Super Summer Set of Historical Shorts

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Life with Ellora and Frances resumed without much of a hiccup.

  “I hope you enjoyed your time away,” her stepmother said with a sneer. “That shan’t be happening again any time soon. You have far too much work to go gallivanting around with the daughter of a sailor.”

  As usual, Tabitha merely nodded and said nothing. She knew better than to argue, and her life was always easier when she operated on her own, outside of Ellora’s knowledge. While Ellora might be demanding and controlling, she was also an incredibly lazy woman who didn’t check Tabitha’s stories unless there was a financial benefit to it.

  Tabitha thought how ironic it was that she was able to speak her mind to a lady of the ton yet kept silent to her own stepmother. She supposed the difference was in consequence. Until she had enough funds to back her schooling, she needed a roof over her head and the income the shop provided. She wasn’t far now. Bernard had appeared with the promised funds and then some, and Tabitha began quietly making plans to attend the millinery school.

  Two weeks later, Tillie sat in the workshop with Tabitha as she packed up a stack of hats that were going to be part of a fashion display in Rochester’s. Her work would be featured alongside of, or atop of, some of Tillie’s finest gowns. It was a big moment for both of them and had resulted in many sleepless nights finishing the show pieces and keeping it from Ellora as best Tabitha could. While she was hoping for a few referral clients, she did not want Ellora’s nose in the middle of it all.

  Luckily for her, Frances had received a number of invitations over the past two weeks, which had kept mother and daughter busy with prepping, gossiping, and scheming. There was an earl’s son who had asked Frances to dance three nights ago and, so far, that was all they had spoken of at dinner. Still, Tabitha could not complain at being allowed to slink into the shadows and be forgotten once her household “chores” were done.

  “Tabitha.” Tillie snapped her fingers in Tabitha’s face. “While I do not want to halt the creative process, I do not think it is possible for you to accessorize that piece any further. Let it be. It’s perfect.”

  “What?” Tabitha’s eyes blinked back to life. “Oh. Yes. Of course. Thank you.”

  Her friend gave a snort of laughter.

  “Where was your mind just now? On a particular duke with a handsome face and smoldering eyes?”

  Because she had been nearly bursting with the need to tell someone and her best friend had been bursting with the need to know what exactly happened after she left the Fairchild house, Tabitha had given Tillie every last detail. Including just how handsome and intense the Duke of Stowe had turned out to be. Funny enough, Tillie had seemed more interested in everything she knew about Alexander.

  “I have seen Lord Rutland at a few parties from afar,” Tillie had said over coffee one morning. “Such a striking man. I’m particularly fond of freckles.”

  Now, Tillie was looking at her intently.

  “You are quite becoming with rosy cheeks, Tabitha,” Tillie said with a laugh. “Have I assumed correctly on your mind’s occupation?”

  Tabitha bit her lip as she tried not to let her smile show, as Tillie had caught her in daydreams about that short garden interaction. It was silly, really. She hardly knew the man. And yet she couldn’t get him from her mind.

  “We need to get these over to the shop soon,” Tillie said as she stood, showing mercy to Tabitha by changing the subject and pulling her to her feet.

  They made their way in Tillie’s small chaise, having directed the groom toward the dress shop in Cheapside. Once there, the shop owner fussed over their deliveries, pulling each one out and nearly drowning them with compliments in his heavy French accent.

  “Ahmaaaayzing, cheries,” he sang as he unpacked all of their goods. In short order, they had signed the paperwork, allowing him to display their designs and were back in the carriage looking forward to their favorite chocolate and coffee shop.

  Over a cup of chocolate and a pastry, Tillie let out a cry and started searching her person, desperate to find something.

  “My reticule!” she cried. “It has my money in it, and I must have left it on the counter at Rochester’s.”

  She’d already finished with her food, but Tabitha was not quite half done.

  “You stay,” Tillie said. “I’ll have Jennings drive me back and we shall return for you. It will give you time to finish.”

  “Are you certain?” Tabitha asked, looking around at the crowded shop.

  “Quite,” Tillie said with a smile as she made her way between the tables. “I shall be back in a half hour at most.”

  In a flash, she was gone and Tabitha was left alone.

  She ate quietly, wondering about how she was going to finish the next batch of orders she had waiting for her on the worktable — she had run out of gold ribbon and it was at the height of popularity right now. Perhaps she would run down to the fabric shop before they returned home.

  The front door creaked open and a familiar, very masculine voice drifted across the shop to her. “I shall wait here for you to find another one.”

  Tabitha’s nerves fired to life. She glanced around for an exit before the voice’s owner, Nicholas Fairchild, rounded the corner and made his way into the small room where the customers sat at round tables. She was trapped — the only exit was the door he was currently standing in front of. Lucky for her, she and Tillie had selected a table near the back of the room and next to a window.

  Shifting her chair so that her back was toward the entrance of the shop, Tabitha tried her best to look busy, disinterested, and as unapproachable as possible. Her back was mostly to him — there was no way he’d recognize her from this angle after such a brief interaction weeks ago. While every detail of his face was etched in her mind, it was rather unlikely she stood out to him among the sea of young ladies spending time in his acquaintance. As much as she longed to talk to him, she no longer wanted to lie and yet could not very well tell the truth. He was a duke and she a milliner.

  She listened as he moved to order something to drink and had even keyed into the firm thud of his footsteps on the plank floor as he approached the seating area. Her cheeks grew hotter and hotter as the sound of him walking stopped and she had no idea where he was.

  Was he selecting a table near hers? Had he given up because it was crowded this morning? How much simpler it would all be if he chose to wait outside for whomever he was with.

  Believing he had left and she was in the clear, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and relaxed, finishing the last bite of her pastry.

  A half-breath later, a large body was next to her, pulling out the chair beside her and sitting down.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She was trapped, like a scared little bunny in the corner of a chocolate shop.

  “Well, well, well,” his smooth voice said, alarmingly close to her and dangerously amused. “Look what we have here. It’s the ghost herself.”

  Prying her eyes open, she chanced a glance at him and regretted it immediately. The rainy day had caused his hair to fall from its perfect styling into his eyes. He looked mussed, rugged, and perfect, and her heart was a traitor for how fast it was beating at his nearness.

  “Your Grace,” she managed, her voice breaking. “How surprising to see you here.”

  He chuffed a laugh.

  “Miss Kenmore,” he replied with a smile. “How surprising to see you at all, seeing how you ceased to exist the moment I took my eyes off you.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. She was lost. She didn’t know what to say.

  “I am sorry about that,” was all she managed. “As soon as you left me, one of the maids came to fetch me. There was an emergency, and it was imperative that I leave the party straight away.”

  He nodded at her and took a slow sip from his cup, studying her. Was she such a bad liar? Could he read her face so easily?

  “And are things with your mother well once again?”r />
  Tabitha was struggling with reading this man. Did he believe her lies or was he baiting her further? She could not recall what had been wrong with her imagined mother. Either way, this was terrible, and she wanted to disappear into the wooden floorboards beneath her.

  “Everything is as it should be now, yes,” she said, finally. “Thank you. How are you? How is Her Grace?”

  Nicholas leaned forward on his elbow and rested his face on his hand, looking all parts the smitten lad. What was he doing? It was hardly proper for a man of his station to be mooning over a girl like her.

  “Mamma is well, thank you,” he said. “And suddenly I find myself doing much, much better. What have you been doing these past weeks? Something tells me you are not the type to sit around sharpening your embroidery and conversation skills in some stuffy salon. Where have you been?”

  Stuck in her workshop, sharpening those very same embroidery skills on rows and rows of felt and velvet?

  “Nothing I have been doing in that time would be considered exciting,” she said. “Simply living. And you? Tell me, what does a duke do with his spare time?”

  He laughed at that and sat back comfortably, leading Tabitha to relax too.

  For the next twenty minutes, the two spoke about books, artists, and music. What they liked. What they did not like. What they thought of the next few singers booked in the lower hall at Chelsea. Both happened to be in agreement that the soprano would be a good show and that the chamber players would not be anything they hadn’t already seen. As their conversation became easy and comfortable, they unknowingly found themselves leaning into one another, an underlying tension between them as they each desired more closeness.

  The front bell sounded again, and Tabitha looked up and saw Jennings, Tillie’s groom, looking for her. She stood abruptly, surprising the duke, who quickly got to his feet.

  “It was wonderful to see you again,” she said hastily as she nearly sprinted for the front door. “But I am sorry! I really must go.”

  She nearly tackled Jennings and shoved him through the door, hot on his heels.

  “Please move quickly,” she whispered as they dashed through the alley toward where he’d parked the carriage. “I would rather he not follow.”

  In no time, she saw Tillie standing outside the chaise, and she brightened on first glance. She quickly seemed to sense something was the matter from Tabitha’s expression. Only when Tabitha frantically motioned for Tillie to get into the vehicle did she actually move and get in.

  Once Tabitha had squarely gotten herself in the carriage and Jennings had closed it, she let out a sharp breath.

  “What, in all that is holy, just happened, Tabitha Blackmore?” Tillie demanded as the carriage rolled away, mercifully fast. “Did you rob the chocolate shop or something?”

  Tabitha stole a glance out her window and spotted the duke as he ran into the alley, scanning the crowd for her as he stood higher than most.

  “What have you done?” Tillie whispered with a laugh, her face suddenly next to hers. “That’s him, is it not? That is Nicholas Fairchild?”

  As though he heard his name whispered through the air, his head snapped in their direction and for a brief second his eyes met Tabitha’s. She yelped and shrank back, pulling the curtain closed and breathing hard, her hand over her heart.

  “Oh, dear girl,” Tillie was teasing now. “What did you just do?”

  It took a moment for Tabitha to catch her breath and reply.

  “Only had the best conversation of my entire life.”

  Tillie smirked and leaned back in her seat, a knowing grin on her face.

  Chapter 12

  Days later, Tabitha was still glowing from her unexpected encounter with the duke and trying to remember each word they had spoken to hold in her memories, as she knew she would likely never see him again.

  She was moving down Pembroke Street with a stack of three boxes in her arms on her way to deliver a set of afternoon bonnets to the wife and daughters of a china and linen merchant. They were hosting a racing party in two days. The order had been rushed and the pay had been good, so Tabitha believed a personal delivery wasn’t asking too much.

  She had her head down and only chanced to look up when she swore she heard that familiar voice again.

  “No,” she whispered to herself. “Not now. Not now. Not now.”

  She risked a glance around the stack of boxes and, sure enough, she spied the Duke of Stowe walking with another gentleman toward her. In a panic and running out of time, she ducked in between two buildings and hid behind her hat boxes as the men walked past. Waiting until she no longer heard his voice, she crept from the alleyway and peeked. All clear. Moving faster and with greater purpose, knowing the duke was out and about, Tabitha delivered her packages quickly and didn’t stay for the tea the women offered her.

  “Thank you,” she said, kindly refusing. “I really must return home. It’s of utmost importance I get there post haste.”

  They had been sweet and understanding, and soon Tabitha was making her way home, looking over her shoulder every few steps, hoping and praying she would soon be out of danger, free from a potential run-in with the duke.

  Turned out, danger was waiting just around the next corner, and she sailed headlong into “danger’s” broad chest.

  With an oomph, she collided with the very same Nicholas Fairchild she’d been working so hard to avoid.

  “Of all the luck,” she cursed to herself as she righted her bonnet and tried her best to look natural.

  “This cannot be happening!” the duke laughed with a shake of his head. “Surely now you must believe it is fate, too. You ran off last week and did not leave me an address or anywhere I could find you. Believe me when I say that I have been in this blasted neighborhood every day since hoping to run into you again and here you are — literally running into me.”

  She gave a lame laugh and shielded her eyes against the sun beating down into her face.

  “Yes,” she half-laughed. “Imagine that.”

  He looked around her, seeming to search for someone. “Where is your groom?”

  She shrugged. “I — that is to say we…” she faltered. “We were supposed to meet, and I am afraid I have lost him.”

  “And so you were walking home alone?”

  She blanched.

  “No,” she said quickly. “Yes. No — I was on my way to meet my friend at Rochester’s once I was finished, and I will just walk there. Now. On my feet.”

  She closed her eyes at that. How could she turn into such a blithering idiot in this man’s presence? They were still close enough to nearly touch, so she took a step back for propriety’s sake as people began to take notice of them while they blocked the flow of foot traffic.

  “If we cannot find your groom, would you permit me to take you to the dress shop?” He offered his arm, and she hesitated. She really should try to disappear into the crowd again, but her heart was telling her to allow herself one more moment with this charming man.

  “Very well,” she said and tried not to react at the warmth of him beneath his coat. He was perfect. He was utterly perfect and very soon, if things went as they should, she would never see him again.

  They made their way to his chaise and she allowed him to show her in. He sat across from her while his driver clucked at the two horses and they began to roll toward the shopping district. She knew the chance was slim that Tillie would actually be in Rochester’s but she had a better chance at parting ways with him there than in the middle of the street where she stood without an escort.

  As they rode, the duke’s dark eyes were fixed on her and she blinked under the scrutiny.

  “What is it?” she asked, checking her hair and her person for a stray piece of feather or leaf that she often had attached to her after a long day of work.

  “You haunt me,” he said quietly. His eyes were downturned now, as he studied his hands. “You give me no reason to, but I find myself constantly thinkin
g about the next time I may be fortunate enough to see you. And then you disappear over and over again, and still, I hold out hope that it is not the last time I will be in your presence. Why?”

  The air in the cab had left and Tabitha couldn’t draw a full breath. He was saying what she was feeling and she wanted nothing more than for this to be a perfect world where she and the duke were on equal footing and could follow this passion and fascination for one another to see where it went.

  “My mother is throwing a masked ball,” he said, breaking his own spell. “I want you to come. I cannot think of anything else. Say you will come.”

  Tabitha paused, studying the handsome slope of his face. How his eyes burned and his full lips parted as he seemed to hold his breath. She understood now how women like Sabine plotted and schemed to get closer to this man, though she craved his nearness for who he was as a person, not what title he was on paper. In fact, she would prefer he were not a duke but a common man, one whom she had a chance at happiness with.

  “I am not sure,” she began but he put his finger against her lips, stopping her words and her heart.

  “Please, Tabitha,” he said. “Agree that you will come. You can wear a mask. You can hide yourself from whatever it is you seem to be running from. But you must come.”

  She took a deep breath, not taking her eyes from his. Everything told her that saying no was what she should do. That saying no would keep her safe from heartbreak and him safe from scandal.

  No, just say no, she told herself.

  “Yes,” she whispered as she pulled back from his finger. “I shall come.”

  From beneath the seat, he pulled out what looked to be a piece of rather fine stationary and put it on the upholstery beside her. She moved to open it but stopped as he leaned forward, invading her space with his scent, his heat, and his intentions.

  He moved so close that she could feel the warmth from his lips radiating on her own, but he did not kiss her. It was as though he was waiting for her to decide whether or not they would take this further. Again, the war began between what her mind was telling her was the wise thing to do and what her heart was practically begging her to do. She should back away, thank him for the invitation, and be on her way. But her heart wanted this so much it would not listen to her mind.