by Erica Vetsch
Thea and Betsy pressed their noses against a glass case of ostrich feathers, ribbons, and jet beads, while Penny wandered to the rolls of duchesse satin and brocade.
It would be disloyal to Charles and present the wrong face to the village and to the girls for Sophie to continue wearing somber colors, so she had put away her grays and blacks. For this celebration she would choose something light and pretty.
Madam Stipple invited Sophie to have a seat in an overstuffed chair. “I have pattern books, if you would like to peruse them. I really wouldn’t mind visiting you at the manor.” She drew a pad of paper from a shelf beneath the cutting table. “I can jot down some ideas and bring samples for your approval?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Sophie had never felt so unwelcome in a retail shop. “Penny and I are looking for dresses for the assembly. Is there time to make two gowns with the dance so near?”
“As long as you don’t ask for anything too elaborate that will require much embellishing, and as long as you don’t mind them being delivered the day of the party, it should not be a problem.” She poised her pencil over the paper. “I have a couple of ladies I can call upon for help with the basic sewing.”
“That will be fine then. Once the gowns are completed, I have several other things that need making up.” She consulted her list.
Penny held up a length of teal brocade. “What do you think, Sophie?”
“While the color flatters you, the material is both too ornate and too heavy for a dancing dress. Look in the muslins along that wall. You may have anything white, pale pink, or light blue. Those are appropriate colors for a young girl at her first dance.”
Penny put the heavy fabric down, reluctance in every slow movement. To cheer her, Sophie said, “You may pick out several yards of ribbon to match the fabric you choose. Madam Stipple can trim the gown, and we can use the same ribbon to thread through your hair.”
And in a blink, all was right once more in Penny’s world.
“I wish I didn’t have to wear dresses,” Thea said. “I wish I could wear knee breeches like a boy. I could climb trees and run faster without skirts getting in the way.” She stirred a basket of buttons with her finger.
Though Madam Stipple and Penny were shocked, Sophie wasn’t surprised. There were times when she had wished the same when she was growing up. What would it feel like to wear breeches and stalk around in boots? Skirts did hamper a girl from time to time.
“Thea, I understand how you feel, but you must remember that God didn’t make a mistake when He made you female. If you continue to rue being born a girl, you’ll always be blaming God and letting that hold you back. You can and will do amazing things, and being a girl won’t stop you if you put your mind to it.”
“Can I be a sailor?” Thea asked. “Like the captain?”
Did Charles know the impression he’d made on the girls in such a short time? Betsy followed him everywhere, copying his movements and mannerisms, and if his bicorn wasn’t on his head, it was on hers.
And though Thea stated she wished she was a boy, her actions said that what she really wanted was to belong to someone, to be someone’s little girl. Someone safe, who wouldn’t abandon her.
“Perhaps not in the British navy, but there is nothing to stop you from learning to sail. And aren’t you blessed to have a naval captain who also owns a boat as your guardian? Ask him to teach you. I’m sure he’ll oblige.” And perhaps it would occupy his time until he received a new commission.
Betsy opened a polished wooden box about the size of a tea chest. “Pretty.”
Inside, in separate compartments, was a lovely selection of lace. Ivory, white, gold, black, pastels and bright colors. Several of the cards had French inscriptions.
Sophie picked up one spool of lace about four inches across. Where had she seen it before?
Madam Stipple hurried over and took the card from Sophie and replaced it in the box. She closed the lid and set it on a high shelf. “I’m sorry. Those aren’t for sale.” She sent a stern look toward Betsy. “Don’t open things that don’t belong to you, miss.”
Betsy’s eyes grew round, and her bottom lip quivered.
“Never mind, Betsy. It’s my fault. I should have told you to look but don’t touch.” Sophie cupped the child’s head, trying to hold on to her temper. The chiding of Madam Stipple had brought out a fierce protectiveness in Sophie.
Sophie’s memory clicked. At church. That’s where she’d seen that distinctive wide lace pattern. The public house owner’s wife had that same trim on her dress. Mamie had asked her about it. The woman had claimed it had come from an old dress and been sewn onto a new one.
And yet here was the same lace in the dressmaker’s shop. Sophie could see why the dressmaker wouldn’t want anyone poking around in that box. The lace was clearly French contraband. How had she acquired it?
Penny dithered between the pale-blue and the pale-pink muslin until Thea lost her patience. “Close your eyes and poke one with a pin, for pity’s sake. You’d think you were picking out clothes to go to court. It’s just a country dance.”
Betsy had fallen in love with a bundle of rabbit skins used for trimming coats, capes, and muffs, and with Sophie’s permission stroked the soft fur over and over. Sophie tucked this knowledge away for future use. Though it was August now, Christmas was coming. Perhaps a hooded cape for Betsy trimmed in fur would be a nice gift.
Thea slumped into a chair.
“Sit properly, Thea. You’re not a bag of wheat.” The words were out before Sophie knew she’d said them, and she paused. It was a correction her mother had spoken often when Sophie was little.
The child struggled upright and put her feet primly together, folding her hands in her lap, but her jaw jutted at a rebellious angle. Sophie stifled a laugh. She had a feeling that Thea was obeying on the outside but not so much on the inside.
When Penny finally chose the pink, because she liked the pink ribbon the best, Sophie applauded her taste. “You will look like a rose. I’m certain you won’t lack for partners for this dance.”
For herself, Sophie chose a light-green gown with gold trim. She had nothing like it in her wardrobe, and Charles had a forest-green coat that would look well if he wore it alongside her. Once that was settled, she consulted her list for the girls.
Madam Stipple, when she discovered the size of the order, grew more accommodating. Nightgowns, caps, dresses, petticoats, pinafores, stockings—the items added up. Betsy stood sweetly to be measured, but Thea squirmed.
“She’s sticking me,” she complained as Madam Stipple pinned pattern pieces.
“If you’d stand still, she wouldn’t.” Penny had no sympathy. She picked up an ostrich feather, running the barbs through her fingers and then poking the feather into her hair, studying her reflection in the triple mirror. “I can’t wait to be old enough to wear all the colors and all the accessories.”
Don’t rush things, Penny. There’s plenty of time to be an adult. Don’t miss out on the life you have now hoping for something in the future. But Sophie remembered what it was like to want to hasten her growing up, to have some say in what happened to her.
The door opened, and the vicar came in. “Good afternoon, ladies. What a pleasant surprise. I saw your carriage outside. Doing a bit of shopping, are you?” He spoke to Sophie, but he locked eyes with Madam Stipple.
“Yes, and I must say how happy I am to find such a well-stocked dressmaker’s shop here in the village,” Sophie said.
Reverend Dunhill rested his hand on the cutting table. “Harriet, I thought you were going to visit Gateshead with your wares rather than put Lady Rothwell out, forcing her to come here?” He phrased it as a question, but an edge to his voice drew Sophie’s attention.
“That was my plan, Reverend.” The seamstress took a few steps back and put the table between herself and the preacher.
“I’m afraid we stole a march on her,” Sophie said. “Penny and I were in such a hurry to procure
dance dresses that we decided to come to town.” What was going on here? Like any village, there were undercurrents in relationships that one couldn’t decode until one had been a resident for some time. That must be why there were so many signals being sent that Sophie couldn’t decipher.
“I see. I hate to interrupt, but are my shirts ready, Harriet?”
“They are. I finished the last buttonhole this morning.” She took a paper-wrapped package from one of the shelves. She held it at arm’s length, eyes wary.
“Thank you, madam. I am much obliged. I do hope you won’t keep the countess and her charges long. I’m certain they have a busy schedule.” He tucked the parcel under his arm, sending a sharp look at the seamstress. “I’ll see you at the assembly, no doubt.” Touching the brim of his hat, he ducked outside.
Glancing through the window, Sophie watched the reverend approach Miles, who leaned against the hitching rail. As the preacher neared, Miles straightened. Dunhill leaned in, his finger in Miles’s face, and whatever he said hit hard enough for Miles to wince and retreat.
Perhaps Dunhill was having a bad day. Sophie supposed preachers were like anyone else, sometimes waking cross-grained and ill-tempered. He’d been so cordial at Gateshead. Was this the real Dunhill, or was it an anomaly?
“He didn’t pay you,” Thea pointed out to Madam Stipple. “Do you want me to run after him and bring him back?”
The shop owner shook her head quickly, picking up her tape measure and setting it down, smoothing the hair at the nape of her neck. “There’s no need. I’ll send him a bill.”
The vicar jabbed the air once more in front of Miles’s nose and stalked away. Miles sagged against the carriage wheel and wiped his brow, staring after him.
Charles wanted to protest he didn’t have time for this, but the truth was, he did. He had nothing but time at the moment.
He stood in the ballroom at Gateshead, ruefully contemplating living in a house large enough to boast a room just for dancing. It was all a long way from the captain’s quarters aboard the Dogged. He had occupied the largest personal space aboard the ship, and it would still have fit in this room several times over.
“Mamie will accompany us. She plays beautifully.” Sophie drew back the curtains, letting in sunlight and revealing the seascape outside. One of the new maids hired by Mrs. Chapman ran a dust mop over the floor, while the housekeeper supervised. Mamie took her seat at the pianoforte and played a few keys.
She winced. “It’s in need of a tuning.”
Charles couldn’t tell one way or the other. The only music he’d been subjected to for most of his life was hymns on a Sunday morning aboard ship and sea shanties the rest of the week.
Penny bit her lower lip, her eyes wide as she hovered near the doorway. What was the matter with the child? She looked about to bolt. After going into raptures about being invited to a party, now she radiated nervousness. If she was this strung up practicing, what would she be like the night of the dance?
“Come in,” Sophie invited. “This will be painless, I promise. At least for you and me. I can’t vouch for the captain. He might get his toes stepped on a few times.” She sent a teasing glance his way, and he smiled in response.
Charles found he’d smiled a lot recently, especially at Sophie. Aboard ship he was known for his stern visage and lack of humor, but one couldn’t remain stoic around the armada of girls who had invaded his life. What would his crew think if they could see him now?
Betsy strode into the room, his bicorn on her head, her hands behind her back. She took steps too long for her short legs, but it was a fair imitation of his walk, even to the slight roll he’d developed from years at sea.
“Are you taking the watch?” he asked, hiding his laughter.
“Aye, aye, Captain.” She snapped a little salute, much to his amusement.
No one had ever told him how observant children were. Nor how much they liked to pretend. He had never imagined he would engender such feelings in any child, much less a girl of tender years. It made him feel … paternal?
“I’m glad I don’t have to learn how to dance.” Thea did a pirouette with coltish grace, her dress belling out. She collapsed onto the floor in a heap of arms and legs. “I’d rather climb trees than dance. Miles let me swing on a rope in the horse barn, until that old grump Grayson ran us out of there. When are we taking the boat out again? I love sailing more than anything.”
If Thea had been a boy, he would seek a navy position for her with all haste. She had pelted him with questions each night at dinner about the parts of a ship and how to sail. He’d not seen a keener mind amongst the many cabin boys he’d tutored over the years. She would have made a fine sailor.
Sophie went to the center of the room and put her hands on her waist. Charles tried not to notice how her hips flared gently. She had a striking figure, and her dress touched her in all the right places to garner a man’s attention, though there was nothing bawdy or tawdry about her attire. With the discarding of mourning clothes, she now resembled the woman in her letters, lighthearted, adventurous, and inquisitive. He saw new facets of her character all the time, and with every passing day, he felt more and more drawn to her.
“Perhaps we should begin with a country dance. There should be more people, but you will get the general idea. Penny, come stand where you can see well.”
Mamie played an introduction, and Charles took his place opposite Sophie. He held out his hands, and hers fit into his nicely. He caught the beat Mamie set, and they were away.
He glided down the room, guiding Sophie through the simple pattern. She had a lightness and grace to her movement and mirrored him flawlessly.
She looked at his face the whole time, unlike some girls who looked at their feet when they danced. The Adriatic under sunny skies couldn’t have been bluer than her eyes. As the tempo increased, color came into her cheeks, and she laughed.
“You’re very good,” she said as she curtsied to him when the song ended.
“Most sailors make good dance partners.” He shrugged, but her compliment pleased him. “You’re an excellent dancer yourself.”
“Hours of lessons. The dancing master at my finishing school was a perfectionist.” She brushed back a curl on her cheek and let her fingers trail down the side of her neck.
Charles swallowed, following the movement. She appeared oblivious to the effect she had on him, and he was grateful. Sophie in her letters had been appealing. Sophie in real life was proving irresistible.
“Now, Penny, you take my place.” Sophie beckoned the girl to come stand before Charles.
“Oh, I’m not ready yet. May I watch just a little longer?” She twisted the ribbon tie at her waist.
“I’m surprised at you, Penny. I thought you wanted to attend this dance.” Sophie put her arm around the girl, drawing her into the middle of the floor.
“I do. It’s just …” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lower lip, looking up at Charles with uncertainty.
Was the child afraid of him? He had done nothing to frighten her, had he?
“Penny doesn’t like to have to learn anything.” Thea knelt on the window seat to see outside, looking back over her shoulder as she spoke. “She wants to be good at something right away. If she can’t be good at it right away, she doesn’t want to do it.”
Her shaft must have hit true, because Penny blushed. Thea had a way of shooting straight to the heart of an issue.
“Be that as it may, she needs to learn to dance. She won’t be good at it at all if she doesn’t practice.” Sophie moved Penny into the correct spot.
Mamie played the introduction once more, and Charles held out his hand, trying to be as innocuous as possible.
“I’ll call the steps for you, and you follow the captain,” Sophie offered.
“Don’t worry about making a mistake. There’s no one here but us, and we don’t mind. Mistakes mean you’re trying,” Charles reassured, and was rewarded with a nod and a determined lift to
her chin.
By the time Penny had learned the steps to three different dances, everyone was tired. Betsy had abandoned her post and now rested on her tummy in a patch of afternoon sunlight, chin on her hands, feet swinging in the air over her head. Thea had found a stray button, and she lay opposite her sister, rolling it between them.
Miles Enys appeared in the doorway, tugging at his jacket. Though he wasn’t required to wear a footman’s livery, Sophie had insisted he have new clothes, but he didn’t appear to have settled into the more restrictive garments yet.
“Mrs. Chapman’s wondering if you want tea now or if she should put it back a half hour.” His eyes never left Penny’s, and seeing her hand in the captain’s, something flared there.
Surely the young jackanapes wasn’t jealous? How preposterous. But he dropped Penny’s hand.
“Miles, come in. I was just going to send Thea to find you.” Sophie smiled. “I thought it might be nice for Penny to perform one set with a different partner and having more people on the dance floor. Do you know how to dance?” she asked as Miles slowly came toward them.
“Yes, milady.” He sounded torn between eager and appalled.
“Excellent.” She pointed to his spot, and he hurried to do her bidding.
Charles wondered if Sophie realized her own natural leadership skills. She had a way of getting others to want to do what she was asking of them. Even the girls, who could scatter in every direction without notice, fulfilled her requests quickly and with good attitudes.
“Mamie? The minuet?” Sophie gathered her skirt in one hand.
Penny seemed to forget she was ever hesitant, her face alight, her steps sure. Once Sophie saw she was going all right, she turned her attention to Charles. “It’s too bad we don’t have more people. We could finish the lesson with the Boulanger.”
“Or a reel.” He stood still and let her circle him before taking her hand once more.
In what seemed a short amount of time, Mamie played the final chord. Thea jumped to her feet. “I’m glad that’s over. I’m starving.” She headed toward the door with Betsy in her wake, still toting Charles’s hat.