Authors: Jade Lee
Helaine took a deep breath. Might as well confess it all
at once.
“I’m a shopkeeper, Irene. I own a dress shop, or at least half of it. Or almost half. Never mind, the particulars don’t matter. The point is that I design clothing, Irene. And my partner sews them. I am a tradeswoman and…” She looked up into her friend’s eyes, trying to express the amazement she felt at her next words. “And I absolutely love it.”
Irene’s mouth dropped open, the shock obvious. “I just assumed you had married or something.”
Helaine laughed, though the sound was strained. “Well, that is the usual course of things, isn’t it? And I had offers, too, but not for marriage.” She saw understanding flash through Irene’s eyes.
“Yes, I know the type of man who comes calling when a titled girl is in trouble.”
Helaine dared touch her friend’s hand. “But you found love. For a time at least.”
Irene’s expression grew wistful. “Yes, for a marvelous time.” Then she straightened to frown back at Helaine. “But
we are speaking of you. Do you really own a dressmaker’s shop?”
“Yes. It’s called A Lady’s Favor and it’s not too far off Bond Street. I go by Mrs. Mortimer there.”
“Really?” Irene tilted her head. “I cannot imagine you as a Mortimer.”
Helaine smiled. “My mother was fond of bemoaning how mortified she was at what I was doing. Mortified, mortified, mortified! I took the name Mortimer to tweak her.”
“And did it?”
“Definitely. But now I am stuck with it.”
“Ah.” There was something in the way she said the word that caused Helaine some concern. And then Irene’s hands began to knot in the folds of her skirt. “You have come to ask me to frequent your shop, haven’t you? I would, of course. Your ideas were always quite innovative even back at school—”
“Oh, no! Not those silly—”
“But you see, my mother-in-law insists on the most fashionable modiste. Silly woman, actually—the modiste, not my mother-in-law, though I suppose her, too, in some ways. In any event, she would be most upset if I transferred—”
“I’m
not
asking for your patronage, Irene!” Helaine’s voice came out louder than she intended. The idea that she would come begging her old friends for their business was beyond humiliating. “We have clients aplenty!” she lied. And damn it, her friend knew she was lying. She always had.
“Do you, Helaine? Truly?”
Helaine sighed. “Yes, we do. For the moment. But not for long unless…” Her voice trailed away, and once again she saw how useless this whole errand was. Irene had no reason to agree, and every reason to send Helaine packing. But she could not stop now. “As I said before, I thought you were desperately unhappy. I thought you would grasp at any chance to escape.” She lifted up her hands in a gesture of futility. “I came, Irene, to offer you a job.”
“What?” her friend gasped.
“We cannot get the right supplies,” Helaine explained.
“But your father-in-law is in shipping. He has cargo from all over the world. And I remember how good at spotting bargains you are. You found the most amazing things for no money at all!”
“It was a necessity in my household.”
“Yes,” Helaine drawled. “Mine, too, but you excelled at it.”
“Hardly a skill I’m proud of.”
“But you should be!” said Helaine. “You cannot know how desperate I am for someone to shop for us. To find bargains in silks and lace, to locate just the right baubles or ribbons. I can look at a woman and see just the right clothing for her. Wendy can sew anything I dream up and more. But neither of us can find the cloth or the baubles. Certainly not cheaply. Not like you could.”
“So you want me to shop for you?”
Helaine turned to her friend, using all her persuasive skill. “You are grieving a husband. You have all the material wealth a woman could want. And yes, we were once the best of friends, but that was a long time ago. But nonetheless, that is what I am asking you to consider: be my purchaser. You cannot imagine how liberating it is to earn your own money. I know it is crass to say it, but the first time we were paid, I danced in the workroom. I bought a bottle of wine and we celebrated away all our profits. And yet, I do not regret it for one second.”
Irene smiled. “I cannot imagine you dancing in a workroom.”
“I have done it,” said Helaine with a touch of pride. “I have done so much that I never imagined possible.” She leaned forward, her voice taking on the joy of what she had done. “I support myself and my mother now. Working has given me such power, you have no idea.”
Irene did not appear to be listening. Her gaze was on the water, and the longer she stayed silent, the more Helaine’s heart sank.
“Perhaps,” Helaine finally ventured, “you know of someone else, someone in more straitened circumstances? A
widow who can argue with equal aplomb with a merchant or a ship’s captain. Who is familiar with the shipping—”
“A woman who needs a reason to get up every morning,” interrupted Irene. “A woman without children and without hope.”
“Yes, I offer hope,” Helaine pressed. “I have hope aplenty for all of us. Indeed, some days I think it is all I have.”
Irene nodded, and Helaine knew from experience that her friend was thinking hard. Within a moment, Irene would have the answer. When they were children, she would produce the mathematical result or the location of the cheapest candy maker. Now, Helaine could only pray that she had a name. A woman who would save their little shop and Helaine’s personal slice of heaven.
“Very well,” Irene said as she abruptly pushed to her feet.
Helaine scrambled to keep up. “You know of someone?”
“Hmm? Why, certainly I do. Me! And I also know of a shipment of Brussels lace, though it won’t come in for some weeks yet.”
“Really? But that would be excellent!” She knew of at least three ladies who would jump at the chance to get a dress with the right type of lace on it.
Irene grinned. “And I know just how to get at least three bolts of it for a song.”
“Three bolts! But how? And who—?”
Irene abruptly engulfed Helaine in a fierce hug all the more startling because of how very thin and frail the woman looked. “You leave that to me,” she said when she finally released her.
“But—”
“Now listen, my dear. I shall get you the lace, and you shall pay me twenty percent more than I pay.”
“We do not have much ready cash—”
“Never you mind that. You tell me what you want and how much you can pay. I shall find you what you need and make myself a tidy profit to boot.”
Helaine felt her mind reel in shock. Her friend had certainly
embraced the mercenary spirit quickly enough. “My goodness—”
“Do you think I learned nothing from sitting at the table every evening with my father-in-law? He speaks business all the time! I could not help but learn something. And now, finally, I have the chance to put to practice what I have learned.”
“But—”
“Never fear, my dear. And thank you!”
Helaine laughed. “For what? I should be thanking you.”
“Nonsense! You have given me something I have not found in over a year.”
“I cannot imagine what,” she said as they turned to leave the park.
“A reason to get out of bed every morning, Helaine. You cannot know how much I have wished for that. And now,” she said as she released a giggle like a schoolgirl, “I shall endeavor to make us both rich, rich, rich!”
Helaine giggled, too, though not with as much unrestrained enthusiasm. She had succeeded in her task. Against all odds, Irene was to be their purchaser. God willing, she would be good at it.
But now she had to move on to her next, much more difficult task. After all, Irene had to have a shop to supply. It would do no good to have Brussels lace for a shop that no longer existed. A Lady’s Favor needed to survive long enough for the lace to arrive, for the orders to be made and sewn, and then for the bills to be paid.
So after a few more minutes of serious discussion and a lovely walk back to the house, Helaine took her leave. Irene promised to contact her as soon as she had word on the lace. And Helaine promised to call on her in a few days with a detailed list of the fabrics they needed. But then it was done, and Helaine hailed another hansom cab. It was time for her very next and even more clandestine task.
“Take me to Viscount Redhill’s residence in Grosvenor Square.”
* * *
Robert already had the bottle of brandy in hand when
there was yet another knock on the library door. It was barely three in the afternoon, but after a morning such as today, brandy was the only choice to combat the headache growing behind his right eye.
“My lord?” asked Dribbs as he pushed open the library door unbidden.
“No, Dribbs,” Robert said quite firmly.
“Well, yes, my lord. There is a visitor.”
“No, Dribbs, there is not.”
“But she is most insistent.”
“No, Dribbs, she is not. Because there is not a visitor to see me.” To further make the point, he dispensed with the swirling and airing of the alcohol and took a healthy swig straight from the bottle. It was almost gone anyway.
“Well, yes, my lord, there is.”
“No, Dribbs, there cannot be. My father has already been here today, so he cannot have purchased another mine or an interest in a gold venture in Antarctica or discovered the secret to stuffing genies into bottles to grant his every whim.”
“No, sir, it is not the earl.”
Robert exhaled in relief. “Thank God—”
“It is a woman.”
“No, Dribbs, it most certainly cannot be a woman. Because, you see, I have already spoken with Gwen about her upcoming nuptials just this morning. My mother is in bed where she always is at this hour. And as for all those future in-law women who have let the house next door, I have just this moment escaped from the upstairs salon where the baroness and her sister were rearranging Mama’s figurines. They were arguing about whether sunlight was bad for a porcelain shepherdess. Porcelain, Dribbs. Why would anyone ever be concerned about a porcelain complexion? Especially since the damned thing has a bonnet!”
Robert forced himself to take another swig of brandy. When had his life become so dashed ridiculous?
“Very true, my lord. Most odd. But the woman who wishes to see you is not destined to be your relation.”
“Thank heaven.” He dropped down behind his desk, pushed aside the mountain of papers to set the bottle down, then looked up in confusion when Dribbs had still not disappeared. “You can go now.”
“Well, no, sir, I cannot.”
“Of course you can. Just step backward and shut the door.”
“Well, yes, I could do that, my lord, but if I were to do such a thing, you would damn me for it in a day’s time. Perhaps even sooner.”
“Perhaps. But at least you wouldn’t be damned right now.”
“Excellent point, my lord. But you see, the lady in question is a Mrs. Mortimer. And she has a trifling matter for you to deal with.”
Robert snorted. In his opinion, all female matters were trifling. But that didn’t stop them from plaguing him with their nonsense day and night. Still, something about the name tickled the back of his brain. He knew that name, but from where?
“She is the dressmaker for your sister’s wedding,” supplied the butler.
Ah! There it was! Gwen had been waxing eloquent on the lady’s dressmaking skill just this morning. The woman had done this and that, tucked something in or let something out. And then Gwen had blushed a deep pink. That was what stuck in Robert’s mind: that his sister had blushed a deep, embarrassed pink. Because the dress made her look more attractive. In a sexual kind of way. And dashed if that was something he absolutely did
not
want to know about his sister.
He took another swig from the brandy bottle, only to discover that it was empty.
“I shall find you another bottle directly, my lord.”
“Good man.”
“But first you must speak with Mrs. Mortimer.”
“No, Dribbs. I must not.”
“But if you don’t, she will inevitably tell your sister that she was denied your presence. And then your sister will commence quietly sobbing in her bedroom because this wedding is already more than she expected and you will of course hear her or notice her red eyes. And then you will find out the reason for her tears and be furious with yourself for being such a callous brother. And then, my lord, you will instruct me most specifically to not allow you to say no to visitors anymore.”
“I would never say such a thing!” he said indignantly.
“You did say such a thing just last week when your mother was distraught over a lost delivery of perfumes.”
“I most certainly…” His voice trailed away. Damnation. He most certainly had. “Bloody hell.”
“It is a trifling matter, my lord. Best deal with it now and be done. Then no more tears, and you can have your brandy straightaway after it is finished.”
Robert released a heavy sigh. “Damnation, Dribbs, I don’t know whether to sack you or double your pay.”
“Double my pay, sir. Indeed, I believe you promised me that last week.”
“I most certainly did not!
That
I would remember.”
Dribbs paused a rather telling moment. Then he tilted his head. “Are you sure, my lord? Are you absolutely sure you would remember?”
“Yes. I most certainly am.”
Dribbs released a dramatic sigh. “Yes, I am afraid you would.” Then the man straightened to his full height, stepped backward into the hallway, and pulled the library door wide. “Mrs. Mortimer to see you, my lord. She will not take more than ten minutes of your time.”
That last was added with a stern look to the lady in question. The lady of course nodded sweetly in acknowledgment, but Robert saw the martial gleam in her eyes. He also saw her full cleavage, her sweetly rounded hips, and the dark red lips of a woman who obviously wanted to be kissed.
Good Lord, what had he just been thinking? She was a dressmaker, for God’s sake. Who would want to kiss a
dressmaker? That would be like fondling the bootblack. True, it was often done, but not by him! And yet here he was thinking of just where he would fondle her.