A Promise Beneath the Kissing Bough
By: Tabetha Waite
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2019 Tabetha Waite
Cover art design by Wicked Smart Designs
Also by Tabetha Waite
Ways of Love Historical Romance Series
How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)
Why the Earl is After the Girl (Book 1)
Where the Viscount Met His Match (Book 2)
When a Duke Pursues a Lady (Book 3)
Who the Marquess Dares to Desire (Book 4)
What a Gentleman Does for Love (Book 5)
Regency Novellas
Twelve Gifts by Christmas
Lord Castleford’s Fortunate Folly (Fortunes of Fate #1)
A Lady’s Guide to Marriage
A Promise Beneath the Kissing Bough
Victorian Novels
Behind a Moonlit Veil
Anthologies
Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)
Lady It’s Cold Outside (Christmas Regency)
Wrapped Up in Love (Breast Cancer Charity – Contemporary)
Lords, Ladies & Babies –Little Consequences (Regency)
Free Short Stories
Love’s Frozen Kiss
Love Out of the Ashes
Table of Content
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Dedication
I’ve always enjoyed stories by Charles Dickens, who celebrated the unsung, common-born heroes. In honor of his works, I hope you enjoy my Regency take on those a little less fortunate.
Chapter One
London, England
December 4, 1815
Miss Pleasant Hill stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her gaze riveted on the sign in the shopkeeper’s window. She ignored the weight of the basket in her arms, the jostle from the passerby, and even the cold chill of icy wind mixed with tiny pinpricks of ice that flew at her face and coated the covering on her hair. None of it mattered, because that sign was the answer to her prayers.
While Pleasant stayed plenty busy as a washerwoman and caring for her sick mother and three younger siblings, taking on another position as an apprentice for a cordwainer was something that would require little effort. Her father had been a cobbler in Ireland, so she already had experience in how to repair shoes, even if she’d never manipulated the leather from scratch to create a specific design.
But with this bit of extra income, it might just be enough to give her family the Christmas season they all deserved.
She set the basket on her hip and pushed open the door, glancing up at the silver bell that heralded her entrance. Beside it was a clump of festive greenery.
“Mistletoe,” she whispered, as the lovely, welcoming heat of the shop enveloped her, followed by several familiar scents.
“May I help you?”
Pleasant turned her head at the sound of the smooth, even timbre of the masculine voice. But instead of seeing a face to go with the sound, no one was behind the counter. She took a couple steps forward and saw the profile of a man’s body on the other side of a wooden beam. He was sitting on a crude stool with an apron draped over his common clothes, and was using a burnisher to shine the bottom of a boot.
But it wasn’t what he was doing, so much as his appearance that had arrested her attention and made her tongue abruptly stick to the roof of her mouth. Unlike most shopkeepers she’d met in London, he was younger, likely in his early-thirties, if she had to guess. His dark hair had yet to turn gray, although it was lighter in spots, as if he’d spent a lot of time out-of-doors. Without any facial hair, his strong jaw was clearly defined, and when he turned his head to look at her, she was surprised to find that his eyes were as green as hers.
She wondered if he might be as fascinated by her as she was with him, but when his gaze flicked along her form without any sort of interest, her hopes fizzled away. “What can I do for you, miss?” he asked almost impatiently this time.
Finally, Pleasant found her voice. “I’m here to inquire about the apprentice position.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I see.” He set aside the boot he’d been working on, laying it on a wooden shelf with several others, and grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands. He tossed that on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, causing the muscles in his upper arms to tighten under his shirt.
His forearms were exposed, and she noticed that they were nicely tanned and covered with a sprinkling of dark hair. But it was his hands, strong and steady, that she admired. “You’re Irish?”
“I am,” she confirmed, wondering if that made a difference when his accent marked him as definite English.
He gestured to the basket in her arms. “And a washerwoman?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, but said no more, just continued to study her. Abruptly, he asked, “How old are you?”
She lifted her chin slightly. “I’m four and twenty.”
His brows flew upward at this. “I would have guessed much younger.” He rubbed a finger across his bottom lip in apparent contemplation. It was rather distracting. “Very well, do you have any qualifications?”
“My father was a cobbler in Ireland. I used to assist him.”
“Is he with you in London?”
“No.” Pleasant had to swallow over the tight lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “He passed away about a year ago. My mother and siblings moved to England after we… lost our home.” She hated to admit that part, that because she was a woman she’d been overlooked on her merits in taking over her father’s trade, thus resulting in a lack of work and the inability to pay their rent.
“What does your mother do?”
Pleasant was glad for something else to focus her mind on. “She’s a seamstress, and she helps me with the wash, but she’s ill, so she’s restricted by what she can do.”
“I see,” he murmured. “And your siblings?”
“Niall is thirteen, Connor is eleven, and Fiona is seven.”
He appeared to consider this. “There is quite a difference in your age compared to that of your brothers and sister.”
Pleasant shifted the weight of the basket. “Aine is my father’s second wife. The woman who gave birth to me, my true mother, died when I was born, but Aine has always treated me as her own.”
“It sounds like a close family,” he guessed.
“We do what we can,” she hedged, not wishing to earn sympathy, but at the same time, wanting to impress upon him the importance of hiring her by being honest. “I love them very much. It’s why I am here to inquire about the position. I want to offer them a good Christmas. I promise that I will work hard.”
He rose to his feet and walked toward her. Pleasant wasn’t sure what his intentions were when he stopped before her, his towering height almost intimidating, but when he reached out and took the basket from her and set it on the floor, she couldn’t help but feel relief as the weight of the wet laundry had eased. She was so used to packing it around day after day that it was almost a part of her until it was gone.
He reached out and took one of her hands in his. He frowned when he looked at her hands. She knew what he saw. The once creamy flesh was tainted red and rough with the continual use of the lye soap. She yearned to draw back her hand, but the feel of his warm flesh on hers was rather… comforting. Strange that, considering he was a complete stranger and his touch should mean nothing.
He released her and his green eyes bored into hers, as if trying to see into her very soul. Several heartbeats passed, and she hardly dared to breathe, but then he seemed to come to a decision. “My name is Cornell Reed. I shall expect you here tomorrow morning at eight to see what you can do.”
Pleasant couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Mr. Reed. You won’t regret it.”
“I will be the judge of that, Miss…?”
She bobbed a brief curtsy. “Pleasant Hill.”
His lips twitched slightly. “You didn’t even have to make that up, did you?”
She was confused. “Pardon?”
“Never mind.” He waved a hand. “Until tomorrow.”
Dismissed, Pleasant picked up her basket and strode out the door.
***
The door to the cramped confines Pleasant shared with her family squeaked in protest when she opened it. As usual, when she returned with a load of laundry to be cleaned, her mother was sewing in her chair by the fire, while Fiona moved a broom about the room in an effort to clean.
Niall had hauled water home from the city pump for her wash, noted Pleasant, so since she was running a bit behind that morning, he was likely already out with Connor sweeping chimneys. It was a filthy occupation, but they did what they could to pull their fair share.
Normally, Pleasant would make her way to the washboard and pan on the opposite side of the room and, after removing the buttons or other fancy adornments that could be damaged, she would scrub the cotton in the lye, then drape the clean linens on the ropes hanging overhead to dry. During the summer months when it was warmer, she could do it all outside and spare them the foul stench of the soap, and whatever else she could find to remove any stains, but on miserable, cold days like this, she had no other choice.
Either way, it was quite a process that would usually take most of the day, so she knew there were some late nights ahead for her if she impressed Mr. Reed enough that he kept her on at the shop, but it would be worth it just to see her siblings’ smiling faces on Christmas morning. The year before, the holiday had been spent in misery after their father’s death and the long, weary move to London.
But Pleasant vowed that this time it would be different. Their faces would be wreathed in smiles.
Feeling hopeful, she set down her basket in the middle of the floor and announced, “I may have a position at the cordwainer’s shop.”
Her stepmother gasped in happy surprise. “Why, that’s wonderful, Pleasant!” She paused as she was struck with a coughing fit. Unfortunately, they had become more frequent with the oncoming winter. Pleasant didn’t even want to imagine what sort of dire straits they would be in should Aine succumb to her illness. “But what about the laundry?”
“I plan to continue it, of course.”
Aine’s mouth turned down grimly. “Pleasant…”
She knew what was coming, so she went to her stepmother’s side and knelt down by the chair and took her hand. “Please. Just let me do this.” She gestured to Fiona, who was humming in the corner of the room as she swept, and lowered her voice. “For them. They deserve the chance to be children, if only for a day.”
Aine’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “I wish I could do more to help. I just feel so… useless.”
“You’re not,” Pleasant returned firmly. “You are the glue that keeps us all together. Besides, you need to retain your strength.”
Aine sighed. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a daughter like you.”
Pleasant leaned forward and kissed her stepmother on the cheek. “You gave me love and a home. That’s all I need.”
Later that night, after Aine decided to retire early, the siblings were all seated around the crude table, and the wash was hanging out to dry, Pleasant told the three surrounding faces her news.
Niall frowned and stabbed a potato with his fork. “I wish Mama would just let me work at the docks. I would make so much more money, and not have to inhale that bloody soot anymore.”
“Watch your language,” Pleasant admonished. “And as far as dock work, you think sweeping chimneys is grueling? Not to mention all the fiends that you would encounter down by the river. Perhaps in a few years—”
His fork clattered to his plate. “I’m tired.” With that, he shoved back his chair and stomped up the stairs.
Pleasant sighed at his departure. Since their father’s death, Niall had always felt as if he needed to fill that void. But he took entirely too much responsibility upon his young shoulders, and someday, Pleasant was afraid that would take him down a dark path.
“Did Niall upset you, Pea?” Fiona put her small arms around Pleasant, who smiled at the nickname she’d been given long ago.
“No,” Pleasant said with a smile at the adoring face smothered in freckles. “I just worry about him.”
“He just needs to get the stick out of his arse,” Connor piped up from across the table.
“Connor, really!” Pleasant chided, as she shook her head. “You boys and your language. Remember that you live with three other ladies.”
“Sorry, Pea,” Connor grumbled, as he too, pushed back his chair and excused himself.
“I guess it’s just us now,” Fiona said with a shrug.
Pleasant stood and began to gather up the dirty plates. “If you help me with the dishes tonight, then perhaps I can take you to the park one weekend before it gets too soggy and cold.”
Fiona scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like English weather. I want to go back home to Ireland.”
Pleasant’s heart ached for her sister. “I know you do, but London has a lot more opportunities for us than Ireland did.” She bent down to her level. “But maybe someday, we can go back and visit.”
Fiona’s brown eyes lit up. “Promise, Pea?”
Pleasant touched the tip of her nose with her finger. “I promise.” And in that moment, she told herself that, no matter what it took, she would fulfill that vow.
Chapter Two
When there was a knock at the shop door, Cornell glanced at his pocket watch, which read precisely five minutes to eight, and had to admit that he was impressed. Miss Pleasant Hill had seemed sincere in her desire to become an apprentice, but she was young and likely fanciful, so he wasn’t even sure she’d show up. But truth be told, he was glad she had. It was strange, but there had been something oddly appealing about her, and he wanted to see her again, just to see if that recognition was still there.
As he glanced out the window and saw her hair covered by a wrap, her nose slightly red from the cold, he couldn’t help but smile at her appearance. She looked the epitome of a forlorn waif, if it wasn’t for the sparkle in her green eyes when she spied him. She lifted a tentative hand in greeting, and he nodded in return, as he unlocked the door and let her inside.
She rubbed her arms as she entered, although the threadbare cloak she wore probably wasn’t that much help against the elements. “Thank you.”
“How are you this morning?” He glanced down at her small frame and wondered if she’d even had anything to eat that morning. Not only did the top of her head barely reach his chin, but she was a timid thing, even if she did her best to hide it.
“I’m well, Mr. Reed. And you?”
He nearly snorted at the query. Instead, he replied, “Well enough.” It wasn’t often that anyone asked about his welfare, but then, during his days at sea, he would have likely bit someone’s head off if they’d dared to question his health. However, as the captain of a Royal naval ship, it would have been detrimental to his career if he’d shown any sign of weakness. It might have even caused a mutiny.
He waved a hand toward the back room. “Shall we begin?”
She nodded mutely and followed after him, her footsteps barely making a sound on the hard wood floor. Naturally, he noticed what she was wearing. “Did you make those?” he asked, pointing to her nankeen, half boots.
She glanced down at the simply made, but sturdy blue shoes. “I did.”
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br /> “Hmm.” Even he had to admire the craftsmanship. It made him think that, if she was telling the truth, that she could be an asset to his shop after all. “That style is becoming more popular with the ladies of society this season. They find that a burst of color on their feet is rather charming, whereas the white and pastels dresses they are forced to wear are quite de rigueur. Not to mention that they are more comfortable than leather, and not as easily ruined as their delicate kid slippers, although for social events like balls, those are still required, but that’s where pattens come in handy.”
Miss Hill didn’t say anything, just nodded whenever it seemed necessary. While her silence was welcome, for he wasn’t a fan of incessant chattering women, it also unnerved him that she was so quiet. “Do you… have any questions?”
“Do you only design ladies’ footwear?”
He shook his head. “No. I also make men’s and children’s, and I’m not averse to say that people from all over England come to my shop to purchase my work.” He looked at her meaningfully. “I would like to keep my reputation intact.”
She nodded quickly. “Of course.”
He gave her a tour of his work area, which, he noted, would also be hers if he decided to hire her. Various tools were scattered about, along with wood, metal, leather, and plain nankeen that was ready to be dyed. “You said your father was a cobbler, is that right?” At her admission, he held up a pair of pliers. “Can you tell me what these are used for?”
“They stretch the leather.” She walked over and picked up some more instruments. “This is an awl for punching holes, this is a marking wheel that tells where the needle should go through the sole, and this is a size stick to measure the foot.”
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