A Love Made to Measure

by Eliza Emmett

  At first the room fell into silence. Addy could hear the sounds of porcelain against porcelain and not much more. For a second, she almost despaired. Had she overestimated their capacity for empathy and their courage for action?

  But then, all of a sudden, Viscountess Higgins was ready to consider supporting the cause. “Maybe we should hear what Adele has to say. Perhaps the favor does not require extreme sacrifice…” She looked around the room, nodding at each of her friends in a plea.

  “Thank you, Candice.” Addy breathed with relief. “My plan is very simple and quite pleasant for all involved. We will all individually request that Miss Larson make us new gowns. A good number. Perhaps three or four each. We will make sure we mention where they come from every opportunity we get, especially when we are met with compliments at parties. Her designs are so distinctive that mostly everyone will know even before we say a word. If anyone brings up gossip or any malice, we will just laugh it off.”

  She sat down and looked around the room. “Once other ladies see how nonchalant we feel about the rumors, they too will have the courage to order gowns again. I’m sure many women miss the wonderful skill and talent of Cora Larsen and are just waiting for someone else to take the lead. We are the leaders—let them be followers.”

  Lady Sophia Erdley still seemed unsure. “Other ladies may or may not be reassured by our actions. If the criticism should come from a duchess, we might not have enough clout to thwart it.”

  “Sophia, none of us knows what it is like to have to make our own living, to worry about paying bills, or balancing the books. We have to at least try. Let us not allow our comfort and our birth to dictate our actions. I ask you with all my heart. Let us be a sisterhood and fight for other women.”

  Addy stopped and breathed in. She trembled when she realized she loved to take a stand, especially on something that important. For a minute, she doubted she would be able to convince them, but when she saw that Sophia rubbed her arm and Charlotte looked down, she knew she had them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I always wonder about days like this, when the sky is so blue and the air is so fresh that it is almost unbearable to realize that night will fall and it will all be gone. Why is happiness so fleeting?”

  Grant could think of no answer to this weighty reflection by his companion. Despite everything, he was so glad that she had accepted his invitation to the park. He would have been speechless even if she hadn’t said anything. In front of Cora, he lost his way. He was always so capable of gathering his thoughts and making a meaningful point. He was able to discuss politics, argue about the market and the state of the economy, but in front of her, he felt like a bit of a nincompoop.

  He had often been invulnerable to the charms of women who fought for his attention. And there had been quite a few. He had enjoyed their company and had treated them in a gentlemanly manner and with discretion when they shared his bed. But no one had been memorable in the end.

  Cora was memorable and noble without the need for a title. She was strong and fragile at the same time. She made him want to take care of her. He did take care of her without her knowledge. He wondered what she would think if she knew about his plotting and scheming. He had come to excel at conniving. Who would have thought?

  “Miss Larsen, I think we face no real danger of days like this disappearing forever. So when night falls, we should only hope for another one just like this to dawn.” He looked back. “Miss Hattie seems to be enjoying herself.”

  Hattie was a wonderful sister, he thought. She was staying behind, at a safe distance, pretending she was interested in a flower here and a tree there so that he and Cora could talk in private. She was sweet and unassuming. Grant hoped that she would be happy and find a life that suited her quiet and charming disposition.

  As for Cora, Grant couldn’t brush aside that desire to kiss her every time he looked at her. In reality, he wanted more than to kiss her, but he respected her. He knew he was in love because to just be able to breathe next to her made him happier than taking another woman to bed was ever able to do.

  When Cora spoke of her sister, he noticed she did so with great affection. “Hattie is a joyful soul. She appreciates the simple things in life, so she is often content. A good book, a stroll, fresh fruit, a new embroidery are all equally capable of bringing out the best in her. There is great comfort in that. Some people are just molded for happiness, and Hattie is one of them.”

  Grant grinned. “How about you, Miss Larsen? Are you equally able to enjoy the spoils of a simple life?”

  Cora thought for a minute. “Most of the time. But I want independence, and with that comes unavoidable worry.”

  “What if you had someone to take care of you?”

  “I don’t know if I would be able to give up control of my life.”

  “How about a partnership, a situation where a couple takes care of each other?”

  “Lord Galavyin, I am not very good with hypotheticals. I measure and cut and assemble. I pay bills, and I buy fabric. I am much better with factual, concrete objects.”

  Grant noticed that Hattie had stopped to chat with two ladies. It looked like they knew one another well. Acting on impulse, he grabbed Cora’s hand and took her away from the main path where the canopy provided by ancient trees protected them from public view. He placed her against a large maple tree. He weaved his fingers through her hair, held tight to a hair lock, and kissed her hard. It was a breathless kiss, which she returned without second guesses.

  “How’s this for factual?”

  In response to the question, Cora brought her lips close to Grant’s and waited for him to take them again. His body burned, and everything that wasn’t him or her disappeared. He was a gentleman, but his resolve to stay away failed him at one whiff of Cora’s perfume.

  “Are you going to protest and walk away like you did in the garden?”

  “I am tired of protesting, Grant.” He loved to hear his name from her lips. “All I do is protest and struggle, and here I am…voluntarily behind a tree with you.” She made an effort to smile, but she kept her eyes fixed to the ground.

  He lifted her head by placing a finger under her chin. “I wish I could stay behind this tree with you all day long.” He kissed her neck, and pressed against her body, and thought of their daylight social transgression while she seemed to thaw into his arms.

  ****

  “He is a dream, Cora. I will not even ask where you were during those several minutes when I stopped to talk to the Misses Collins.” Hattie grabbed her bedcovers with both hands, bringing them close to her face. “I’ll pretend you were just walking ahead of me, and I lost you for a little while.”

  Cora was a world away from the bedroom she shared with Hattie, but she caught this last observation. She couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed to her that Hattie had been singing Grant’s praises for a while.

  “Oh, Cora, you are so lucky!”

  “I wish you would control your enthusiasm. There’s nothing to celebrate. Grant Galavyin is a peer. This will of course lead nowhere, if I’m lucky, and to heartache, if I’m not. I am a tailoress, in case you have forgotten it. No fairytale for women who need to actually earn their living.”

  “You’re wrong, Cora. That man is very much in love with you. Anyone can see that. And you need to realize the privilege it is to live in a time when women can actually earn their living if need be. It wasn’t always like this, you know.”

  Cora drew number eights with her hand on the bedcover. “Even if that were true, it means very little for a man with a title and even less for those around him. I have no illusions. I simply don’t belong.”

  But of course she had illusions. She had been feeding off them, especially now that thinking of her shop was so painful. She started to consider the possibility that they would really have to close the store, and daydreaming of Grant Galavyin was the only respite she had from worry. Her fall from grace could be very painful, but for now, he was like a go
od glass of Muscat wine—enticing and relaxing.

  She had tried to stay away, to deny him kisses, but she couldn’t anymore. She was drunk with the idea of him and that drunkenness was what allowed her to get through the day. She could not forget what she had once been through, and while that memory filled her with fear, a part of her could not help but feel healed by his reciprocity. It was like having sweetmeats after a bitter medicine.

  “When will you see him next? Cora? Are you listening to me?”

  “I am, but not for long. I have to sleep, Hattie. I have work tomorrow.” That last realization sent a dagger-like piercing through her heart. Let’s hope I have work tomorrow, she thought to herself before she dozed off.

  ****

  Superintendent McKenzie had sent a note to Grant, instructing him to come to the precinct that Wednesday evening. Grant was told to wear warm clothes and carry some brandy for extra protection against the cold. He decided there might be good use for a satchel of coins too, so he carried one in the inside pocket of his coat.

  After all that time, the police had received a tip about Toby, thanks to Grant’s reward offer and newspaper advert, one he paid to be reprinted every week without fail. He didn’t want to recognize that at some point, he had started to lose hope.

  A search party was to be launched into the underground. He should be prepared to spend a good portion of the night out, McKenzie had advised. They would start on horse and would enter alleys on foot where needed. They were prepared to talk to the locals until a precise location had been determined. Grant was alert and anxious for this adventure. Despite the immediate concerns, Cora never left his thoughts and so he kept reminding himself to focus on the task at hand, for his own safety and that of the men who would be around him.

  Fog was so thick it was easy to get lost. Grant hired a coach that waited outside his door. His mother had asked many questions that had gone unanswered. When they were alone, Addy had only asked him to be careful, which he promised, at least three times, to be.

  The coach advanced fast and beyond the neighborhood of the hospital. In no time Grant, McKenzie, and three other policemen were embedded in the cold, dark, and smelly streets near the edge of Whitechapel. It was hard to believe this was the same city that boasted such marvelous parks and gardens, coffee houses, and stately buildings. Grant felt ashamed of his privilege and the excesses of polite society—people going to parties to talk about canapes and weekends in the country when the residents of this part of town made do with so little.

  He wrapped a scarf around his neck and rubbed his hands together. It was going to be one of the coldest nights thus far in the season. It was as if they moved backwards to winter.

  When they first arrived, the afternoon dim light still allowed tenants to stand outside their doors, playing cards, talking, or riding bicycles. At least a couple of brawls broke out, but soon the cold and the darkness drew people, even the troublemakers, into the relative warmth of their kitchens where, Grant hoped, a weak fire could prevent them from freezing.

  Once the streets were more deserted, sounds became rare, and the occasional shadow of a person lurking at the most remote corners made the place eerie and uninviting. Yet the search party carried on, knocking on doors and asking for information, making its way through narrow streets now illuminated by the faded light of gas lamps. There were many inquiries and many leads, only rivaled by the many uncooperative denials.

  To not find immediate leads frustrated and enraged Grant. At times, he lost hope again. He drank from his flask to chase away the cold and the disappointment. However, later in the night, when they stopped at a gigantic old wooden door, battered by age and humid weather, their luck changed for the better. There, an ancient man spoke to McKenzie and gave directions to what would be their last stop. Two streets later, the four officers and Grant found themselves running after a man who had pushed his way past them after naively opening the door when they knocked. His short legs, in the end, were no match for those of the trained policemen, used as they were to the pursuit of suspects.

  A while later, the man, surrounded by Grant and the officers, answered questions about Toby Gedge.

  The boy had been in his employ all those weeks. He worked as a chimneysweeper, like so many other impoverished kids. He was able to get into tight chimneys where no adult would fit. Toby turned in most of his profit to the rascal, except for the occasional coin he got to keep. He labored with another four boys, some of whom were even smaller than him. He lived covered in soot, and he nursed a bad cough.

  In the hired coach, already enveloped by a warm blanket, Toby finally spoke to Grant.

  “I only wanted to help. My mother works very ’ard and looks tired all the time. Being a chimneysweeper or a mudlark were the first things that came to my mind. With the cold this time of year, sir, chimney sweeping sounded better.”

  “You will help more if you study. If you learn a profession. If you behave while your mother is at work. She can’t be at the hospital caring for other people if she is worried about you. I will tell you what I’ll do. I will sponsor your studies, and you will promise me never again to do something like this. For every month you stay in school, you can come and collect a coin from me.”

  “I promise you, sir. I’m ’ungry and cold. I miss ’ome. I’ll stay in school. I want to be a gentleman like you.”

  “Your intentions were those of a gentleman—to protect and care for your mother—and I am impressed by that. But a gentleman knows not to be careless, not to worry those that love him. Now let’s get you something to eat, and then I will return you to your mother. She’s had a very difficult few weeks waiting for news.”

  Toby’s was not the only one. Because of Grant, four other mothers would have a much better night with their kids safely under their roofs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday morning, the door of the shop opened with a creak. For lack of work, Cora had lounged in a room adjacent to the main hall of the shop, reading a Jane Austen to feel less alone. When she got to the front room, she found herself in the presence of the most elegant woman she had ever seen. Even if she weren’t a queen, she could have fooled anyone if she said she was. It was not just her outfit, which was clearly magnificent. It was her regal manner too.

  She wore a gold-toned gown with green embellishments, and Cora immediately decided the dress had come from Paris. Had she been given the chance, she could even have ascertained who the expensive dressmaker was by the touch of the gown and the feel of the perfect stitches.

  Cora’s visitor was in her late forties although her skin and her hair could have been those of a much younger woman. It was the royal posture and a certainty in the walk that announced this woman was not a spring chicken. Still, her smile was fresh and her arms moved gracefully as she reached for the edges of a silk scarf by the window. She was enveloped in the most delicate perfume of gardenias.

  “Miss Larsen?” She had a firm but sweet voice.

  “Yes.” Involuntarily Cora curtsied a little.

  “Oh good! I am at the right place. Duchess Newcomb, Miss Larsen. Enchantée,” she offered, smiling broadly and extending her hand to Cora.

  Cora, without knowing exactly what she was to do with that slight hand, took a minute to touch it gently and curtsy again. “Your Grace.”

  The duchess walked with steady steps toward one of the mannequins that displayed a gorgeous teal party dress. “This is exquisite. You’re quite the artist, Miss Larsen. I should know—I have been dressed by the best dressmakers in the world, and I must say you certainly hold your own.”

  Cora’s knees trembled. She wasn’t usually impressed by titles, but this woman’s duchy was in the blood, not just in a piece of land or in words before a name. Besides, the duchess’s fame for being one of the most fashionable ladies in London preceded her wherever she went.

  “Miss Larsen, I would be very grateful if you could design a new collection of gowns for me. I have been much engaged this Season, and
I am not one to repeat gowns within the same circle of friends. I need to make sure I stand at the forefront of fashion. After all, other ladies depend upon my lead to make their choices.” She winked after this last statement. What would sound like an affectation in the lips of another was just a friendly, playful commentary in hers.

  Cora’s relief could not be expressed in words. This was not just a dress order. She dared dream she was safe. This was a return to work, to providing gowns to opinion changers and fashion makers. The next two hours were a blur of fabrics, measurements, tassels, ribbons, and buttons. Sally ran back and forth with materials. Shelves looked chaotic, but in a way cheerful too. Emergency trips to the best fabric providers in London were arranged. One cup of tea after another, one sleeve design before the next, and Cora was back in business.

  ****

  Across the street, an elegant carriage waited for the duchess to leave Cora’s shop. From inside the coach, Grant Galavyin helped her with a steady hand.

  “Thank you, Grant. I’m sorry to keep you waiting here for so long. Women and fabric. The hours pass like minutes.”

  “I’m the one who should thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Nonsense. When is it a sacrifice for me to order gowns from one of the most gifted dressmakers in town?”

  When two days before Grant had asked timidly if Duchess Newcomb would help his friend, she didn’t hesitate. Not only was she one of the most elegant women he had ever met but she also had a heart to match. She was now ready to sing Cora’s praises, like all of those who knew her well.