The Sullen Seamstress of Horenwall Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

His hand went still as the word bewitching ran in loops through his mind. Undoubtedly, her eyes were naturally bewitching, and enhanced with the fire of her anger, even more so.

  Perhaps it was the tiny frown in the middle of her forehead when she was perturbed. It could also be the stiffness in her jaw when she was valiantly holding back incensed words.

  Those traits, separate or all together presented an image that Norman liked. She had none of the delicacy bred into aristocratic girls or the tendency to fake innocence that they believed made them more appealing. Miss Hall was not like the women he knew which was why he had told her that he wanted to know her.

  Perhaps I have scared her…she already is in a different world than what she knew…I suppose that can be taxing.

  As his quarters were near the front drive, he heard the wheel crunch of the carriage the ladies had taken to London and managed to heave himself up and go look.

  It was dark but he was still able to see the driver alight and put down the mounting blocks. It surprised him that they had taken so long in London but then again, they had gone shopping.

  They must have taken the time to inspect every piece of fabric and the texture of the thread to go with it.

  It was a facetious thought but in his tired state, Norman did not rebuke his sardonicism. He stood there and watched as his mother was helped out, then Miss Fawcett and Lady Ogbent and lastly, Miss Hall.

  He was tired but it would not be gracious of him to not greet them. He left the room and arrived at the foyer quickly enough to see all the ladies inside.

  “Good evening Mother, Lady Ogbent, Miss Fawcett and Miss Hall, I suspect your trip was successful?”

  “Oh, Norman,” the Duchess smiled as she plucked off her left glove, “It was more than that, we found everything we needed in one sitting.”

  Norman did not know if he should feel happy or not, and so his smile was tight.

  “That’s good then, good night Mothe—” when Miss Fawcett, who was nearest to him, suddenly slumped. Norman reacted and quickly caught her as cries of alarm came from Lady Ogbent. The young woman was limp in his arms and her eyes were fluttering.

  “Why has she fainted?” he demanded.

  “Travel sometimes does that to her, Your Grace.” Lady Ogbent said grimly.

  Without request, Norman bent, slipped an arm under her knees, lifted Miss Fawcett up and carried her to the nearest sitting room. When he rested her on a chair, Lady Ogbent hurried and removed Miss Fawcett’s bonnet. She then plucked out a silver vinaigrette from her pocket and held it to her nose.

  Norman was ready to summon the doctor but when Miss Fawcett’s eyes fluttered open, he sighed in relief.

  “Mother…” her voice was weak.

  “Right here darling,” Lady Ogbent said while pocketing the vinaigrette, “You fainted, Isabella.”

  A soft color of embarrassment painted her cheeks, “I am sorry. I did not mean to cause any alarm...I faintly recall being lifted up.”

  Norman cleared his throat, “That would be me, Miss Fawcett. I was the closest to you, and I carried you.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” her head dipped in a bow of appreciation, “That was very kind of you. I have not fainted in years. It a cumbersome affliction that comes with long hours of travel.”

  The Duke was impassive, “Nevertheless, a physician will come and attend to you in the morning. Mother, I know you will send them the requisite nightcap to settle her nerves.”

  Norman then caught Lady Ogbent’s pinched gaze as she looked around the room—most likely for her missing husband—and sighed internally. The man was going to get an earful in the morning.

  “Lady Ogbent, I believe Lord Ogbent had already retired for the night. Good night, Madam, and Miss Hall. Miss Fawcett, please do not over exhaust yourself. Mother, a word, if you will.”

  With a bow, he and his mother had turned away, neither of them got to see the tiny triumphant smiles coming from Lady Ogbent and her daughter…but someone did.

  Rosaline went to her room with indignation brimming in her chest for the way the two had tricked the Duke. First, the fake piety at Harding Howell and Company and now the fake faint in the foyer. Was there nothing the two would stop at to gain attention? Rosaline was right in her first assumption that these two were not to be trusted.

  She unrobed and angrily tugged off her bonnet, coat, and shawl. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She felt conflicted—should she tell the Duke what she had seen or not?

  Was it even her place to do so? And, honestly, if she did, which word would he believe, hers or Miss Fawcett? It was more than likely that he would think she was a liar as many believed the word of an aristocrat than the one of a servant.

  It bothered her but she had to sit on this one. Perhaps the Duke could see it in his own time and realize that he was being tricked. The Duke was smart, she knew that—it might not take long for him to see that the family was not one to be trusted.

  Pulling off the rest of her clothes, Rosaline used the pail of water in her wash closet to cleanse herself and then don a nightshift. She knew her rest that night was not going to come easily so instead of trying to rest, she took out the length of cotton she had gotten and examined it.

  “It would do for the three handkerchiefs,” Rosaline smiled to herself, “with gold embroidery around the edges…or mayhap the family crest in the corner with his initials inside the crest…”

  I would love to see him smile as he looks at them.

  It was the best idea she had within her means to repay him with…but would he take it? He might think there was some ulterior motive? Or, he would reject it? The questions kept coming, sadly though, she had no answer to any of them.

  Chapter 10

  When morning came, Rosaline took her usual morning fare before wandering to the library. She did not expect to come across the Duke there but this time, she did not shy away from him.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” she said with a curtsy.

  “Same to you, Miss Hall,” he replied while taking a rather large book from a slot. “I did not get to ask in full, how was the trip to London?”

  She carefully phased her words, “Surprising, Your Grace, well to me at least. From what I have observed there are two London’s. One for the poor and one for the rich, each inhabiting the extreme ends of the spectrum.”

  “A wise deduction, Miss Hall,” the Duke said soberly, “Not many see or, may I say, not many would care to see the dichotomy of the world we live in.”

  Rosaline kept herself from blatantly admiring the man who, in his undressed state—or was it possibly—a half-dressed state, was only in shirtsleeves and breeches.

  When she understood his statement, Rosaline could only agree.

  “I come from humble beginnings, Your Grace,” she admitted, “It is not that difficult for me to recognize the breach between our worlds.”

  Her words elicited an interesting reaction from the Duke, who closed the book in his hand over his finger and looked up at her under the fringes of his hair. His stare was enigmatic and so was his spreading smile. “Miss Hall, may I give you a history lesson on my family?”

  She frowned slightly at the direction their conversation suddenly took, but who was she to refuse him. “I have no objections, Your Grace.”

  “Do you see this portrait?” The Duke gestured to the large painting of the man in scarlet stockings. “He looks well-to-do, no? I would agree, but that was painted when he was in his latter state. My forefather, Duke Egerton Kinsley was a man of meager means, Miss Hall. He did not come from wealth as you might believe. When he was young, he took the chance to go to Italy to find a better life. There, he was fortunate enough to meet an old tradesman who gave him the same occupation. He became a merchant, Miss Hall, buying raw materials and distributing them to crafters. He then collected the product to sell en masse.”

  Rosaline was shocked—all this time she had believed the Kinsley family had been born into wealth.

 
“When his business grew, he borrowed from money lenders, continued the same cycle of crafting and distributing, and his wealth grew with it. Soon enough, he had a ship that went to the subcontinent that traded goods for expensive spices, ivory, and silk. Then gained another ship, a third and up to a sixth. When he was satisfied there, he came back to England, bought a large parcel of land and married a rich widow—whom he actually loved.” The Duke paused.

  “The lady owned over four hundred acres and with my forefather’s wealth, the crown recognized him and offered him a dukedom which he took and built this house for his love. What you are seeing here, Miss Hall, is the profit of a man who was low born but knew how to take a chance, apply his strength, and then reaped the benefit.”

  He turned to her and smiled, “My forefather also came from humble beginnings, Miss Hall, but he managed to forge a bridge between the worlds.”

  She was stunned, and the slight flush on her face showed it, “I would have never thought, Your Grace.”

  “Most wouldn’t,” the Duke replied simply. “It is not a history that many would think fitting for a family like ours.”

  Once again, Rosaline was lost for words. She felt honored that he had told her, what she was sure, was a secret part of his family history. “We managed to get all we needed in London, Your Grace. Which reminds me, soon enough, I will need you for a fitting.”

  His eyebrows were nearly at his hairline, “A fitting, for me? Why?”

  Rosaline canted her head to the side, “Miss Fawcett did not tell you? Your Grace, she has requested that I make a waistcoat for you using the same cloth as her dress.”

  The curse that slipped out of his mouth was discreetly unacknowledged by the seamstress who resisted the urge to laugh. His expression was both comical and exasperated.

  “And may I ask what color is that cloth?”

  “Light gold, Your Grace,” Rosaline replied as soberly as she could.

  “Gold, of course, it had to be gold,” the Duke sighed, “no other color would do, eh?”

  “I believe not, Your Grace,” she replied even as her lips twitched.

  “You are free to laugh, Miss Hall,” the Duke smiled indulgently, “And please, forgive me for my indiscretion. Cursing is not becoming of a man in my position.”

  “It is forgiven, Your Grace,” Rosaline added. The dilemma from last night about telling the Duke about Miss Fawcett’s trick prodded her again, but Rosaline did not say a word about it. Instead, she asked, “How is Miss Fawcett?”

  The light expression on the Duke’s face dimmed, “I cannot tell. The Doctor has been summoned, but by the time he gets here and Miss Fawcett is awake, I will be off to tend to my duties.”

  Still, she hesitated. “Your Grace…” the Ogbent’s cannot be trusted, “…you are one half of this marriage. If you are not happy with the way things are going, you do have a right to speak up. Miss Fawcett cannot dictate everything, and I would hate for you to become Lor—”

  Rosaline slapped her hands over her mouth just in time to stop the words, Lord Ogbent from slipping her lips.

  Horror raced up her spine. Even though the words never made it out of her mouth, the look on the Duke’s face told her that he knew exactly what she had been about to say. His patient smile was confirmation enough, and Rosaline, who was still intensely fearful at what she had been about to say was grateful that he did not censure her for it.

  However, she was not comforted when he reached over and softly pulled her hands away from her mouth. His touch sent discomfiting ripples through her chest that then settled in her rioting stomach. What did unsettle her more was that he did not let go.

  “Become Lord Ogbent,” he finished for her.

  Numbly, she nodded. He was so close to her that the blue of his eyes eclipsed her mind. The warmth of his touch was a point of contact that seemed to burn and go cold at the same time.

  His eyes, his eyes are so close to mine. His eyes are…beautiful. I could look at them all day.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Rosaline’s voice was a touch above a whisper. “I am sorry if I was out of place.”

  His hands let her wrists go, and free, they seemed to burn even more.

  “No, you are not.” the Duke shook his head, “In fact, Miss Hall, you couldn’t be more right. The man has been bludgeoned out of his place as the lawmaker in the family by a woman who is nothing but a tyrant and a daughter that he is trying to move the world to please. Why, I have not the faintest idea, but he has resigned himself to be overruled. To ease your fear, Miss Hall, I am not the type of man who has any regard for cowardice.”

  Rosaline breathed in slowly, “I am…glad to hear that, Your Grace.”

  It was merciful how he stepped back, “I am surprised that you have noticed it, Miss Hall. How did you? I do not think you have spent a minute in his presence.”

  “I saw it when they arrived, Your Grace,” Rosaline said, “He flinched when Lady Ogbent was near him and went pale when she spoke to me.”

  The Duke’s smile was wide, “I was right in the first place.”

  “About?”

  The Duke casually took the book and smiled, “There is more to you than what meets the eye. Much more. Good day, Miss Hall.”

  Norman had not meant to touch Miss Hall, but the moment she had said something about the mouse of a man that was Lord Ogbent, he had not stopped himself.

  He could not remove the tactile memory of her skin from his mind if he tried. I have only touched her wrists but, by God, the skin there was the smoothest silk. Why did I let her go? Oh, the fear in her eyes…I overstepped my bounds…she was scared.

  The fear of him censuring her about Lord Ogbent had been so palpable that he had felt it. Miss Hall did not know how expressive her eyes were, and he could easily read the emotions swirling inside them. His gut had torn in half, but he had had to release her. However, when he did, the relief in her hazel eyes had soothed the laceration.

  He made it to his rooms just in time for his valet to appear with his pressed waistcoat and coat. Today, he and Lord Ogbent were going to talk about a possible merger of the assets of both of their territories. Norman had no doubt that talks about Miss Fawcett would also occur and he was dreading that.

  What could he say about Miss Fawcett? Could he blatantly tell the man that there was no attraction towards her on his part? Could it be that his previous expectations of her were eclipsing his sense of being fair and impartial to her?

  Am I blinding myself? Surely, there have to be some aspects of Miss Fawcett that I can find tolerable or even delight in?

  Any man would be delighted to have a lady of her stature beside him. She was beautiful, smart, very vain, and a little naïve, but that could easily be remedied by experience. What would happen in he tried to really know her? He had promised his mother, after all, what was wrong with one more try?

  “Miss Hall,” Miss Keats said as she entered the library, “Her Grace is now ready for you.”

  Standing, Rosaline closed and replaced her book, smoothed her skirts and followed the maid to the Duchess’ drawing room. Sitting across from the Duchess was a young woman, younger than she, with dark hair and dressed in a nondescript brown dress. Rosaline could see that she was stopping herself from fidgeting as her fingers were folded tightly over her skirt.

  “Miss Hall, welcome,” the Duchess smiled, “with me is Miss Jane Moore. Her mother was my former housekeeper. Miss Moore is a wonderful quilter and is making her way into becoming a wonderful seamstress. At only six-and-ten, I believe you can be a wonderful influence on her.”

  In other words, Miss Moore was her assistant.

  Miss Moore stood and curtsied, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Hall.”

  The girl’s voice was so soft and shy that Rosaline knew she was a solitary creature, one whom she could relate to splendidly. “And I, Miss Moore.”

  “Please show her the workroom, Miss Hall. All the bolts of cloth and other particulars have been delivered there,” the Duchess smiled g
ently.

  “Yes, Your Grace, and good day to you,” Rosaline curtsied and so did Miss Moore who also uttered her parting words.

  On the way to the workroom, Rosaline knew the girl was nervous and decided to offer her support when they were inside the confines of their working space. She, however, was momentarily stunned when entering the workroom. The large space, that had been barren when she had first viewed it, was now furnished with long and short tables and cushioned chairs. The windows had light fluttery curtains and a fireplace, that Rosaline had not noticed before, which was now open and loaded with wood.

  On the tables to the side were the bolts of cloth and on the short tables were trays of measuring tape, shears, scissors, thimbles, needles, and padding. There also were ribbons, twill, and thin bone inserts needed for the creation of the stays.