by Anna Bradley
His fork clattered to his plate. “I’m tired.” With that, he shoved back his chair and stomped up the stairs.
Pleasant sighed at his departure. Since their father’s death, Niall had always felt as if he needed to fill that void. But he took entirely too much responsibility upon his young shoulders, and someday, Pleasant was afraid that would take him down a dark path.
“Did Niall upset you, Pea?” Fiona put her small arms around Pleasant, who smiled at the nickname she’d been given long ago.
“No,” Pleasant said with a smile at the adoring face smothered in freckles. “I just worry about him.”
“He just needs to get the stick out of his arse,” Connor piped up from across the table.
“Connor, really!” Pleasant chided, as she shook her head. “You boys and your language. Remember that you live with three other ladies.”
“Sorry, Pea,” Connor grumbled, as he too, pushed back his chair and excused himself.
“I guess it’s just us now,” Fiona said with a shrug.
Pleasant stood and began to gather up the dirty plates. “If you help me with the dishes tonight, then perhaps I can take you to the park one weekend before it gets too soggy and cold.”
Fiona scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like English weather. I want to go back home to Ireland.”
Pleasant’s heart ached for her sister. “I know you do, but London has a lot more opportunities for us than Ireland did.” She bent down to her level. “But maybe someday, we can go back and visit.”
Fiona’s brown eyes lit up. “Promise, Pea?”
Pleasant touched the tip of her nose with her finger. “I promise.” And in that moment, she told herself that, no matter what it took, she would fulfill that vow.
CHAPTER TWO
When there was a knock at the shop door, Cornell glanced at his pocket watch, which read precisely five minutes to eight, and had to admit that he was impressed. Miss Pleasant Hill had seemed sincere in her desire to become an apprentice, but she was young and likely fanciful, so he wasn’t even sure she’d show up. But truth be told, he was glad she had. It was strange, but there had been something oddly appealing about her, and he wanted to see her again, just to see if that recognition was still there.
As he glanced out the window and saw her hair covered by a wrap, her nose slightly red from the cold, he couldn’t help but smile at her appearance. She looked the epitome of a forlorn waif, if it wasn’t for the sparkle in her green eyes when she spied him. She lifted a tentative hand in greeting, and he nodded in return, as he unlocked the door and let her inside.
She rubbed her arms as she entered, although the threadbare cloak she wore probably wasn’t that much help against the elements. “Thank you.”
“How are you this morning?” He glanced down at her small frame and wondered if she’d even had anything to eat that morning. Not only did the top of her head barely reach his chin, but she was a timid thing, even if she did her best to hide it.
“I’m well, Mr. Reed. And you?”
He nearly snorted at the query. Instead, he replied, “Well enough.” It wasn’t often that anyone asked about his welfare, but then, during his days at sea, he would have likely bit someone’s head off if they’d dared to question his health. However, as the captain of a Royal naval ship, it would have been detrimental to his career if he’d shown any sign of weakness. It might have even caused a mutiny.
He waved a hand toward the back room. “Shall we begin?”
She nodded mutely and followed after him, her footsteps barely making a sound on the hard wood floor. Naturally, he noticed what she was wearing. “Did you make those?” he asked, pointing to her nankeen, half boots.
She glanced down at the simply made, but sturdy blue shoes. “I did.”
“Hmm.” Even he had to admire the craftsmanship. It made him think that, if she was telling the truth, that she could be an asset to his shop after all. “That style is becoming more popular with the ladies of society this season. They find that a burst of color on their feet is rather charming, whereas the white and pastels dresses they are forced to wear are quite de rigueur. Not to mention that they are more comfortable than leather, and not as easily ruined as their delicate kid slippers, although for social events like balls, those are still required, but that’s where pattens come in handy.”
Miss Hill didn’t say anything, just nodded whenever it seemed necessary. While her silence was welcome, for he wasn’t a fan of incessant chattering women, it also unnerved him that she was so quiet. “Do you…have any questions?”
“Do you only design ladies’ footwear?”
He shook his head. “No. I also make men’s and children’s, and I’m not averse to say that people from all over England come to my shop to purchase my work.” He looked at her meaningfully. “I would like to keep my reputation intact.”
She nodded quickly. “Of course.”
He gave her a tour of his work area, which, he noted, would also be hers if he decided to hire her. Various tools were scattered about, along with wood, metal, leather, and plain nankeen that was ready to be dyed. “You said your father was a cobbler, is that right?” At her admission, he held up a pair of pliers. “Can you tell me what these are used for?”
“They stretch the leather.” She walked over and picked up some more instruments. “This is an awl for punching holes, this is a marking wheel that tells where the needle should go through the sole, and this is a size stick to measure the foot.”
This time Cornell couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “Indeed. You are correct on all accounts.” He reached into his apron and pulled out a list. “These are the special orders that have priority.”
She took it from his grasp. “Does this mean—?”
“Welcome to my shop, Miss Hill.”
***
Pleasant grinned widely. It was all she could do not to throw her arms around him in appreciation, but she refrained. “Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
He then quoted her a wage that was more than what she could have possibly hoped for.
During the next hour, when customers didn’t interrupt him, he showed her where things were, and when he seemed satisfied that she was comfortable, he said, “I’ll leave the first pair of half boots in your capable hands, Miss Hill. If you have need of me, you have only to come out front and ask.”
“Yes, Mr. Reed.”
Pleasant took a seat on a stool similar to her employer’s, although she had a table to work from. There were already several pre-cut pieces of nankeen hanging up about the room in varying shades. For the most part all she had to do was thread the laces and attach the soles to these pieces, a procedure she was already familiar with.
For the next few hours, she toiled over her task while the bell above the shop door tinkled methodically. She was working so intently on her third pair that she didn’t realize it when she was no longer alone.
“I thought you might like some lunch—”
Pleasant jumped and effectively stabbed herself in the finger with the needle. “Ow.” A bright red bead of blood began to form, and she quickly shoved it into her mouth, so that it wouldn’t drip onto the light green cotton she had been sewing.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Reed said from behind her. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Here,” He held out his hand to her. “Let me see it.”
“’Tis fine,” she mumbled around her finger, but when he gently tugged on the appendage, she reluctantly surrendered. She couldn’t help but notice that he’d removed his apron, leaving him in only a plain lawn shirt, breeches and boots, making him look rather dashing. Her cheeks instantly warmed, so she was glad he wasn’t looking at her.
Instead, he frowned at the slight injury and pulled a white handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers. Pleasant’s eyes widened at the sheer quality of it…right before he pressed it against her finger. “Hold this there. It will help stop the bleeding.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, although she c
ouldn’t stop using her other hand to rub the soft cotton between her fingertips. She had never felt anything so fine, and now she had probably ruined it.
“It was a gift,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
“It’s very nice,” she murmured. “I’ll launder it today. Perhaps I can get the stain out before it sets in.”
He shrugged. “It’s not dear to me, so if it doesn’t come clean, I won’t be heartbroken.”
Pleasant wasn’t sure how to respond to that curt statement. He must not have either, for he handed her a package. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Something to eat.” He glanced at her form. “You look like you could use it.”
She didn’t think it was a compliment, but she took the item from him nevertheless. “I’m more sturdy than I might appear,” she returned. But as she unwrapped the packaging and spied a scone, her mouth instantly began to water. She couldn’t remember the last time she had indulged in something so delicious. She took a bite and couldn’t stop a moan of pleasure from escaping. “It’s lovely,” she sighed. “Where did you get it?”
He stared at her for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying, but then he blinked and muttered, “The bakery down the street.” He held out an apple, which she accepted gratefully. Until then, she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been.
“Thank you. I will pay you back for the expense, of course—”
He waved a hand and cut her off. “You’ve deserved it. I nearly forgot you were back here, and then I find that you’ve already completed two orders for some rather special customers. Lady Thistlebury and her daughter will be quite pleased their boots are early.”
He inspected her work and nodded in approval. “Very well done, Miss Hill.” He glanced at her, and his green eyes twinkled. “I think we shall get along quite nicely.”
Warmth seeped into Pleasant’s cheeks again. “I think so too, Mr. Reed.”
***
Once again, Cornell’s chest tightened. It was a rather foreign sensation, to be sure, for while he had been attracted to any number of women over the years, had partaken of his share of liaisons, they had usually been experienced courtesans who were more than willing to share their experience, and their curvaceous wares.
And yet, here was this slip of a girl, who had known loss and hardship, and was still able to live up to her name.
Pleasant.
In all of his travels on the sea, stopping at different ports across Europe and Asia, he had never met anyone like her. And suddenly, he wanted to know so much more—starting with the color of her hair, which she kept bound and out of view.
He reached out and gave the covering a light tug. He expected to see some sort of mousy brown, but instead, her hair was a deep, rich auburn, a shade so fascinating and unexpected, that for a moment, he couldn’t speak. It made all the difference to her complexion, turning her wan skin warm and appealing, and her eyes into hypnotic emeralds. “Beautiful.”
He wasn’t even aware he’d spoken aloud until her forehead puckered rather adorably. “Pardon?”
Instead of repeating what he’d said, he tossed the rag to the side. “I don’t want to see that on your head anymore.”
“But, I—”
“No. More,” he reiterated.
She sighed. “Very well. I won’t wear it in the shop.”
While he considered it a travesty for such a lovely sight to be hidden at all, he had to admit that her duties as a washerwoman might be easier if she kept her hair out of her face. He offered a brief nod and strode back to the front of the store.
Unfortunately, the rest of the day didn’t pass in the unassuming manner for Cornell as the first half had. He found himself staring off into space more times than he cared to count. Not even when he’d been on the ship, waiting for the wind to pick up the sails, had his attention drifted off so poorly. Then again, he hadn’t found his interest piqued by any of his crewmen either. But neither was it the first time he’d ever noticed a woman with striking red hair.
But combined with Miss Hill’s pitiful backstory, something that even Daniel Defoe hadn’t likely concocted in his imagination, and her willingness to work her fingers to the bone just to provide a decent holiday for her family…needless to say, it certainly made him rethink his entire character.
Exactly how long had it been since he’d spoken to his half-brother who lived right here in London?
Cornell gritted his teeth. He had to stop this awful self-doubt. It would get him nowhere. Besides, one would have thought he’d grown a stiffer backbone after years in the navy. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t witnessed his share of loss, tragedy, and death. Or that he was incapable of understanding struggle. He’d grown up doing all sorts of odd jobs just so he could help his mother make ends meet. When she’d passed, he was only fifteen. Without any other option open to him that he was amenable to, he’d signed on as a cabin boy, and worked his way up the ladder until he finally made captain, a spot he’d held until this past July when he’d finally decided he’d had enough of blood and battle to last a lifetime. So, he’d returned to English soil and opened his shop at the beginning of August, and for the past four months had already built a steady following that he was proud of.
Although that decision might have never come to pass if it hadn’t been for the death of his father…
And that was enough of that.
With his jaw set, Cornell pushed any further thought of his past and the intriguing Miss Hill out of his mind and set to work.
CHAPTER THREE
Pleasant stretched her arms behind her head and looked at her accomplishments of the day. She was rather pleased that she’d managed to sew two more boots together, as well as starting a pair of kid slippers when she finally set down her tools. Her stomach was growling, for the sun was nearly set, but her workday had just begun. There was still laundry to gather and finish before it was time for bed.
And then she would start the process all over again. She just kept telling herself that it would all be worth it in the end. She might even make enough from her apprenticeship that Mr. Reed might consider taking her on full time and she could quit the laundry service altogether. But then, that was probably just an unattainable dream, like many things in her imagination, girlish fantasies that she had long since pushed aside for the harsh realities to survive.
“Do you need me to hail a hackney for you?”
She glanced at her employer, who stood framed in the doorway, his negligent pose completely alluring. He looked just as he did at lunchtime in his casual attire, and it nearly stole her breath. No other man had ever done that to her before. Granted, several had propositioned her and even made advances, but she had rebuffed them time and again. It was one reason she’d always covered her hair. It wasn’t out of any sense of personal vanity, other than the fact it had always drawn unwanted attention.
Until now. She’d rather liked the fact he’d flung her covering to the side and demanded that she keep it off. Had daydreamed about it for the rest of the day, because any recognition that she received from him was far from undesired.
But if she wished to keep her position and not turn into a fallen woman, she had better keep her focus on shoes and nothing more.
Pleasant recalled that he’d asked her a question, so she said, “I’ll be fine, but thank you.”
He frowned, and she almost smiled. He scowled more than anyone else she knew. “But the weather is barely inhabitable out there.” He paused. “How far away do you live?”
“Not far,” she demurred. “It’s but a short walk.” She didn’t want to tell him that she had to collect her basket of laundry from Madame LeFleur’s first. And if she wished to keep the lady’s business, she had best get on her way. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, she scurried outside.
The brisk wind nearly stole her breath. She had nearly forgotten that it was winter with the cheery fire burning in the back room of Mr. Reed’s shop. It had k
ept her quite comfortable all day. It wouldn’t be the same when she returned home, for they had to conserve their coal, but at least she would be out of the weather.
As she walked, Pleasant was glad that she hadn’t worn pattens that day. The metal would surely cause her to slide all over the slick cobblestones. Even so, she placed her steps carefully, so that she wouldn’t have an accident.
Pleasant had never liked going to Madame LeFleur’s establishment, but since she was one of her better paying customers, she took a deep breath and knocked on the door to the servant’s entrance, as she normally did for a delivery.
It was quickly opened by one of the ladies who worked there, and that was using the term rather graciously. Pleasant had never cared for Violet, and she was quite sure the feeling was mutual. With kohl-lined eyes and bright, henna-red hair, a dress that was barely covering her bodice, Violet snapped, “Where ’ave ye been all day? The Madame’s in a near fit!” She grabbed hold of Pleasant’s arm and hauled her roughly inside.
“I’m… sorry,” Pleasant muttered. “I have a new position with the cordwainer and I—”
“I dinna want t’ ’ear yer excuses,” the woman returned abruptly. She inclined her head toward the hallway. “She’s waitin’ for ye ’n th’ parlor.”
“But…” Pleasant stared toward that area uncertainly. “I always pick up the basket at the door.”
Violet crossed her arms. “I’m just doin’ wha’ she told me,” she said impatiently. “Now go, if’n ye wanna keep yer job here.”
Pleasant clenched her fists in frustration, but seeing as how there was no way to refuse, for her existence truly was in another’s hands, she strode forward.
As she drew closer, she heard raucous laughter drifting out from the open doorway. She had never dared to traverse this far, but then, she had never needed to before. For the past six months, she had always been greeted by one of the Madame’s “ladies” at the back door where they would conduct business. However, she’d never been this late with a pick-up before.