by Abigail Agar
He remembered where Marielle’s dress shop was located. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the club. When he found it and looked in the window, he saw her with a customer, waving her delicate hands down the back of the dress the woman was wearing, while the customer nodded. She was speaking rapid-fire, and her assistants, pins in hands, were on their knees doing her bidding.
Marielle moved to the other side of the dress to inspect it. She looked up and saw Phin through the window. A warm smile greeted him.
She came to the door and opened it for him. “Sit here where my customer will know you are here but will be out of her view. We’ll talk when I’m through?”
He nodded and sat looking out the window to see Parisians walking down the street in front of her shop. How pleasant the scene. He was pulled from his reverie when Marielle spoke to her customer.
“Pardon the interruption. A man, who is buying his wife a beautiful dress, one of my creations I am particularly pleased with, has come to look. I have seated him out of sight of you, so please be at ease.”
Her patron murmured her understanding, and the dress fitting continued.
Phin thought he really should be in his rented room writing Everett about his meetings in Champagne. Everett could arrange passage to the boxes and store them in their warehouse. Phin would sell them when he got back to London.
He saw the skirts of her dress first, and when he looked up, she was smiling at him. “Phin. I knew I would see you again.”
Her smile reinforced his feeling that coming back to the shop was the right thing to do. “I came to take you to lunch if you are available. The French still take two hours off at midday?”
“Yes, we do. I need twenty minutes. Maybe you would enjoy a walk down a street or two. Or will your wait cause a problem?”
His smile was as big as hers. “I’ll return in twenty minutes. He bowed and left the shop while Marielle’s assistants looked at one another, eyebrows raised, smiles on their faces.
After a companionable lunch and a walk along the Seine, Marielle needed to reopen her shop. He walked her to her door. Earlier in the afternoon, when he explained his important business, he asked her where she got her fabric.
“There are a few warehouses near the docks where we all shop. But everyone in Paris is wearing the same fabrics in the same colours.” She shrugged. “We are all too small to command a boat to carry our specific needs.”
“You remember our conversation about fabric?” Phin said, knowing she had hung on his every word about the subject. “May I come in and look at your fabrics and colours? Maybe you could take me to the warehouses you patronize?”
Marielle nodded and let Phin into her shop. The back area was small but neat. She showed him her rack of dresses in varying stages of construction and showed him fabric bolts stacked neatly behind the screen.
He flipped through her rack of gowns, most in varying shades of blue in silk or organza.
“How many colours do you offer?” he asked, still flipping through her rack.
She stepped closer so she was behind his right shoulder, “Three blues, a green,” she pointed to a green dress further down the rack, “pink and yellow.”
Phin kept pushing hangers to the right, inching down the rack. “All silk or organza?”
“Yes,” she said.
“May I see your bolts?” he turned and asked.
Marielle led Phin behind the screen. On shelves he was sure were specially made to fit the bolts, she pointed to her selection. He pulled a bolt and looked around. There was a small table behind him, holding neatly stacked measuring tapes, pins, trim, scissors, needles, and thread.
She took the bolt, opened it so Phin could look at the fabric unfurled, and put it on top of everything on the table.
Phin smiled at her. Marielle’s face had an expected look of someone who thought there might be more cake in the kitchen that hadn’t yet been served.
Phin opened the fold of the bolt and felt the fabric, measured the width of the fabric from his elbow to his fingertip, then nodded. “If I may ask, how much do you pay for a bolt?”
She seemed confused. “Phin, I don’t pay by the bolt, I pay by the metre.”
“But you have to buy a bolt?”
“Yes,” her eyes searched his face. She worried she had been buying fabric wrong.
“Twenty metres?” he asked, his eyebrow raised.
Marielle told Phin her price per metre. She was beginning to feel inadequate and nervous that she was doing something wrong. “Phin, you’re making me nervous.”
He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “My apologies, Marielle. You, as well as the other dress shops in Paris are paying too much for a bolt of fabric. It’s not your fault. You have little choice. My fabric selection includes satin, water silk, tulle, and wool. You could make beautiful coats from the wool.
“We offer 11 colours in most of the fabrics I’ve mentioned. Have you no black for your windows?”
Marielle looked at her feet. “Women dye the addresses black when they must mourn.”
“I will send you a few bolts. You will have women flocking to your shop for something different.
“I’ll write my business partner today.”
Marielle shook her head vigorously. “I can’t afford it now. Maybe sometime soon? I buy one bolt at a time.”
Phin humphed. “I want to send you a full selection. Before you object,” he said as he put up his hand to stop her from interrupting, “I am doing this for my own selfish reasons. Once word gets out, and it will, I’ll open a warehouse on the docks with better pricing and more selection. The ladies on this street are being held hostage.”
Marielle agreed to meet with Phin the next day for a trip to the two warehouses on the dock that sold fabric. Once he got back to the club that afternoon, he sat down to write Everett. Once done, he was off to Burgundy for the next leg of his trip.
Chapter 28
“Aunt Genevieve?”
“Yes, Charlotte dear,” she said distractedly while looking at the colour of the rose she just stumbled upon.
She turned to Charlotte. “I could spend all day in this garden. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Charlotte gave a little laugh. “You say that every time we come out here.”
Genevieve turned to look at Charlotte, “Well, it is.” Genevieve stopped and scanned Charlotte’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently.
Charlotte was fisting the fabric of her skirt and looked away from her aunt. “When will we be going back to town?”
Genevieve gently put her hand on Charlotte’s arm. “But, I thought you liked it here. Certainly, it’s better than going to our country home, isn’t it? Tell me why you ask?”
Charlotte sat on a nearby bench, then rose. She paced, not knowing where to put herself.
Genevieve approached her. “Come, let’s sit on the bench. Something is bothering you, and we need to get to the bottom of it.”
Charlotte sat next to her aunt and looked into her eyes. Tears were ready to spill down her cheeks. Genevieve cupped her cheek. “Charlotte, please. You’re making me nervous.”
Charlotte laughed again, but the sound was off. “I wonder . . . I wanted to know,” Charlotte swallowed and looked into her aunt’s eyes. “I want to see Phin again.”
Charlotte’s tears could be held off no longer. They rolled down her cheeks one after another, her hand wiping them away.
Genevieve shifted in her seat. She looked at Charlotte, then looked away. She cleared her throat. “I understand from John that he has gone to France on business and doesn’t plan to return for a few months. Going back to London won’t do any good. He’s not there.”
Charlotte threw her arms around her aunt and cried hard. Genevieve patted her on the back and smoothed out her hair. After Charlotte stilled her crying, Genevieve pushed back from her, studying her face.
“I had no idea, Charlotte. You didn’t say. I thought you were concerned about your reputation.”
/> Charlotte put her face in her hands. “I was. But I don’t care. I’m not happy without him. I want to see him again. To see if we still fit.”
Charlotte hiccupped for a few minutes then settled down.
“How can I help?” Genevieve asked.
Charlotte twisted her fingers in her hands. She hung her head. “If he’s not in town, I guess there is nothing to do.” Charlotte turned in her seat and faced her aunt. Genevieve saw the anguish in her eyes.
“You think it’s too late for me?”
“I don’t know. If it’s all right with you, I’ll talk to John about it,” Genevieve offered. Charlotte shook her head. “No, please don’t. I would be so embarrassed. Please don’t. I can’t bear the shame. I treated him callously. I have no right to expect a cordial friendship with him.”
Charlotte attempted to smile. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather stay here than go to London.”
Genevieve said, “I don’t care where we are as long as you’re happy.”
***
To accommodate adding twenty-two visiting Dukes to John’s estate, the guests and family were entertained in the formal parlour, twice the size of the room the ladies were used to gathering in.
It was cavernous. Charlotte was reminded of the lobby of a large hotel in London when she saw it. Clusters of seating and tables were arranged around the room encouraging more cosy conversations if the guests were so inclined.
Charlotte never saw a larger carpet. Molly told her it was made specifically for the dimensions of the room and would likely fit no other room the same way.
Fireplaces flanked both sides of the room on the walls not taken up by windows ten metres high. A long sideboard held six different decanters of spirits as well as a large wine rack.
The room and the buzz of voices throughout the space made Charlotte’s head spin. She was constantly picking up bits and pieces of conversations taking place around her.
Charlotte heard her name and froze. She was the topic of a conversation. She heard Everett, speaking behind her head. He said he didn’t know.
“Well, she is beautiful. I find it difficult to believe she isn’t being courted,” Jamison Sanders, Duke of Winslow said.
“To the best of my knowledge, she is not. John could be more of a help to you than I could. He spent a great deal of time here at the estate with the ladies. It’s been months since I last saw her in London. No one was courting her then,” Everett said. “If you will excuse me, Jamison?” Charlotte heard Everett walked away.
Charlotte thought, no one was courting me then? But that’s not true. Phin was courting her. Oh, but then he wasn’t. Everett was right.
Funny, Charlotte never thought of herself as available. This Jamison Sanders was going to talk to John about her. She didn’t want to be courted by the Duke of Winslow. She wanted Phin.
Panic set in. What had she done? Everett acted as though it was over between her and Phin. But was it? It was. What had she done?
Aunt Genevieve was talking to Charlotte.
“I beg your pardon, Aunt Genevieve. You were saying?”
“Charlotte,” Genevieve was whispering, “you look pale. All colour has left your face. Is something wrong?”
Charlotte shook herself out of her fog. “I believe I’ll go to my bedchamber and lay down for a few minutes.” She put her hand on Genevieve’s. “Don’t worry. I should have eaten more at lunch.”
Molly rose, “I’ll take you. I don’t want to worry that you fainted on the way.”
Genevieve blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Molly.” She reached out to Charlotte. “Feel better.”
Charlotte nodded and left the room with Molly. On her way out the door, she saw Jamison Sanders talking with John.
***
“Everett, how are you?” Silas bounced into the parlour. “I see so much less of you when Phin’s not around. Drink?” he said, holding up the decanter.
“Sure. How have you been getting on?”
Silas stopped pouring to think. He turned to Everett. “He wasn’t around for five years. We all survived. Now, he’s been gone a fortnight, and I miss the bugger.” He went back to pouring.
Silas handed Everett the glass. “Sit Everett. Tell me all about it. You need a favour from me.”
Everett looked at Silas in surprise. “What makes you say that?”
Silas gave a short laugh. “Why else would you be here? I know we like each other’s company, but you don’t usually come by to visit me.”
Everett shrugged. “You’re right, of course. I want you to go to Paris and visit Phin.”
Silas put his head back and gave Everett a loud, happy laugh. “I thought you knew absolutely everything about Phin. But apparently not. Phin asked me to go with him, and I said no. That ground has been covered.”
Everett grinned, giving Silas plenty of time to see the look on his face. “I knew he asked you, and I knew you said no. Since then, something has come up. I want you to check it out.”
Silas leaned back in his chair and took a large swallow of his drink. “I’m listening.”
“Phin wrote me when he got back from Champagne. He told me of his trip, and the deals he made. Then he told me he met a girl in Paris. She came up to him in a bistro and sat on the empty stool beside him. He’s enjoying her company. Her name is Marielle.
“Normally, I’d say I wouldn’t interfere, but we both know that isn’t true. I’d like to think it’s just a harmless friendship. They aren’t romantically involved, he would have told me.”
Silas sighed, “But you want me to go check it out.”
“I do. You could go over there for the weekend and come back when he plans to leave Paris for another province. What do you say?”
Silas drained his glass and looked at Everett. “You have managed to pique my interest, and I look forward to meeting Marielle.”
***
“Genevieve, you seem restless today. Is there something wrong or can I help you in any way?” John held her hand while they stood in front of the Lake. The lake was one of Genevieve’s favourite locations on the estate. The blue water was clean and clear. The trees that surrounded the lake stood tall. It was a place of beauty and permanence, and it was secluded.
“I had a disturbing talk with Charlotte, and I can’t get it off my mind. She made me promise to keep it between us so, even though I’d love your reaction and help, I cannot in good conscience discuss it with you.”
John led them along the edge of the water, walking at a leisurely pace. Looking straight ahead, John asked, “If I were to guess the problem, do you think you and I could talk about it? We wouldn’t be able to include Charlotte.” He stopped and looked at Genevieve, “But I might be able to help you rest easier.”
Genevieve thought for a minute then reluctantly nodded. John put his hand on Genevieve’s shoulder. “You know I would never wish anything bad to Charlotte.” She gave a weak smile.
“Is Charlotte concerned she has lost Phin forever?”
Genevieve gasped. “How did you know?”
John grimaced. “She looks so forlorn like she’s lost her puppy and looked everywhere for it.”
Genevieve’s eyes searched John’s. “Has she lost him forever?”
John took Genevieve’s hand and started to walk again. “I’m not sure. Phin hasn’t confided in me, but Everett said Phin felt like he was kicked in the gut. Rightly or wrongly, he thought he deserved an explanation.
“He got none and was turned away time and again. Everett told me he was hurt to the core. It doesn’t matter now,” John said, looking straight ahead. “Phin is probably in France by now on business. He’ll be gone a couple of months. Everett’s hoping it takes his mind off his troubles.”
Genevieve kept walking, “Would he go back to London, court Charlotte again?”
John shook his head. “I don’t have an answer for you.”
Chapter 29
Phin loved Burgundy. Everett might want to visit Bordeaux, and Phin migh
t love Bordeaux once he’d gone there, but he would need to talk Ev or Mercy into the beauty of the area.
He stayed in the Palace of the Dukes while there, a beautiful palace with wonderful Frenchmen willing to help him navigate the area. Their enthusiasm for business expansion was helpful to Phin’s success on this side of the channel.
When he returned to Paris, Phin walked into the club, a porter behind him with his travel trunk. He was tired, dragging himself to the front desk to ask for his correspondence. He stood, going through the letters, checking the seals to see who wrote to him. Everett, John, Silas, and Mercy. He smiled. He hoped Mercy talked of her wedding. Something fun to read.
