by Lily George
He chuckled ruefully. Whatever had that lad who jilted Becky been thinking? The fellow couldn’t be in his right mind. Paul gave Ciro his head and the beast responded with astonishing speed, carrying him over the moor and back toward home with grace and agility. He never really had to think when he was riding Ciro. The horse had such an uncanny sense of timing and pace. It gave a fellow time to think.
But what was there to think about? Becky Siddons wasn’t the only one to receive a horrible letter lately. He, too, had received a terrible missive only a week ago, from Italy. Juliana was dead of a fever. She had died alone. The blighter who carried her away from her family and from England was dead, too, of the same fever. But a few years before they both died, Juliana had borne a child. A child who was now his responsibility.
Juliana was dead. He said the words in his mind but they made no sense. Juliana had a child. Her name was Juliet. And she was his ward. He crammed the rising grief and panic back down his throat and shut the door against his own anguish. ’Twould be one thing if a fellow believed in God or Heaven. There might be some comfort in thinking about Juliana then, if he could believe she was in a better place. But while he wasn’t precisely an atheist, he’d taken no comfort from religion since Ruth Barclay, his fiancée, had passed away. After she died, the cold trickle of doubt had entered his soul.
So there it was. It was never good to dwell on pain. In fact, a fellow shouldn’t even feel any kind of sorrow. He must remain in control, master of all situations. He was the head of his family now. This was his duty. He must attend to anything that required his attention, and later he might have his reward—perhaps a trip to London would be in order. Duty first, then pleasure.
He turned his mind back to the problem at hand. Juliana was dead, and her daughter would be at Kellridge Hall in a matter of days. He had no time or resources to care for a child. His niece was being attended to by a servant, but who knew what kind of servant Juliana had hired abroad? No, she must have a proper English nursemaid. No one at Kellridge could assume that role easily; each servant’s duties were clearly delineated and none of them had time for children.
He could try to hire someone from the village, but that might incite gossip about Juliana and the circumstances of her daughter’s birth and her own demise.
Ciro gathered speed and strength as he tore through the open gate; yes, he knew what he was about. Those gates meant the barn was nearby. Paul quirked the corner of his mouth. Ciro understood his motto, too. Duty first, then pleasure.
The situation warranted someone who had a proper upbringing, who would raise a girl in a suitable manner until she was of age to be sent to school. Someone who wouldn’t gossip, who could be trusted to handle this with poise and tact.
Poise and tact. Just like any genteel young woman should possess.
A young woman like Rebecca Siddons.
Why not? She was aching to get away from the millinery shop. She could be Juliet’s nursemaid and later her governess. Their families were so close; Becky could be trusted not to gossip. And even if she had no experience with children of her own, raising a baby just came naturally to women. It was instinct, pure and simple. She was a romantic, dreamy little thing, but surely she would take to raising a baby as a duck took to water.
That was the answer. He would call upon her tomorrow and ask her.
Chapter Two
“Oh, Becky, whatever have you done with the bonnet Mrs. Parker ordered?” Nan poked her head into the sitting room where Becky made use of the early morning sunlight streaming through the window. Such fine stitches needed a lot of good light, and this room was best lit at dawn. “I thought I told you—we cannot afford to use that fine muslin for the brim. We cannot turn a profit if you keep using such expensive materials. Why didn’t you use the cotton I ordered from town?”
Heated words bubbled to Becky’s lips and her fingers trembled as she laid another fine stitch in the fabric. She took a deep, calming breath. If she were to do this for the rest of her life, she must maintain control of her temper. “The cotton is too rough and slubby for a dress bonnet,” she argued. “I only used a small bit of the muslin, and with the ruching I added, I conserved quite a bit of fabric.” There, she showed that she had given cost some thought. That cotton was just so terribly ugly. Why Nan ever bought it was a mystery.
“But I specifically told you to use the cotton, Becky.” Nan strode into the sitting room and cast herself down on the settee. “Honestly, the profit we’ll see on that bonnet is quite slim. The more money we earn on each sale, the more secure our finances. Surely you see that.”
“I do understand,” Becky replied in an even tone. “But the more alluring our bonnets, the more clients we should attract. If we use inferior materials, then we will lose the kind of genteel clientele that will spend a fortune on our creations season after season.”
“Yes, but if our bonnets are affordable and well-made, we will garner loyalty from the villagers—the women who cannot afford something grand, perhaps, but may require a bonnet that is sturdy and hard-wearing. Those women are the bread and butter of our shop.” Nan leaned forward, her mild blue eyes wide and cajoling. “Come, now. Susannah left the shop to our care when she married Daniel. Isn’t it up to the pair of us to see to it that it becomes a successful venture?”
Well, when Nan put things that way...Becky was hard-pressed indeed to think of a retort. To buy some time, she concentrated on another stitch, pursing her lips tightly together as she did so. Of course she didn’t want to see the shop fail. But what was the harm in offering lovely bonnets as well as serviceable ones? “If we restrict ourselves to one kind of trade, surely we chance losing a portion of our customers,” she admonished in as gentle a tone as she could manage. “After all, it was the commissions of three gentlewomen who gave us our start, if you will recall.”
“I know.” Nan leaped from her position on the settee and began pacing, a nervous habit that wore on Becky’s nerves. “But honestly, a simpler style of bonnet is more easily made, and I can train our other helpers to make them quickly. The finer stuff must be left to the two of us, and already we’re stretched thin as it is. The profits we make are higher, and they sell more quickly. And the villagers pay more quickly than gentry. I really do feel most strongly that we should stop making fancy creations and concentrate on the plain and sensible.”
Becky heaved a deep sigh. Plain and sensible. There was little room for imagination and artistry in the plain and sensible, particularly if Nan kept buying such dreadful fabric. She would be chained, for the rest of her life, to stretching scratchy cotton across buckram frames. A vista of ugly, cheap bonnets unfolded before her, and her heart gave a lurch of revolt. True, she was stuck. A spinster forevermore with no hope of marriage to Lieutenant Walker. But did that mean she needed to relinquish any sense of beauty in her life?
“I’m going to see Susannah,” she declared, casting the bonnet to one side and rising from her chair. “She founded the shop. I’ll put my case to her.”
“I shall go too,” Nan rejoined. “After all, I have been seeing to it that the shop is a gainful venture since I took over.”
“Since you took over?” Anger surged into Becky’s being, leaving her trembling in its wake. “The shop was given to both of us when Susannah married. We are equal partners, Nan.”
“We would be, if you had a practical bone in your body! But honestly, how are we to make any money at all if you squander our resources? It’s been up to me to make sure that the shop stays profitable.”
“If you say that word once more, I shall scream.” Becky took her own bonnet from the peg near the front door and clamped it on her head, rebellion singing through her veins. “Since the store is so beholden to you, you can stay here to manage it while I talk to our sister.”
She flounced out of the shop and slammed the door shut behind her. Whatever had taken hold of her? Eve
n if she wasn’t the practical one in the family, she had always gotten along well enough with her sisters. Why was she letting Nan needle her so? And why was she getting angry over each little thing?
“Because they’re not little things any longer.” She spoke the words aloud as she scuffed the grass with the toe of her boot. For once, the distance to Goodwin Hall was worthwhile. She needed time to compose her thoughts. If she couldn’t put her argument to Susannah sensibly, then her elder sister would simply say that her emotions were running too high. That would discredit her argument before she’d even begun.
“If I can’t have beauty and purpose in my life, Lord, everything seems hopeless.” The moor didn’t care if she prayed aloud. Saying the words was strangely calming. If she couldn’t be married and have a home of her own, she would have to find fulfillment in work. If the methods of her work were being proscribed, well, then it felt as though the walls were closing in on her.
She continued to mull over those thoughts, and breathed lungful after lungful of fresh air. Already the blond stone walls of Goodwin Hall loomed on the horizon. Goodwin meant Susannah, and Susannah meant wise counsel.
Yes, Susannah would surely see her side of the matter. Why had she taken this long to see her sister? She’d pinned all her hopes on a proposal from Lieutenant Walker, that’s why. No need to raise a fuss when she had been so certain that she would marry and leave the shop. Well, that wasn’t happening, and she needed to make the best of her situation. The blank horror of the lieutenant’s desertion still held her in its grasp.
In time she would grieve over her dead romance. Now she must think of her future. If she wasn’t to be anyone’s bride, she should at least be allowed a say in her own business.
She gathered her skirts and mounted the wide, gracious steps of the hall. No sooner had she set foot on the second step than the door opened, and Baxter stood, waiting with a patient and solemn air.
“Miss Rebecca. No one told me you were coming.” The butler, no doubt accustomed now to the clockwork precision Susannah had imposed on the manor house, frowned. “But you are welcome all the same. Mrs. Hale is in the library.”
“Don’t fret, Baxter,” she reassured him as she strolled into the vestibule. “This is an impromptu call.” She removed her bonnet, intending to hang it on a peg; but with consummate skill, Baxter slipped it out of her grasp and placed it on the nearby mahogany table.
“Yes, Miss Rebecca. Mr. Holmes is visiting as well. They are having tea. I’ll bring another setting for you.” With a wave of his hand, Baxter shooed her down the hallway toward the library.
Paul Holmes? Becky slowed to a halt before the library door. If Paul was here, had he told them about meeting her on the moor yesterday? How was she supposed to speak with Susannah about the shop if they had company? Oh, this was just like her, to meet him here again. She grasped a tendril of hair that slipped loose from her chignon and twirled it.
Where was the courage that stiffened her spine yesterday? She’d had no qualms about defending herself to Paul then. Circumstances were different, though. Confronting Paul, Susannah and Daniel all at once was, well, akin to bearding a lion in its den.
Becky took a deep, steadying breath and deftly unwound her finger from her hair. Then she pushed open the door.
Daniel and Paul rose as she entered the room, and Susannah turned in her chair. “Becky, my dear, we weren’t expecting you. Not that you aren’t welcome, of course.” Susannah kissed her cheek as Becky leaned down, and then Susannah glanced over her shoulder. “Where’s Nan?”
“At the shop.” Becky settled across from her sister, nodding her hellos to Daniel and Paul. Paul caught her glance and held it so long that heat began rising in her cheeks. She averted her gaze and turned a fraction to the right in her chair so he could only see her in profile. There. It was altogether uncomfortable to be stared at. He needn’t be so fresh.
Susannah glanced over at Becky, her gray-green eyes keen and perceptive. “Whatever is the matter?” Then she turned to Daniel. “Would you ring the bell? I’ll have Baxter bring more tea things so Becky may join us.”
“Baxter already said he would.” If only she could somehow, wordlessly communicate the need for privacy with Susannah. She lifted her eyebrows and widened her eyes, silently pleading for Susannah to understand.
“Something is wrong. Out with it,” Susannah commanded in that familiar, eldest sister tone of voice. The morning sunlight gilded her auburn hair, touching it with gold. “Have you two been quarreling again? Honestly,” she turned to her husband, “sometimes I think I should have kept the shop. But Becky and Nan got on so well when we were all together. Now that I am not there, they fight. If I weren’t so busy with Goodwin...”
How provoking to be talked about like she was just a child, squabbling with Nan over a toy. “She has no artistic spirit at all, Susannah,” Becky burst out. “All she cares about is how much money we can make. She runs roughshod over my designs, and insists I work with inferior materials.”
Susannah shook her head. “Becky, do calm yourself. Remember, you can always count ten.”
Becky rolled her eyes. Count ten indeed. That was Susannah’s remedy for her truly awe-inspiring temper.
“You two must learn to work together. What Nan proposes is sound. We cannot expect only genteel clientele. Now that we are thoroughly entrenched in Tansley Village, we must include the kinds of goods that everyone can afford.” Susannah spoke as though she were reasoning with a toddler.
Becky opened her mouth to protest, but Daniel cut her short, a reassuring smile hovering around his lips. “Shall we give you two some privacy?”
“Actually, I have a solution I think could benefit us all.” Paul’s voice, rumbling from his corner, jerked Becky to attention. “If it’s amenable to the lady, I’d like to hire Becky.”
* * *
Three pairs of eyes turned toward Paul—Susannah’s startled gray-green gaze, Daniel’s bemused green eyes, and a pair of violet-blue, decidedly defiant ones that belonged to Becky. Well, at least he had her attention, even if she did seem a little affronted by his presence.
“I haven’t told anyone this, but my youngest sister, Juliana, passed away.” As he spoke, Becky’s mouth opened slightly, and the rebellious light in her eyes dimmed. He glanced away. Susannah made a murmur of apology, but he cut her short with a wave of his hand. If anyone showed him sympathy now, he might break down and that would not be acceptable. Better to stick to the facts of the matter at hand. “She died of a fever in Italy, where she had been living for some time. She left behind a daughter who is now my ward.”
“I am sorry to hear that Juliana died, old fellow.” Daniel shook his head and sighed. “I know she was your favorite sister.”
“Yes, well. She’s gone.” His tone was brusque, even to his own ears, and he covered the moment by clearing his throat. “The point of the matter is that her daughter, Juliet, is coming to live with me. She’s only about two years old. I’ve no idea if Juliana employed anyone suitable for her care—” lovable, impractical Juliana; how ridiculous to think of her employing servants, much less caring for a child! “—and at any rate, I want a proper English girl to bring her up. At least until I can place her in school.” He clenched his jaw, wrestling back any traces of grief. “Becky, I would like it if you cared for Juliet until she is of age.”
“But Becky has no experience as a governess.” Susannah’s brows drew together. “She also has her duties at the shop to consider. Surely there is someone among your tenants or ours that could do? At least until a nursemaid can be hired from London?”
Paul raised his head and fixed Becky with a searching look. If she didn’t appear interested, then he would have no choice but to agree with Susannah. But Becky sat back in her chair, twirling a lock of her brown hair around one finger, an absorbed expression drifting across her features. “I’ve
thought of that, too,” he admitted. “But the circumstances of Juliet’s birth, and of Juliana’s stay in Italy, might be cause for gossip among people who don’t know my family well. I can’t raise my niece under a cloud of disgrace. I feel I can trust your family with decorum. Moreover, Becky bears a passing resemblance to my sister. That could make the adjustment easier for Juliet.”
“The child’s comfort and welfare must be considered above all else,” Daniel agreed. “If you feel that Becky is the right person for the job, then it remains only to see how the shop can fare without her there, and whether or not she feels equal to the task.”
Paul shifted his regard back over to her, and Becky raised her eyes to his. There was no defiance, no rebellion, no anger or annoyance in her gaze any longer.
“I feel equal to the task.” Though the words were spoken quietly, there was strength to her tone that was intensely heartening. “In truth, I am glad of the opportunity.”
“But Becky, what of your duties at the shop? Of course, I am gratified for Paul’s trust in our family—” Susannah gave him a brisk nod “—but you cannot care for a child and continue to work as a milliner. The shop was our dream, don’t you remember? You can’t simply give up on it and allow your sister to carry the weight alone.”
“The shop was your dream, not mine.” While Becky didn’t mince words, her tone remained gentle and strong. “When we worked together, it was fun. I love designing bonnets, Susannah. And I love all the handiwork that goes with it. But since you left, it’s not enjoyable any longer. Nan and I argue all the time. I feel stifled now, as though I don’t have a say in anything that happens.”