“The structure should be a large statue of Edwina.” Upon hearing her name, the cat sat up and cast her mistress a frosty stare, settling only when Lady Stormont stroked her fur and murmured gently.
James cleared his throat. “Er, I beg your pardon, my lady, but I’m not sure—”
“You’re an architect, Mr. Benton. I’m sure you can discover a way to create a structure that bears a likeness to my darling companion, can’t you?”
Lady Greenly’s maid came to pick up her mistress’ hat, a monstrous construction covered with so many flowers that Selina had no idea how she’d manage to wear it without getting a headache. But the hat had been made according to the lady’s specifications. The most recent issue of Ackerman’s Repository had included pictures of the latest headwear, and most of them featured crowns higher than she’d ever seen on women. One resembled a man’s top hat in shape, with large flowers on top of that.
It was teatime, so the shop was empty. Rather than pause for her own tea, Selina went into her workroom. Gathering a swatch of white silk, she cut several small petal shaped pieces and gathered them together. The previous day, she’d knotted several pieces of silk braiding and stiffened them with starch. These pieces served as the stamen. Threading her needle, she bound them all together to make a holly blossom. Satisfied with the result, she repeated the process several times until she had a bunch. Wire was pushed through each blossom for the stems, and then the stems were connected.
She compared her flowers to the drawings in her book. Satisfied that her new creations closely resembled holly, she set the bunch down and started again. She’d need to create a supply of them in order to be prepared for the upcoming holiday season. Holly blossoms would of course need the greenery, as well as the red berries. Red beads would work for the berries, but she’d need to look for a supply of dark green silk.
A slight breeze wafted into her workroom and she heard the front door close. She stood and walked into the showroom to greet her customer, but her polite smile broadened as she recognized her guest.
“Mr. Benton, what a pleasant surprise.”
The spacious room shrank. The large man should have seemed out of place among the lacy headwear, but his discomfort didn’t seem to stem from his surroundings.
“Mrs. Davison. I— er, appear to once again need your assistance.”
She tilted her head. “Of course. Where are you going now?”
“Going? Oh, I’m on my way home. I-I wanted to tell you about my appointment with Lady Stormont. She requested an adjustment to the plan for the garden. But, er—” A reddish hue made its way up his neck and over his face, and Selina wondered what outlandish demand the viscountess had made.
He cleared his throat. “You recall the central structure I mentioned during the Garden Club meeting?” He glanced at her, and she nodded. “Lady Stormont requested a pavilion, which I agreed to, but then she insisted the structure be shaped like a cat.”
“In the shape of a cat? How would you build such a thing?” She shuddered as another thought occurred to her. “And who would want to go inside something like that?”
He sighed. “That’s what I tried to tell her. At first she wanted the structure to represent the cat lying down, with two openings — one at the cat’s mouth, and the other at… the other end.”
Selina felt her stomach churn at the image. “I hope you were able to dissuade her from that plan.”
“I think so. I suggested to her that people might not want to enter the structure and give the impression they were being… ingested by her pet.”
“Did she agree?”
“Reluctantly, yes. But then she suggested that the roof could be the body of the animal, and the four legs could form the frame of the gazebo.”
Selina wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I’d want to sit under a cat either.”
“I’m certain I wouldn’t want to. But how can I convince Lady Stormont?”
Selina thought. She’d met the eccentric viscountess a few times at events she’d attended with Richard. The only being she seemed to care about pleasing was—
“Her cat! Lady Stormont has always had at least one cat. Which one is her favorite right now?”
“A Persian named Edwina.”
“All right. You need to show her that Edwina wouldn’t want to go into a structure shaped like herself.”
“And how—”
“You make a cat-sized model of the gazebo, and then take it to Rosebriar and set it in front of Edwina. I’ll wager the cat won’t have anything to do with it.”
“Excellent idea. But what if the cat loves it?”
“Then I suppose… Lady Stormont gets her wish.”
James nodded. “I suppose that’s a risk I’ll have to take. I’ll work on a smaller model of the cat pavilion. And then when I’m finished, I hope I’ll be able to impose on you once more.”
“To look at it? I’m sure it will be wonderful.”
“Perhaps.” He grinned then. “I’ll be back to ask you to point me in the correct direction to get it there.”
She smiled back. “I look forward to it.”
Chapter Twelve
Colorful leaves blanketed the ground like an artistic array of paint on a palette, partially obscuring a family of squirrels hunting for food. Selina lingered a bit as she observed them from her room above the shop. In her previous life, she would have been watching them from the window of the Milton estate in Surrey, drinking her morning tea. In Highgate, to the north of London, there were still pockets of woods, and the rear of her little townhouse faced one, even though the front of the building was near the high street. She’d known it was the perfect location as soon as she’d seen it.
She cast one last gaze at the autumn scene before turning away from the window and getting dressed. She’d had a constant stream of customers since the Garden Club meeting, and she’d been burning the candles late at night getting orders ready for her customers’ various social events. Many of them had already arrived to pick up and pay for their new creations, allowing her to purchase the materials to complete her orders as well as supplement her inventory.
Saturday was market day in Highgate, so she put on her wool shawl and picked up her largest basket. The linen draper’s shop carried most of the fabric she needed. Thankfully, her hats didn’t require as much fabric as a dressmaker would require, so she could shop for her hat supplies as well as her food needs. Her customers wouldn’t arrive until later in the day, so she could take her time at the market.
The marketplace itself boasted a fine selection of wares. Itinerant vendors set up under large wooden pavilions or thick canvas awnings, which protected them from the mid-day sun during the summertime, the rains in the spring and autumn, and the snow in winter. A few of the more prosperous vendors had set up tables, creating a more professional and convenient display. These tended to attract the most customers, as the more upscale display gave the image of better quality. But Selina wasn’t swayed by the pretty packaging. She turned to the outside edge of the market stall, toward the older woman sitting on a hay bale, surrounded by baskets of her wares.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pennywinkle.”
The elderly woman peered up at her. “Why, Lady Milton, you’ve come to see me again. How lovely you look.” She frowned. “It isn’t right, a countess like you shopping for her own vegetables.”
Mrs. Pennywinkle had been like a mother to her when she’d married Richard and moved to the cold, dreary castle on the Milton estate. The cook had dried her tears when she’d made a faux pas and been subjected to her mother-in-law’s scorn. She’d commiserated with her when time and again Selina had discovered she’d failed to be with child. And they’d cried together when Richard died and his heir had bent to his wife’s wishes to clear everyone out.
Selina had been able to start up her millinery business, but some of the household staff, like Mrs. Pennywinkle, hadn’t been able to find another position and needed some other means to support themselve
s. The former cook had gone to live with her son on his small farm.
“What did you bring today?” Selina asked.
“I’ve got some fine potatoes, beets, and turnips,” the woman replied.
“Wonderful! I’ll take what I can carry. I’ve been working so hard I’ve hardly had time to eat, let alone cook. My stores are nearly empty, and I’ve nothing for tonight’s dinner.”
“Well, these will cook up fine and make you a delicious broth, they will. If I could, I’d come and cook them for you.”
“And I would love to have your delicious meals each day. But I couldn’t afford your wages, I’m afraid.”
“I wouldn’t care about the wages, lass. I’d be happy enough with a warm place to stay and a roof over me ’ead. But I know your little loft has barely enough room for you, let alone an old woman.”
Selina’s heart ached for the woman’s plight. If only she had a bit more room…
She selected as much produce as she could fit in her shopping basket and bid a hasty good-bye before she could be tempted to offer something she didn’t have. She paid, placing a few extra coins in Mrs. Pennywinkle’s hand and hurrying off before the woman could stop her. Tears clouded her vision, and she relied on her memory to take her where she needed to go.
Her hasty exit from the marketplace was abruptly halted when she plowed into someone. A tall, solid someone, who steadied her with his strong hands. Hands that were well-groomed, but not soft like a member of the ton. No, these hands had seen work. James.
“Mrs. Davison, I apologize. Our paths continue to cross, and I, being so ungainly, continue to knock you down.”
She sniffed as she looked up at him. “It’s entirely my fault, Mr. Benton. I wasn’t looking, just — walking.”
His hands loosened their grip and moved to her face. “If it wasn’t my clumsiness causing these tears, what was it that upset you?” His expression hardened. “Has someone done something to hurt you?”
“No! No, that’s not it. I just saw something that made me sad. It’s nothing… I mean, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Please don’t be concerned.”
He frowned, but thankfully didn’t argue. “Er, if you aren’t hurt, perhaps you could assist me, then. I’m on my way back to my townhouse from Nettlebloom, but I seem to have left my course. Perhaps you could guide me back to North Hill Street?”
A laugh slipped out then, her merriment chasing the rest of the tears away. “I’d be happy to direct you to your home.” She took his arm and turned them south, toward the residential area.
“Tell me how you started your business,” he asked as they walked. “Did you have family who were merchants?”
She looked up at him, tilting her head back so that the afternoon sun highlighted her hair. He longed to reach out and touch it.
“No merchants in my family. My father was a magistrate. He came from a long line of public servants.”
“Then you are to be commended for your business sense. Your shop seems to do quite well.”
“What makes you say so?”
“Each time I walk past the shop, I see the display has changed. I assume that’s because people purchase the hats in the window, making it necessary for you to replace them with new ones.”
“Very observant, and true,” she noted.
“I also notice more and more women wearing your creations. They’re quite unique, you know. I’ve seen other hats with silk flowers on them, but none are quite as realistic as yours.”
“How kind of you to say so.”
He shook his head. “Not kindness, just the truth. How did you learn to create such masterpieces?”
“My mother was a skilled seamstress. I learned to sew, but never felt her passion for creating dresses. A few years ago, I learned to make fabric flowers. I’d always created my own hats, so I started to embellish them with my handmade blossoms. After my husband died, I needed to find a way to support myself, so I began to make hats for other people. Betsey — the Duchess of Surrey — and a few of my other friends have been loyal customers, and they’ve brought in other buyers, so I’m able to pay my expenses and keep myself fed and clothed.”
“You’re truly gifted. The first time I met you, I was mesmerized by the flowers on your bonnet. They were so lifelike I forgot where I was.”
She smiled up at him. “Coming from you, that is certainly a compliment.” They’d reached North Hill Street, and she gestured toward Lady Wentworth’s bent hydrangea plant. “That’s where the Garden Club met.” She pointed in the other direction. “That’s the direction you went after the meeting. My shop is on the next street, on the other side of the high street.”
“Thank you for seeing me safely home,” he told her. “If I were left to myself, I might end up in the next town.”
She laughed. “I take it that finding your way is a challenge for you.”
He recalled his parents’ exasperation, his brother’s disdain, his sister’s cruel taunts. “To be sure. I’ve always needed a guide. Even when I’m given specific directions, I get turned around. Pointing out landmarks doesn’t seem to help. All the buildings look alike to me.”
“Perhaps someone should put signs on the roads.”
“The only signs that would help me would be those that say specifically, ‘James, you need to turn that way’… with an arrow pointing in the correct direction.”
She peered at him, and the guilelessness in her expression put him at ease. “How do you find your way about the gardens you design?”
“Ah, that’s different. I never get lost outdoors. Each tree, each shrub, each flower has its own personality, and I have no trouble finding my way among them.”
“Perhaps you need to mark your home with plants.”
“That is an excellent suggestion, Mrs. Davison. Thank you.”
Chapter Thirteen
James wiped his brow with his sleeve. Despite the cool autumn temperature, digging in the dirt was enough work to cause a sweat. He had a crew of workmen from the village, as well as the Nettlebloom gardeners, and though no one expected him to, he worked alongside them. He removed his jacket.
He’d worn his older clothing, having informed Jennings he would be working in the garden all day. The young man seemed genuinely puzzled, having no idea why anyone would choose a profession that involved getting dirty. They’d finally compromised when James agreed to dress like a gentleman while traveling to Nettlebloom, carrying with him a change of clothing more suited to working with plants.
Work on the gardens was well underway, and already James found delight in seeing his design taking shape. Though Nettlebloom already boasted a wide variety of plants that had been relocated to what would become the winter garden, a few of the more unusual plants had been ordered from the flower and seed stores in London, and even from overseas travelers who’d brought cuttings of rare and exotic plants home from their journeys. A shipment of shrubbery had arrived the previous day and needed to be put in the ground right away. Working outside was invigorating for him, and physical labor helped him sort out his thoughts.
His parents had decided to extend their trip to the continent, so he was still alone in the house, other than Henson, the cook, and a few maids. His brother lived in London, with his wife and family, where they engaged in their own social activities. His sister, having married a man his parents disliked, hadn’t been seen or heard from in years.
Most of the time, the townhouse was very quiet, and he looked forward to the times when he could work with the crew. The men were friendly, though he knew they treated him with reserve due to his position. But at least he had human contact and conversation that didn’t have anything to do with the mundane workings of the household.
Satisfied with the progression of the work on the garden, he walked to the rear of the estate, where another project needed his attention.
After sharing Lady Stormont’s new request for the garden, as well as Selina’s suggestion of building a smaller model to gauge Edwina’s
reaction to it, Lord Godolphin not only allowed James the use of a well-appointed workshop on his estate, he generously provided the materials he would need.
“Lady Stormont tends to come up with rather unique ideas, and I agree with you that this one is quite … outlandish. When she told me her idea of having people go into the cat’s mouth, I shuddered. I’m glad you were able to dissuade her. Creating a miniature model of a cat and asking Edwina to get in it is brilliant. Edwina couldn’t care a fig about anything, so I’m certain this will work.”
The workshop was at the rear of the Nettlebloom stable, and James soon found himself a willing assistant in the stable master’s younger son, Timothy. The young boy was quite resourceful, finding whatever supplies James needed in a fraction of the time it would have taken otherwise. He also had an artistic streak, providing helpful suggestions to make the model more lifelike.
With Timothy’s help, he’d created the framework for the structure. On the next market day, the two of them would search for supplies to complete it. “We should go early, Mister Benton. That way, we’ll have the best selection, and it won’t be so crowded.”
James readily agreed. He recalled his last foray through the marketplace, when he’d accidentally wandered through rather than around it. He’d felt panic rising as he’d attempted to navigate through the stalls. But then he’d spotted Mrs. Davison. Selina.
He’d seen her talking to the woman at the market. She’d bought a basketful of sad-looking produce and paid more than the asking price. He’d walked over to greet her, but she’d turned suddenly and run into him. He’d seen her tears and had wanted nothing more than to comfort her, hold her. Walking back to her shop, he’d learned so much about her and come to admire her strength in the face of adversity.
He’d taken Selina’s advice and placed large urns with hosta plants on either side of his parents’ front entrance. Before he knew it, his neighbors had followed suit, and the street not only improved in appearance, but the row of greenery acted as a beacon lighting his way home no matter where he went.
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