Though she and Rose were of similar ages, she didn’t know the girl well. They had lived in the same building before Ella’s father passed. Their connection was on account of the deep friendship between Henrietta Smith and Maria Ward.
Despite Maria being widowed, run out of their home, and forced to make a living on their own elsewhere, the two had always kept in touch. Though Ella couldn’t say she had seen Henrietta or Rose in years, she always got regular bits of information on their life from weekly letters exchanged by the two friends.
“I suppose I can write to Henrietta and send it out in the mornin’ post,” Mrs Ward offered. “I’ll be watchin’ over Rose the first few days, mind. Just want to ensure that her work is good. If it seems fine enough, we could ask to take her on full-time, providin’ we still got the clientele for it. The real lessons would be a right blessin’ to her anyway. Don’t see her turnin’ it down.”
“And no one is a better teacher than you, Ma,” Ella complimented.
Mrs Ward waved off her daughter and returned to her thin soup and bread. Ella did likewise, ignoring the overly pungent fishy taste. She had learned long ago to be happy with the food they got no matter how unappealing the taste might be.
She kept her thoughts to herself as she mentally planned out the rest of her night. She would finish Lady Pamala’s dress that night, only having just a few more alterations to tend to. She would use the remainder of the candlelight to start the delicate lace of an evening gown ordered a few days ago.
However, she would need to be cautious with her time and retire to bed at a somewhat reasonable hour. Early in the morning, she would hurry to the address provided by Lady Pamala to deliver the gown, a whole day before the dinner it was intended for.
With any luck, she would hurry back to the shop and be there to open it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her mother. Still, even with the agreement of the added help, she wasn’t entirely sure that Mrs Ward wouldn’t turn away any early customer that came in Ella’s absence.
She looked over at the wall where all of their orders were tacked on a soft cork surface. They always placed them in order of delivery time. In the past, they never had more than a half dozen slips of paper on the board. Now it was boasting nearly fifteen and all expected to be completed within the month.
Suddenly she felt the impossibility of it all. Even with her mother’s help, and Rose to help with the menial tasks, it was still more than they had ever produced in such a time.
She took a steadying breath. It wouldn’t always be this way. It was just the newness of the gossip spreading about their small milliner. Soon that would die away and, hopefully, they would have several regular ladies as clients when it all settled down. Turning any of these prospective regular clients was just out of the question for Ella. She would suffer all she had to, go days without sleep if needed, to fulfil all the orders, and see her mother’s shop shine bright for all of London to see.
Chapter 4
The Duke collapsed onto a leather couch in his London office. Already he had a stack of letters to look through, and it was only his first morning back. Of course, many of them would be invitations for various social gatherings. All of those he would simply pass along to his mother.
Methodically he looked at the handwriting on the letters sifting several out at the start, already knowing their authors and purpose. Setting the pile down on the couch next to him, he turned his focus to the remainder.
A few were sent to London and postmarked before his arrival and dealt with business. In contrast, the others seemed to be other lords looking to call on the Duke for political business. He knew he should leave the business inquiries for his
, Lord Melvin. However, he felt it was still too early in the morning to tackle the stress that came with all the parliament politics.
Since last November, the Duke had already been to town on several occasions to take part in parliament speeches. Unlike most gentlemen, he preferred to return home whenever possible between sessions and insisted that his mother spend the colder months at the country estate.
Now with spring blooming and the true start of the Season in full swing, he was resigned to the fact that the three of them would now be residing in the London house until late summer. He didn’t mind it too terribly; in fact, the house itself was rather enjoyable.
It was the constant barrage of political discussions that he felt had little to no point. The requirement of social engagement with less than desirable company with no sanctuary to hide and recollect himself had him dreading every moment of the upcoming months.
With this fact in mind, he set aside the cards of various lords and letters of other Tory party members. He opened a message delivered from his London solicitor.
A maid entered the room, setting down a tray with tea and some fresh toast. He was grateful for the consideration as he had gone straight to his office upon waking and dressing and hadn’t even thought to call for a tray to be brought to him.
Just as she left the room, Lord Melvin Fennimore entered. The Duke hardly even looked up from his note, expecting his closest friend and estate steward to arrive sometime over the course of the morning.
“You’re up early,” Lord Melvin said in greeting as he took one of the slices of still-warm toast.
Sitting in a leather chair directly across from the Duke, he proceeded to smear orange marmalade across the still steaming bread.
“I was hoping to go through the mail before you got at it,” Lord Melvin continued between bites.
“Whatever for?” The Duke of Winthrope asked with an arch of his honey brown brow.
“To keep you from reading that solicitor’s note, it looks like you might have in your hand right now,” Lord Melvin spoke as he pointed the marmalade knife in the Duke’s direction before smearing a second slice. “I knew you would take one look at it and head straight back to Halstead Manor.”
“Well, this does seem concerning,” the Duke said as he waved the letter at Lord Melvin. “And that’s my toast,” he added, noticing his breakfast having already been eaten unbeknownst to him.
As if the maid was right on cue, she silently deposited a second cup for the tea and a fresh tray of toast. The Duke thanked her as Lord Melvin unceremoniously snatched the letter from his hands and scanned over it.
“It’s nothing for you to get involved with,” Lord Melvin waved off. “There was an issue at the sawmill. The workers insisted on the need for new equipment, and Tom Vance, the head sawyer didn’t agree. Still, I saw to the replacement. He wasn’t happy for the oversight and suggested to your solicitor that monies were not being properly allocated.”
“It’s a serious accusation, though I know unfounded. If you thought it was wise to listen to the workers’ request, I see nothing wrong with the spending,” the Duke spoke in a business-like manner.
“Mr Vance has never been an easy man to work with,” Lord Melvin said with a drawn-out sigh.
“I would have a mind to replace him then,” the Duke suggested.
“Sadly, it isn’t that easy. You see, he was given this place because he is the second son to Mr Vance, the steward. It would have been a slight to Mr Vance to not offer the position to his son when the last head sawyer retired.”
“And we both know that Mr Vance is not a replaceable figure,” the Duke agreed.
Though taking on the normally unpopular job of rent collecting for all of the Duke’s tenant farmers, the steward was well respected and trusted by nearly everyone in the small village that comprised the Halstead estate.
“The Tom Vance doesn’t have his father’s tact,” Lord Melvin went on. “And with this supposed insult, he has been much more difficult. Not just the letter to the solicitor, but to the mill workers themselves.”
Though the Halstead estate was predominately a farming village that produced many grains and sustainable vegetables for the Crown’s navy—being very near the coast—it also had a substantial milling operation to help maintain the naval fleet
. The Duke of Winthrope couldn’t afford one man slowing production with the constant wars requiring regular timber instalments for ships.
“And you hoped to keep all of this from me to keep me here in London for what reason exactly?” the Duke asked, finally getting his own toast.
Lord Melvin let one arm reach back to rest over the back of the leather chair. He was very similar to the Duke in looks, and often as schoolboys, they had been mistakenly considered brothers on several occasions.
They both had the same broad shoulders, angular jaws, long pointed noses, and golden-brown hair. Though where Lord Melvin had honey eyes always alight with energy and merriment, the Duke’s were as dark and serious as his almost constantly sour mood.
“Because this is where you need to be, Winthrope,” Lord Melvin explained. “This is a big Season for your sister. She will need your support.”
“Her presentation at court and the subsequent ball is still three weeks away. It would take me half that time to return to Halstead, settle the matter myself, and return.”
“Perhaps, but I am sure that your presence is needed here with your family. You have people to take care of such things for you. People like me. I had planned to intercept the letter I knew would be coming sometime this week and then return to Halstead to finish the matter once and for all.”
The Duke of Winthrope hesitated to agree to his friend’s suggestion. Lord Melvin rolled his eyes when he saw the Duke would not concede.
“It’s just too important of a matter. We just secured the latest contract from the Royal Navy. It’s not that I don’t trust the matter to you…”
“You just need to see the matter through yourself. I know,” Lord Melvin waved off the Duke.
They had been friends since boyhood and knew each other almost as well as they knew themselves. There was little that could cause a disagreement between them.
When it had become known that Lord Melvin’s father, Lord Wonderton, had squandered every penny, including the cash settlement that had been set aside for Lord Melvin’s future, the Duke hadn’t hesitated a moment to insist that he become Halstead’s estate manager.
He had originally offered the position as merely an occupational title with a healthy income. Still, Lord Melvin wasn’t the type of person to live on another’s charity. At the time, Winthrope’s father was still the Duke, though he had turned over most estate responsibilities to his son. Lord Melvin had insisted on taking the position seriously. He had dived right in, making several key changes that had benefited everyone involved.
Still, when the stakes were at their highest, the Duke liked to be involved in the process. He supposed the desire to control came from a certain past situation that had left him feeling powerless. In fact, if he was honest with himself, many of his less than pleasant qualities had stemmed from that particular interaction that his mother had been all too ready to remind him of the night before.
“I would ask you to come along with me, but I actually have another matter that I wish to trust only to you.”
The Duke smoothly transitioned to a topic that had been on his mind since the night before.
“I’m always ready to serve,” Lord Melvin spoke with a pleasant smile.
Though Lord Melvin was considered an invaluable asset in the Duke’s mind, he still always desired more to do to prove his worth of the generous gift bestowed upon him in his time of need.
“You know how Pamala loves her sewing,” the Duke started. “Last night, I listened to a rather unhappy disagreement between Mother and Pamala regarding her coming out gown. It appears that Pamala wants to make it herself, and Mother is of another mind about the matter.”
“I’m not great with a needle, but I suppose if you need me to make it…” Lord Melvin jested.
“I told Pamala she could do as she wished,” the Duke pressed on after scoffing at the poor attempt at a joke.
“Just like your father. You would give that girl the moon if she asked it.”
“Yes, well, you are no better. I know full well that you have been filling Mother and Pamala’s money purses to bursting.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lord Melvin jeered.
“You’re right, but still, I do share my mother’s concerns over the dress.”
“What are these concerns? That she won’t decorate it enough? I thought Lady Pamala was skilled in that area.”
“She is very skilled, indeed. Mother is concerned that it will be far too taxing on Pamala’s time. I have to agree with that point. She shouldn’t be locking herself away in that little sewing room she has created upstairs when she should be preparing herself for what could be the most important Season of her life.”
“Perhaps she takes after her big brother in that regard?”
The Duke took his turn to roll his eyes at his friend.
“I thought perhaps I might devise a bit of a compromise between the two,” he pressed on. “If I could hire a companion to sit with Pamala, one who is very skilled in dressmaking, perhaps the work would be done in a timely fashion, leaving Pamala open to the necessary social engagements and coming out preparations.”
“And now I see this is how I come in. You would like me to find such a companion?”
“I figured since you have been in town longer than myself—and active in the social realm, you might know of a lady who could fit the situation.”
Lord Melvin sat in contemplation for a few moments.
“I am not sure if I know if a lady of the ton, but there has been quite a bit of talk recently over a small dressmaking shop just off of Covent Grove. Apparently, Beau Brummel has been a regular there and announced it to be the shop every fine lady will get her gowns from this Season.”
The Duke took in all that his friend told him.
“The shop boasts a seamstress that makes her own designs if the gossip is correct. Such a lady would be perfect for helping speed up Lady Pamala’s work. Not to mention it would boost her standing all the more if she had a gown personally made by this milliner on so many lips lately.”
“It sounds like a good fit to me.” The Duke stood up. “I think I will head back to Halstead. If I leave within the hour, I could make it before sunset. I won’t be more than a week or two at the most. If you could arrange the companionship for Pamala and inform my mother of my departure, I would be most grateful.”
“Of course,” Lord Melvin agreed easily to the requests. “And as for the sum to entice the lady into companionship? I fear she will be in great demand for the whole Season, and to ask her to step away for a private association might require a higher amount than the average lady’s companion.”
“Don’t worry about the sum.” The Duke waved off the notion much like his sister would a word of praise. “It’s for Pamala. This is her year.”
He paused after he said that, letting his gaze fall on his friend. He could see in Lord Melvin’s expression that they both were thinking the same thing—how much he really was wrapped around Lady Pamala’s little finger.
“I suppose within reason, however,” he finished for good measure.
Lord Melvin pursed his lips to keep from smiling, “Of course, most sensible of you, Your Grace.”
If the Duke had been in his younger years, he might have incited a friendly brawl over such a sarcastic comment. As it was, however, he was nearing his twenty-fifth year. He was far too old to take a swing at a friend in jest, even if he really wanted to.
Though the Duke knew he needed to see the matter set right back at Halstead, he was also relieved to have an excuse to leave society again. He would return in time for his sister’s coming out, of course, but would at least be saved from suffering all the events leading up to it.
Mending the Duke's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 4