disappearing into the streets of Cheapside.
Tabitha leaned back against the counter behind her and blew out a breath, a little overwhelmed at the entire encounter.
On the one hand, she had found a way to increase her savings and take a step closer to the education her father had wanted for her. On the other, getting through the night in one piece was not guaranteed. She would have to return to the shop after dinner and do so without rousing Lady Blackmore’s suspicions, which would not be easy.
Tabitha kicked at a crushed crepe ribbon flower that hadn’t been tossed out properly. Another evening down the back drainpipe it was, then.
“Time away from the witch, I suppose,” she muttered as she returned to her worktable, a new fire of inspiration lit beneath her.
Dinner was more complicated than usual, thanks to the fact that Ellora, Tabitha’s stepmother, was having one of her moods. They could be brought on by anything — the weather (too foul or too pleasant), the noisy street they lived on, memories of her life when she was the daughter of an earl and had endless opportunities for money and titles, or even an egg that had too much salt.
Today’s mood, however, had more to do with the fact that her daughter Frances had been recently snubbed. Officially, Ellora was considered a member of the ton and her daughter’s first season the previous year had nearly cost them the roof over their heads. However, Frances was an ill-tempered, sharp-tongued girl who did little to ensure repeat invitations to dances and parties.
“A true-and-true witch,” their housekeeper, Alice, called her. Alice was the only servant left on staff besides Katie, the lady’s maid Ellora and Frances shared, so it was up to both Alice and Tabitha to make sure that meals were made and rooms were kept clean. Being an indentured servant in her own home was trying enough, but much worse was having to tidy the room that once held every memento of her father’s. It was now completely devoid of every memory of him.
It was as though Baronet Elias Blackmore had never existed. No portraits. No personal belongings. Nothing but the small locket he’d given Tabitha when she was nine years old, which she still wore around her neck.
This evening’s dinner was a morose affair, and Tabitha sat silently while Ellora ranted and raved about the social snub of her angel, Frances.
Tabitha looked across the table at her stepsister. Frances was very pretty, she’d give her that much. But her mouth was drawn thin and her blue eyes were more steely than pleasant. Frances had brown hair that one could call more dishwater in color than brunette. However, Ellora spent high sums of money on beauty products and bits
and bobs for Katie to fashion Frances’ hair into something resembling high fashion each day.
Frances was pouting into her soup while her mother railed beside her. When she glanced up and caught Tabitha looking at her, she scowled.
Tabitha quickly looked away, but Frances jumped on the opportunity to take the attention off her.
“I saw a servant go into the shop this afternoon when I was returning from tea with Adela,” Frances said to her mother, her flinty eyes on Tabitha, who inwardly groaned.
So much for secrecy.
Ellora paused in her ranting and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Who was it?”
The words were clipped, and her nose was high in the air while she peered along it at Tabitha.
“A servant for the Dowager Duchess of Stowe,” Tabitha replied. “He came to inquire about an order the Duchess sent over a week ago.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie and it helped her corroborate her story because Ellora had already received the money sent over for the original order.
“And was the order ready?”
Tabitha swallowed hard. She wasn’t in the clear yet.
“Almost,” she said and lowered her eyes to take a sip of the soup as she inwardly seethed.
“Unacceptable,” her stepmother ground out between her teeth. “You lazy, no-good hanger-on. It is no wonder your father’s ridiculous hat shop is dying off. He had the laziest cow this side of the river working behind the curtains.”
She banged a fist on the table, making Frances jump.
“You get up from this table and you finish that order right this instant.” Ellora pointed a long bony finger in the direction of the door, ending Tabitha’s dinner before she had progressed past the soup. Tabitha’s stomach rumbled in protest, and her fists clenched beneath the table as she longed to tell Ellora what she really thought, but Tabitha knew this was a gift. She would nab a roll from Alice later.
“I am going to stop by in the morning to check your ledger and work progress to make certain you are being completely honest with me,” Ellora announced. “And woe be to you if I find that you have been neglecting your work and you have a backlog of orders.”
In reality, Tabitha was of legal age and the threats should be harmless. But she was also lacking any real money, any job prospects, and had no titles her father could have passed down to her. Running her father’s milliner shop was the closest thing she would have to freedom for the near future, and it would be much better for her if she allowed Ellora the illusion of control for the time being, since the dreadful woman had inherited the shop upon her father’s death.
Ellora’s threat put Tabitha in a bind. She was due at the Duchess’ estate first thing in the morning. As it stood, she’d have to have those pieces done, as well as the other orders on her workbench before then. She closed her eyes and blew out a heavy breath.
It was going to be a very long night.
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QUEST OF HONOR
SEARCHING HEARTS BOOK 1
PREVIEW
Begin the stories of the Harrington family with Thomas and Eleanor…
Prologue
Marie looked around the table at her five children, her gaze coming to rest on Thomas. Normally she was most concerned about Daniel, her eldest and the next in line to become Duke, but there was something about Thomas tonight that seemed off to her.
Typically the most free-spirited of her children, this evening he wore a serious look, and had taken on the brooding silence that overcame him whenever he felt stifled or frustrated.
The remainder of her children, from Daniel at 24 down to her 16-year-old daughter Polly, were chattering away as they were normally wont to do, no matter how she tried to instil in them the proper etiquette of the dinner hour. Her husband, Lionel, Duke of Ware, sat in his usual place at the head of the table, intent on his food as he listened to the stories of his brood.
“Thomas,” Marie said, and he raised his dark head. “Is everything quite well, darling?”
“Yes, Mother,” he replied mechanically.
“Are you quite sure?”
“Well actually,” he said, looking hesitantly at her and then his father. “I do have somewhat of an announcement.”
Marie raised her eyebrows as the chatter around the table hushed, for Thomas’ siblings could see the nervousness that accompanied his statement.
“I am going to be joining the Navy,” he said, puffing his chest out, trying to look more assured than he felt.
“The Navy!” his mother exclaimed incredulously. “You cannot be serious. Is this some sort of joke?”
“Not at all, Mother,” he responded, his blue eyes taking on an icy resolve. “The Navy is a noble profession. What else am I to do with my life?”
“You are the second son of a Duke! What if the title of Duke should need to pass onto you and you are injured or dead somewhere at sea?”
“I shall not spend my life sitting here waiting for Father and Daniel to die, Mother,” he responded, his voice becoming slightly more heated, although he would never raise it at his mother. “They are both quite healthy and, I’m sure, have long lives to live. I want to see the world! What better way than on the sea?”
“Lionel!” Marie said to her husband with fervour. “Have you nothing to say?”
Lionel finished chewing his potatoes, his expression unwavering.
“Well, son,” he said. “I would say your intentions are admirable. You do know what you are getting yourself into?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, boy, I’d best talk to my friend the Admiral tomorrow. The son of the Duke of Ware must find a reasonable berth and vessel upon which to serve.”
Thomas’ face lit up, and he caught the gaze of his sister Violet, who smiled at him encouragingly. He grinned at her, then turned back to his father.
“Thank you, Father,” he said. “I would appreciate it.”
“This is quite ridiculous,” his mother said, her head swivelling from Thomas to Lionel and back to Thomas once more. “Thomas is 22 years old! He and Daniel should be finding wives, settling down, raising children. Instead, Daniel is out doing Heaven knows what and Thomas will be at sea miles away from Britain! How is it that I have three children of marriageable age, none of which have any interest in actually being married?”
Benjamin and Polly smirked, happy to have the attention off of them and onto their three elder siblings.
“In due time, Mother,” said Violet, somewhat mollifying her. “In due time. In the meantime, let us drink to Thomas and the world that awaits him.”
“To Thomas!” They all joined in, with the exception of Marie, and Thomas grinned, excited about what the future would hold for him.
1
Five years later
Eleanor Adams sat primly on the straight backed chair as her father stomped around, muttering something under his breath. She waited patiently for his judgement to fall, knowing that he would not be able to bring himself to punish her too severely. After all, she was his only child and he had never been able to be too strict with her. In fact, this was the only life Eleanor had ever known. Just her and her father, facing the world and all its tribulations.
“You cannot simply do as you please, Eleanor!” her father spluttered, his face now a beetroot red. “What if we had not seen you?”
Eleanor stifled a sigh of frustration. “Papa, you know me better than that. I simply had to investigate whatever it was down there.” A small smile crept across her face. “And, if I had not, then we would currently not have these three small trunks in our possession.” She indicated the three, still damp, trunks that sat beside her father’s desk, glancing at them before returning her gaze to her father.
To her very great relief, he sighed and sat down heavily, although he continued to shake his head at her. Eleanor hid her smile. She was triumphant.
“We have
not opened them yet, Eleanor,” her father said, a little gruffly. “You could have risked your life for nothing.”
In response, Eleanor tossed her head, aware of the spots of moisture that shook off her long flaxen locks. “I am one of the best swimmers among the crew, Papa, you know that.”
“But still,” he retorted. “You cannot just dive off the ship without alerting someone to what you have found! Had you done so, I could have dropped the anchor and gone to see what was there.”
Eleanor bit her lip, aware that her father was being more than reasonable. Had any one of his crew done what she had, they would have been severely punished. It was only because she was the captain’s daughter that she had done such a thing. Her cheeks warmed. “I was trying to prove myself, Papa,” she explained, more quietly. “As the only woman on board, I have to take extra steps to show my worth.”
His face softened. "Eleanor, you already have my respect and the respect of the crew. For over twenty years you have traveled the seas with us and you have no need to prove yourself. Doing such a thing is both dangerous and shows a lack of regard for me – not only as your father but also as your captain." His lined face grew more serious, as his bushy eyebrows clung together. "You know that I will need to punish you for what you did, Eleanor. As much as it pains me to do this, you are to be confined to your quarters for two days."
“Two days?” Eleanor gasped, staring at her father. “But I will miss the exploration!”
Her father nodded gravely. “I have to show the crew that I am not afraid to punish you, even though you are my daughter.” A hint of a smile pulled up the corner of his lips. “Just be glad it is not the cat o’nine tails, Eleanor.”
Eleanor sagged against the chair, her ladylike position gone in a moment. Reflecting on her father’s decision, she had to admit that it was fair, lenient even. She hated that her impulsive nature had, once again, brought severe consequences. If only she had not dived into the water to see what it was that glistened below! If she had only told her father, then he would have dropped the anchor and sent someone down – although Eleanor doubted that he would have chosen her. Even though she could swim like a fish, her father always kept her in his sights whenever he could.
Christmastide With His Countess Page 19
