Miss Fitzwilliam's Christmas Redemption

by Lydia Pembroke

  “Might we—” she tried to say, but Agnes grasped her arm and pulled her along.

  “I must have a cup of tea, Letitia. My throat is quite parched. We may browse bonnets and fabrics later,” Agnes replied firmly, leaving no room for negotiation.

  Why do I know that name? Letitia pondered, as they entered the warm embrace of the Nettlerush Tea Rooms. Choosing a table in the far corner, they shed their outer clothes and took in their pleasant surroundings. It was relatively empty, aside from two small groups of chattering women. They seemed excited about something, talking in high, chirping voices.

  “The Hardcastle Ball will be a delight, for a certainty, but what about the Duke’s Ball?” one of the women proclaimed. “I hear it is to be held in the ballroom of Kilmerstan Castle, and the guest list is very exclusive. There will be many of the ton coming from London and Bath, if rumour is to be believed.”

  “Have you an invitation, Lady Arabella?” another woman asked.

  “Of course I do. Do you not, Lady Louisa?”

  The same woman shrugged.

  “I am certain it will arrive, for I have friends who know the Duke personally.”

  Letitia felt her insides bristle with excitement. If she could somehow garner an invitation to this Ball, then perhaps she might solidify her position amongst this social stratum.

  Surely, with her sense of fashion and her knowledge of London style, she would be welcomed here? The only trouble was that she had no means of gaining such an invitation. As that realisation dawned with a bitter blow of reality, she felt her former cheer sinking into a slump of dissatisfaction.

  When will I realise that I am not destined for a life such as that? I am no Lady, nor may I ever hope to be one.

  “Are you quite well, Letitia?” Agnes asked, a look of concern on her face.

  Letitia smiled.

  “I will be, Aunt.”

  Oddly enough, she found that she meant it.

  The sooner she could let go of her delusions, the sooner she would be happy within herself. At least, that was what she was attempting to tell herself.

  Otherwise, she knew that gloom would cast a dark shadow over Christmas, and she did not want that… not for herself or her aunt, or any of those at Hardcastle House. Indeed, for them, Cordelia’s Ball was the highlight of the century, let alone the festive season.

  Who was she to diminish that?

  Chapter Ten

  The following day, Letitia found herself wandering the streets of Upper Nettlefold alone. Her aunt had taken to bed with a sore throat and a mild headache, allowing Letitia a glimpse of freedom. Having been unable to visit Timmins Fabric and Bonnets shop the previous day, she felt herself pulled in its direction.

  The bonnets had been so beautiful, and one in particular had caught her eye — a sapphire-blue design with trimmed peacock feathers fanned out to one side. She paused as she neared, for another figure was already standing outside the shop, eyes wide in admiration of the display. Ruth… She held a large box in her hands, and seemed transfixed by the shop window.

  “Ruth?” Letitia said, nearing the girl.

  Ruth turned in surprise.

  “Goodness, you startled me. I disappeared for a moment there.”

  A small smile curved up the corners of her lips.

  “They are very beautiful, are they not?”

  Ruth nodded.

  “They are, though I could never hope to afford such things. Mrs. Hardcastle gave us a small purse each to purchase ribbons and lace for our dresses, but these items are far beyond my reach.” She sighed softly. “And besides, my dress is so very plain that I do not believe there is any ribbon pretty enough to embellish it.”

  “You never know, Ruth. Shall we go inside?” Letitia encouraged. “It would not hurt to look, would it?”

  “Oh… I do not know, Miss Fitzwilliam. Do you think we ought to?”

  “I say we must,” Letitia replied with a friendly smile. “It would be rude to admire such accessories and fabrics, and not take a closer look.”

  Leading the way, the two girls entered the shop in a flurry of excitement. This time, there were two men behind the counter — one young, and one much, much older. Indeed, the latter appeared to be falling asleep in his chair, whilst the younger gentleman placed folds of fabric into their wooden pigeonholes. Letitia squinted in surprise as she looked upon a vaguely familiar face. Now, she realised why the name Timmins had seemed so memorable.

  “Mr. Percy Timmins,” she said aloud, before she could stop herself. “You came into the shop in Belgravia, did you not?”

  Mr Timmins nodded tentatively, a smile gracing his lips.

  “I did indeed, Miss Fitzwilliam. I am surprised that you would remember me, for our meeting was so very brief.”

  “I never forget a friendly face, Mr Timmins,” she replied. “How curious that you should come to be here, when my aunt and I have come to visit for Christmas. Life is rather strange, is it not?”

  “Indeed it is, Miss Fitzwilliam. I trust you are finding Upper Nettlefold to your liking?”

  “It is most pleasant,” Letitia said brightly, admiring the handsome features of Mr Timmins’s face.

  She had forgotten how kind he had appeared that day, when they had first met. Indeed, upon looking at him, one could not help but smile.

  “Were you browsing for anything in particular?” Mr Timmins asked, addressing both young ladies.

  “My friend here, Miss Hampson, is in need of a ribbon,” Letitia replied. “Might you show us your gown, Ruth, so that we can choose a suitable colour?”

  Ruth paled, and brought over the box in her hands. Lifting the lid, she took out a very plain dress indeed. Made of cream cotton, it barely had a single embellishment, looking more like a nightgown than a gown to be worn at a festive Ball.

  Letitia did not say anything, for fear of wounding Ruth’s feelings. Nor did she wish to add to the girl’s evident disappointment.

  “I believe a teal shade or a sea-green might be rather nice with a dress such as this,” Mr Timmins suggested, taking some down from a shelf and laying it against the simple dress.

  Letitia stood at his side and nodded, making encouraging sounds that seemed to cheer Ruth.

  “This colour is divine, Mr Timmins,” Letitia enthused, gesturing to an aquamarine blue. “And it would suit your complexion so very well, Ruth.”

  “You are very good with colour palettes, Miss Fitzwilliam,” Mr Timmins commended, casting her a shy look that made her heart flutter like a caged bird.

  She did not understand the sudden feeling, and hurriedly brushed it to one side, focusing instead on the ribbons.

  “Do you think so?” Ruth asked shyly.

  “It would look exquisite, I promise you,” Letitia replied. “Being in my aunt’s employ has taught me a great many things where colour is concerned.” Ruth smiled.

  “Then, I shall take a length of the aquamarine ribbon, Mr Timmins.”

  Mr Timmins nodded.

  “A splendid choice, Miss Hampson.”

  Half an hour later, the two young women left the shop. Ruth had purchased a single length of the pretty blue ribbon, whilst Letitia had come away with a number of ribbons and accessories.

  She had not intended to linger so long but speaking with Mr Timmins had been so engaging that she had found herself discussing the merits of silk versus satin, and velvet versus brushed cotton. Indeed, she had hardly noticed the time passing, only the pleasant tone of his laughter and his amusing wit.

  “He was very charming, was he not?” Ruth said, as they made their way back to Hardcastle House.

  “Very pleasant indeed,” Letitia agreed. “Speaking of pleasant gentlemen, is there a particular young man for whom you are dressing so prettily? It is not every day that a young lady purchases an elegant ribbon. There must be a cause.”

  She already knew the answer, but she wished to hear it from Ruth herself. Already, she knew they would become firm friends, and this seemed like the perfect
means of breaking with any lingering formality.

  Ruth blushed furiously.

  “There is one gentleman… Robert Tanner.”

  “Is he handsome?”

  “Very,” Ruth replied, nodding effusively.

  “Is he kind and gentle?”

  Ruth smiled.

  “He seems to be, for he always shows care to his mother.”

  “Is he amusing?”

  “He makes everyone around him laugh,” she replied wistfully.

  “And is he charming?”

  “Beyond all other gentlemen,” Ruth said, chuckling softly to herself. “Listen to me, chattering away as if he knows who I am.” Letitia grinned.

  “He will know who you are, Ruth, I guarantee it. With such a pretty dress and such a vibrant ribbon, he will not be able to ignore you at the Ball. You shall be the most delightful young lady there, I assure you.”

  “You flatter me, Miss Fitzwilliam.”

  “Letitia, please.”

  Ruth smiled.

  “I will be content to watch him, even if he does not know I exist.”

  By the end of Cordelia’s Ball, he will know you exist, Ruth.

  For, in that moment, Letitia had decided to champion her newfound friend.

  “Ruth, might you give me permission to alter your dress?” she asked. “I have such a pretty idea in mind, and some exquisite lace that would bring out the detailing. If you would allow me, I can make the alterations in time for the Ball? Although, you must keep it secret from the other girls. We would not want them becoming envious, would we?”

  Ruth’s eyes widened.

  “You would do that for me?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Then… you may have my dress to alter as you please,” she said, after a moment’s pause.

  The two young women exchanged a fond glance as Ruth handed over the box, putting her trust entirely in Letitia’s palms. One thing was quite certain, Letitia would not let Ruth down.

  Chapter Eleven

  That afternoon, Letitia laid her own gowns out on her bed and looked over each one, contemplating the fabrics and designs intently. She had brought three gowns with her: one, a sweeping gown of emerald green with a full skirt and an embroidered neckline of intricate black vines. The second was a pretty gown of lavender muslin, with tiny violets embroidered across the skirt and around the capped sleeves of white lace. The third was a gown of coral silk, with a pinkish-red hem and contrasting sleeves of a deeper orange.

  “This one would suit her best,” she said aloud, smoothing her hand over the emerald-green fabric. It was Letitia’s favourite gown, but there was no denying it would complement Ruth’s complexion and dark tone of hair to perfection. The only thing it lacked was some detail around the décolletage. Using her flair for fashion and recalling a design she had seen upon a rather splendid lady in London, she imagined the emerald gown with some ruching beneath the neckline, rising up from the ribbon below the bust. It would be the ideal thing to enhance Ruth’s shape, and complete the appearance of elegance that Letitia had in mind.

  There was such a swathe of fabric in Timmins’ shop — an emerald-green that would match this perfectly, she thought, replacing the other two gowns in her wardrobe. She would settle for the coral gown, for it was her second-best-loved dress, even though it was a hard decision to make.

  She really did love the emerald gown, and it tugged at her sensibilities to have it altered to fit Ruth’s measurements, as it would mean she never got to wear it again. However, she knew it had to be done, no matter how bittersweet the act might feel.

  Cordelia’s Ball was not to be her night — instead, it would be Ruth’s chance to shine.

  I may never be the Belle of the Ball amongst the ton but, with the help of this gown, I can make it so that Ruth is the belle of Cordelia’s Ball.

  There could be no other gown in all of Upper Nettlefold that would rival this one, once Letitia had finished with it. Of that, she was certain. And, in truth, that made it all seem worth it.

  This was mere fabric and stitching, but Ruth’s happiness was more real and tangible than this gown could ever be.

  Taking the measurements from the simple dress that Ruth had handed over, Letitia slipped the piece of paper into her pocket and plucked up the emerald gown. Folding it and placing it in the box that had formerly held the plain dress, she clutched it tight and hurried from the bedchamber.

  Skirting past the closed door of her aunt’s room, the older woman still abed with her headache, Letitia made her way down the stairs and stepped out into the cold early evening.

  Bundling her collar closer to her cold chin, she dipped her head to the icy winds and ploughed on towards Timmins’ shop. The bell tinkled as she entered, with Percy Timmins looking up from the counter in surprise.

  “Miss Fitzwilliam? Did you forget something during your earlier visit?”

  “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did forget something,” she replied, with a smile. “You see, I espied an emerald green fabric that would match perfectly with a gown I have. I feel some embellishments would make it look even more beautiful, but I require the ideal shade.”

  Taking out the gown, she began to wander around the shop, lifting the dress up to the fabrics on offer to see which might offset the gown the best.

  “This would be rather nice,” Mr Timmins suggested, laying a swathe of a slightly darker green against the gown. “It would contrast the skirt, whilst not disturbing any of the vine embroidery here. Tell me, what additions did you hope to make with it?”

  “Some ruching around the décolletage, to enhance the figure,” she replied, without missing a beat.

  “For yourself, Miss Fitzwilliam?”

  She cast him a secretive look, realising she could trust him.

  After all, he was not Mrs. Merton, and his manner was so kindly and generous that she could not help but tell him the truth.

  “You recall the young lady who was in here with me?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I plan to surprise her with this gown, so she may wear it for Mrs. Hardcastle’s Ball. I do not need it anymore, and I thought it might bring luck to another, who deserves good fortune far more than I,” Letitia confessed. “I thought the addition of ruching would suit her perfectly, and I quite agree with your suggestion. The darker green would match the lighter excellently, without drawing too much attention to the bodice or the skirt. Everything would be in pleasant balance.”

  “I think that would be very pleasing indeed,” Mr Timmins agreed. “Although, if it is not impolite of me to ask, Miss Fitzwilliam, why do you think yourself undeserving of good fortune?”

  She shrugged. “I have behaved selfishly in recent months, and I believe that good fortune should go to someone who is not selfish in her actions. Besides, it is my firm conviction that a person is only gifted with happiness once in their life, and I have enjoyed my spell of joy. It is time that another was permitted such contentment, so that she may use it better than I did.”

  He smiled. “For what my remarks may be worth, I do not believe that to be the case. I think we are gifted happiness when we need it most, and when it seems farthest from our grasp. You may be surprised by what providence has in store for you, in the future. Do not give up your hopes, I urge you.”

  She looked at him with curious eyes, her heart swelling with the confidence in his words. He spoke with such earnestness that she had to listen, the sentiment easing into the cracks in her wounded heart.

  Can that be true? she wondered. Is there hope for me yet? Can so many pieces be put back together again?

  “You have many beautiful fabrics here,” she said, eager to change the subject. “And these bonnets are remarkable. I rather wanted to purchase the sapphire-blue one for myself, though I fear it will be of no use to me now that I have given up this gown. I do not mind, only the bonnet is exquisite.”

  He turned his gaze away for a moment, a strange expression crossing his face —
a mixture of embarrassment and pride, that she could not comprehend.

  “Do you design any bonnets yourself, Miss Fitzwilliam?” he asked, turning back. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes glinting amiably.

  “Why, yes, I have designed several winter bonnets myself,” she replied. “If you would permit me, I would be happy to design some for your shop. I can see that you and your grandfather are skilled in the art, but it might be useful to have a feminine eye. Even if you do not care for them, it might be nice to have a distraction, and I do so love the design process.”

  “I must admit, you have a very keen eye for colour, weight, and the way fabrics may fall and behave,” he said with admiration. “I noticed it when you were browsing for the right material to ruche on this gown. It is no easy task, but you selected well. Indeed, it will look remarkable. As such, I would be delighted to have you design some bonnets for the shop. And, if you would be so inclined, to cast your feminine eye over some of my own designs? I have a room out the back where you may work, if you would like?”

  Her heart jumped with excitement. “Might I also use the room to alter this gown? I do not want anyone discovering the secret of it, as it is intended to be a rather special gift. I trust nobody with the covert nature of it except myself… and you, I suppose.”

  She chuckled softly, casting him a shy glance. He had not taken his eyes off her the entire time they had been speaking, aside from the curious look that had crossed his face in mentioning the sapphire-blue bonnet.

  He smiled. “You have already heard of Mrs. Merton’s role as an accomplished busybody and general gossipmonger?”

  “Unfortunately, I have,” she replied, with a grin. “I do not want word reaching anyone, or questions being asked about this gown. I would not have the surprise ruined.”

  He dipped his head in a small bow. “Of course, Miss Fitzwilliam. Think of this shop as your own personal workspace, where you may come and go as you please. I, for one, look forward to your continued presence hereabouts.”