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.
Chapter 2
“You cannot go looking like that.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes at her best friend’s words. Matilda “Tillie” Andrews was the third child of one of England’s most successful export and import families, and the two young women had known each other since Sir Elias began importing millinery supplies with Captain Maximus Andrews. She was currently perched on the edge of Tabitha’s work table.
Tillie, in her own right, was quite the seamstress and worked anonymously for a few of Cheapside’s finer fashion houses designing party dresses that had been the talk of the season the past two years. She did not need to work, not like Tabitha, but she loved it. Tabitha thought she might also love her work more as well if she wasn’t scrimping and saving for each and every single penny she could get her fingers on.
“I have to go like this,” Tabitha said through a yawn. She had stayed up until sunrise finishing all of the Duchess’ ornamentation. On top of that, she had four other pieces to assemble to beat Ellora’s mid-morning arrival. She was exhausted and had unbecoming dark circles under her eyes, but she had finished with not a moment to spare.
“I have something I was going to show you,” Tillie said, pulling her bag out and unfurling a gorgeous walking dress in the deepest shade of emerald.
Tabitha’s mouth dropped open at the craftsmanship.
“Tillie,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
Her friend beamed.
“It’s for Rochester’s,” she said with a shrug. “It’s a sample, of course, but it does not need to be there for three days. So, you can wear it today and we will make sure you do not arrive on their doorstep looking like some sort of creature that crawled from the gutter.”
Tabitha frowned and looked down on her drab, worn muslin gown. It wasn’t that bad, was it?
“What are you doing this morning?” Tabitha asked as Tillie pushed her behind the work curtain of the shop and practically forced her to change her dress.
“Nothing,” Tillie called. “Waiting for you to invite me along.”
Tabitha stuck her head out between the curtains and smiled.
“I assumed you would be too busy,” she said. “Would you like to go? It’s a bit of a walk.”
It was true. The townhouse owned by the Fairchild family was on the far side of town and not an easy walk.
“I have my father’s chaise,” Tillie replied. “I shall have our groom drive us.”
“You drove?” Tabitha asked, looking toward the window. “I didn’t see the carriage or the groom.”
Tillie shook her head.
“He’s getting himself something to eat a few streets away and watering the horses at Denton’s,” Tillie said. “Neither of us wanted to see your stepmother this morning, so we thought it best.”
It was a good idea, Tabitha mused, appreciative of how very smart her best friend was. Ellora, while somewhat polite to Tillie’s face, was an opportunist and cornered her friend for information about her eligible older brothers and cousins whenever she was around. Not that Tillie couldn’t handle her, but Tabitha shuddered at one of those poor Andrews boys getting shackled with a crow like Frances.
“Are you quite ready?” Tillie asked in a huff, never one for patience. “I am absolutely starving, and I want to stop for the small cakes at Lodge and Stone. They’re my favorite, you know.”
Oh, yes. Tabitha knew. Tillie was a connoisseur of delicious food, though no one would be able to tell from the looks of her. She managed to maintain just the right curves in just the right places and was never shy about enjoying herself.
As well sh
e should, Tabitha thought with a smile. Life was hard enough as it was, why not take a little joy where it could be found?
“I believe so,” Tabitha said, suddenly shy at the form-fitting walking dress. It hugged her small body in the right places, more so than any of her ordinary dresses. And the color — it made her violet eyes simply shine in the full-length mirror before her. There were buttons and ribbons accenting the dress perfectly — not too many and not too few. She looked polished. Poised. So far from the normal, bedraggled mess that she was most other days that she pinched her cheeks for a little dash of color and smiled at her reflection.
“It’s absolutely lovely,” Tabitha breathed as Tillie came to stand behind her. Tabitha studied the hat displays in the shop and moved toward the back to find the perfect bonnet to complete the look, large peacock plume and all. She set it on top of the tawny locks piled on top of her head.
“Now we are ready.”
Tabitha and Tillie left the shop and Tabitha locked the door behind her.
They walked the two long blocks to Denton’s, a stabling station for people who could afford it. When the carriage was ready, Tillie and Tabitha climbed in and enjoyed the long ride toward the grand manse of the former Duke of Stowe, Reginald Fairchild. The Duke had died unexpectedly almost two years prior and his wife, the Dowager Duchess, Gemma Fairchild, was slowly coming back out into polite society. As such, she found her wardrobe to be a bit outdated, and on a recommendation, her lady’s maid had found her way into Tabitha’s shop for the first time two months ago for a simple hat, which had turned into the most recent repeat order.
Nearly an hour later, they rolled to a stop in front of the Fairchild home and Tabitha sucked a breath through her lips.
“My goodness,” she said as Tillie laughed beside her.
“You have the right of it,” her friend replied.
The home was large, bedecked in white marble, with four giant marble columns across the front. There was a small pond in the middle of the circle drive they took around to the back door. Tabitha counted an army of gardeners toiling away in preparation for what was likely going to be a few days’ worth of guests and revelry.
When they were greeted by a footman, Tabitha gave her name and asked for Mr. McEwan. They waited a few brief moments before the older gentleman appeared and showed them inside.
Tabitha tried to keep pace with the steward as he led them down the long corridor.
“Very kind of you to make this happen, Miss Blackmore,” the man said as he practically sprinted with his short, quick strides. They stayed with him until he turned down a short hall.
“There now,” he said, as he pushed the first door open to reveal a small office. “They are here, darling. Just like I said they would be.”
“Darling” turned out to be a smartly dressed woman with an ample bosom, bright cheeks, and kind, green eyes. She looked to be somewhere in her fifties and from the warm smile she gave Mr. McEwan, Tabitha guess they were about to meet Mrs. McEwan.
“Miss Tabitha Blackmore and Miss — my apologies.” Mr. McEwan looked flustered as he glanced at Tillie, who whispered her name good naturedly to him. “Miss Matilda Andrews. This is my wife, Lorna McEwan, the housekeeper here. I leave you with her as we have quite a few preparations we are overseeing. His Grace is due to arrive at any moment.”
The steward flittered away, leaving Tabitha and Tillie standing in the doorway, feeling awkward. Lorna had a warm smile as she rounded the desk she’d been sitting behind and led them down the hall to what looked like a simple dining room housing a long table and chairs. She took some of the boxes from Tabitha and put them down on the table.
“I was looking over a few of the accounts for Her Grace,” the woman muttered in a thick brogue. “But now, this is exciting. This is one of her first hosted parties since His Grace passed away, and I know she is very nervous about the whole thing.”
Mrs. McEwan began pulling the hats and fascinators from the box, tittering and clucking in appreciation.
“I knew you’d come through for us, Miss Blackmore,” she said, mostly to herself. “You came highly recommended from Baron Wellesley’s daughters, and I knew you would provide the best for Her Grace.”
Tabitha blushed a little, and Tillie pinched her lightly in the side at the compliments.
“Are you her assistant?” Mrs. McEwan asked Tillie, who simply shook her head.
“She is a talented dressmaker,” Tabitha blurted before she could think better of it. She heard Tillie gasp at her secret identity being outed so quickly, but Lorna didn’t look at all disapproving. In fact, she looked interested, so Tabitha pointed to the dress she was currently wearing.
“This is one of hers,” she said, proud of her friend. “It is going to be a sample at Rochester’s but she insisted I wear it to deliver these.”
Mrs. McEwan gave the gown a steady gaze and smiled at her friend.
“You’re very talented, Miss.”
As Tillie was thanking her for the compliment, the door burst open with a train of three maids carrying two gowns each. Mrs. McEwan instructed them to hang the dresses on hooks along one side of the wall.
Six exquisite gowns were suddenly on display and she watched as Tillie took them all in, silently regarding every last detail on each one.
Mrs. McEwan stayed quiet a moment before speaking.
“So,” she prodded. “Professional opinion, ladies?”
With the hats on the table in front of the gowns, Tabitha realized what Lorna was asking. She wanted to know how they thought the gowns and the headwear matched up. As the last maid shut the door and left, Lorna looked to the ladies a second time.
“Well?”
After a moment of hesitation, both Tabitha and Tillie set upon the dresses and accessories, moving the feathers and ribbons around so that they paired up with the best gown. The housekeeper stepped back and watched as the two of them discussed ribbon shades and the texture of lace next to bright, fluffy feather plumes. When they were done, Lorna stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the ensembles they had put together with a smile on her face.
“Exquisite,” she said reverently. “Absolutely exquisite. Do you happen to be free over the next two days?”
She turned toward them as she asked.
Tabitha didn’t answer immediately, but Tillie did.
“I am supposed to leave with my mother in the morning for two weeks in Bath,” she said. “I’m actually running behind schedule as it is. We are dining with my uncle at his club in a few hours.”
Mrs. McEwan turned to Tabitha.
“I am not sure,” she answered honestly. “I am not certain what you are asking of me right now.”
Mrs. McEwan cast a glance toward the gowns.
“The next few weeks are important to Her Grace for many, many reasons,” she began. “First, she is venturing out of mourning and the eyes of her peers and contemporaries will be more than critical as she begins to immerse herself in the activities surrounding the season. I want her to shine, to put it bluntly, and none of her maids knows a thing about dressing her to her station.”
Tabitha could understand that. A duchess was expected to have an air of regality that none beyond the royal family would possess.
“What’s more,” the woman continued. “Her son is expected to return this season and select a wife, so all eyes will be on His Grace as he moves through these parties and balls with an eye on the crowd for the next Duchess of Stowe.”
Tabitha had heard rumors of Nicholas Fairchild, the latest Duke of Stowe. He was rumored to be a good-looking man who’d run wild in his younger days as the privileged sons of the elite were wont to do. He had managed to leave for France last year without a scandal chasing him out of town and as far as she understood, there wasn’t one from the Continent chasing him back into town.
Either he was a well-behaved son of a duke or a very crafty duke who knew how to hide his indiscretions.
Whatever the case might be, as the daughter
of a merchant baronet, the duke was so very far out of her realm that he might as well have existed in a fairy tale. Tabitha was a realist if nothing else, and spent very little time as a girl reading about white knights and rescues. She was a woman making plans to rescue herself.
“What I’m offering,” Mrs. McEwan continued, pulling Tabitha back from her thoughts, “is to pay for your services if you would agree to stay until tomorrow and make sure that the maids have Her Grace looking ravishing and heads above the rest. We need personal touches that it seems only the two of you can give. We shall pay you for your troubles. Handsomely.”
Well, that did it. Handsomely, from the family of a duke, usually did mean handsomely, and that was money she needed to fund her schooling in Paris.
“I can do it,” Tabitha said quickly, before she could change her mind. “I just need to send a message, letting my stepmother know I will not be returning until tomorrow evening.”
Crafting an expeditious white lie, Tabitha sent word to her stepmother that she was visiting with Tillie’s family for the evening and would be back for supper the following day.
She was in a whole new world now, Tabitha thought with a slight bit of panic but also exhilaration at the adventure ahead of her as she allowed Mrs. McEwan to show Tillie out and to lead her to her temporary rooms.
Chapter 3
To say the interior of the home matched the outside in grandeur was putting it lightly, and it was all Tabitha could do not to let her mouth hang agape as she followed Mrs. McEwan along a corridor lined by large, orange doors, until she stopped at a bedchamber. Tabitha was shocked to find herself in a guest bedroom rather than the servants’ quarters, but she patiently waited to understand Mrs. McEwan’s reasoning.
Super Summer Set of Historical Shorts Page 73
