Pattern for Romance: Quilts of Love Series

by Carla J Gade

  He blinked back. “You look . . . well.”

  “Thank you. I am feeling better, yet I have received some distressing news.”

  He heard a woman cough and spun his head around toward the ladies sitting by the fireplace. Joshua stood abruptly and gave them a slight bow. “Widow Lankton. Mistress Wadsworth. Thank you for allowing me to see Honour.” His face tensed. “Yet, what is this news she speaks of?”

  “We are pleased you have come this forenoon,” Widow Lankton said. “Mrs. Wadsworth was beginning to share some advantageous news with Honour.”

  “I cannot see how the news is advantageous,” Honour said.

  “My dear, please allow me to explain the situation,” Mrs. Wadsworth said. “Unless you would prefer we do it privately.”

  Joshua looked down at Honour. “I will step out of the room.”

  “Nay, please, stay. It would hearten me to have you here,” Honour said.

  Joshua tilted his head, reassuring her with a smile. “Whatever you wish. Now let’s hear what Mrs. Wadsworth has to say.”

  “Would you care for some chamomile, Joshua?” Widow Lankton asked.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “A seat then?” The widow pointed to a chair by the window.

  Reluctant to leave Honour’s side, Joshua knew the ladies already extended him a grace when he greeted her in such close proximity. How awkward it was that Emily’s aunt was aware of his fondness for Honour, and yet encouraged it. He could only imagine Mrs. Wadsworth had filled her in on the bond between Joshua and Honour, especially since he’d gone chasing after her, at Emily’s urging, the day Honour had reopened her wound. He planted himself down and nodded at Mrs. Wadsworth to proceed.

  “I informed Honour that I no longer can keep her in my employ.” Mrs. Wadsworth’s brow furrowed, then donned a sympathetic smile when facing Honour. “I planned to discuss it with you some time ago, but there have been many obstacles to doing so. Yet I do have another prospect to introduce.”

  “My injuries—I haven’t been able to satisfy my workload. I am so sorry to have disappointed you.” Honour frowned, wetting her lower lip.

  “It is not your fault, Honour. Nor, do I feel dissatisfied with you.” Mrs. Wadsworth folded her hands in her lap. “You are an exceptional quilter and perhaps the hardest worker I’ve known.”

  “The traveling ensemble you quilted for me is exquisite,” Widow Lankton chimed in. “I do not believe I have had the opportunity to tell you or to thank you.”

  “I appreciate your saying so.” Honour smiled politely, though masking concern.

  Mrs. Wadsworth leaned forward. “Dear, you must know it is purely a decision of finances.”

  “I, I’m sure we shall get by.” Honour reached for her glorious braid draped over her shoulder, absently gliding her other hand along the length of it.

  “Honour, you are not considering selling your hair to the wigmaker? I will not allow it.”

  The women’s faces all darted toward Joshua. Widow Lankton’s eyebrows vaulted until the wrinkles on her forehead met the hairline of her own wig. Mrs. Wadsworth tucked her chin, pursing her lips. Honour covered her mouth, astonished at his declaration, though he could not readily distinguish whether she was angry or amused.

  “Joshua Sutton, if I wish to sell my hair, I shall. But as it is, I hear the wigmaker is no longer in the market for auburn hair. ’Tis too difficult to powder.” Honour glanced up, bedstead canopy overhead, finger pressed to her lips. “Mayhap I shall sell Temperance’s hair instead.”

  Joshua almost jumped to his feet. He narrowed his eyes. “Pray, don’t!”

  “Nay, Joshua. I shan’t, although I noticed your queue is in need of a barber,” Honour teased. She altered her position, and a small groan seeped from her mouth.

  Joshua leaned forward, “Honour, are you all right?”

  “I shall be, if you remember your place.” She spoke, seemingly bemused. “I am not your—”

  Joshua leaned back and crossed his arms over his waistcoat, as his coat fell to his sides. He cast her an exaggerated sidelong glance, restraining his mirth in the process. “Your?” Betrothed? Wife?

  “I am not your property,” Honour said. “I shall not be told what to do by you.”

  “May I make a suggestion then?” Joshua asked.

  Mrs. Wadsworth and Widow Lankton looked on, entertained by the banter.

  Honour’s countenance piqued. “What may that be?”

  “I recall Mrs. Wadsworth has something ‘advantageous’ to share with you.” Joshua smirked, dipping his jaw. “Shall we?”

  “By all means.” Honour addressed Mrs. Wadsworth. “Now if Mr. Sutton is through teasing me in an attempt to recover from his faux pas, please continue.”

  Joshua proffered his palm, inclining a bow. “Do forgive me, all.”

  “Certainly, Joshua.” Mrs. Wadsworth smiled. “At least you managed to lighten the mood, for a moment.”

  “I am glad to have done you the service, at my expense, of course.” Joshua said with a grin. “Though I did not wish to make light of Honour’s circumstance.” He had hoped to prove his sincerest admiration for her, had he now offended her? He secreted a glance in her direction, noting her pensive stare as she rubbed her braid between her fingers. How frightened she must be at the uncertainty of her circumstances, though she had deflected it by paying tribute to his “faux pas” and bore it well.

  “Now, Honour, Widow Lankton and I have something for your consideration, and hope you’ll be pleased.” Mrs. Wadsworth’s inflection held promise.

  Joshua slipped another look at Honour, and gave her a slight grin with the faintest wink of his eye—garnering quite the satisfying reaction as a smile flickered upon her flushed cheeks.

  “You see, Honour,” Mrs. Wadsworth continued, “it appears Widow Lankton is in need of a companion now that her niece, Emily, has married.”

  The irony of it took him aback. How would Honour feel?

  Mrs. Wadsworth turned to Widow Lankton and nodded. The older woman continued. “I would like to offer you employment and hope you shall accept it. You have already been keeping me company these last days, and I have found it quite suitable. I understand you are from a fine family in England and you come highly recommended.” Widow Lankton smiled at her friend.

  “I mean not to be contrary, madam, but I believe you have been the one serving as my companion these last days, including seeing to my well-being.”

  “I am confident you will continue on the course to good health and I believe it will be an excellent match.” Widow Lankton glanced at the needlework sitting in her lap. “I also find I am once again in need of a quilter and would like to employ you for the task. I intend to gift my niece with a bridal quilt.”

  The starch in Joshua’s neckcloth stiffened. A quilt for the woeful Mrs. Leach. Apparently, Widow Lankton was not privy to her niece’s despair, or was trying to encourage the new bride in any course.

  “’Twould be a most fortuitous arrangement, don’t you agree?” Mrs. Wadsworth asked Honour.

  “I am in need of a quilter and companionship and you are in need of employment and a home,” Widow Lankton said in her matter-of-fact tone.

  “A home,” Honour said, her words barely audible.

  “Naturally, I would expect you to keep your residence here,” the dame said.

  Honour absently squeezed the counterpane. “I do not know if I am able to accept your offer, Widow Lankton, generous as it is.”

  Joshua noted the worry etched on Honour’s brow, and it almost undid him. Though no one had yet spoken of it, the question hung in the air. What would become of Temperance?

  16

  Joshua waited impatiently for one of the ladies to speak. Hadn’t it occurred to them that Honour could not accept a position until the matter of lodging was settled for both her and Temperance?

  “You are not sure if you can accept employment from me? Why ever not, dear?” Widow Lankton asked.

  Honour lifte
d her eyes, her worried gaze traveling from Widow Lankton to Mrs. Wadsworth to him. When he noted the light of understanding upon Window Lankton’s placid face, Joshua tipped his jaw toward her, encouraging Honour to regard the woman again. It warmed him to think Honour looked to him for reassurance.

  Widow Lankton waved her palm. “Oh my, your sister. I should have made a point of mentioning her from the outset. I certainly cannot separate the two of you. Margaret has explained it would be quite impossible as you are her guardian. Temperance shall also have a room here, as part of your compensation. I’ve plenty of space and it would be delightful to have a child in this home once again.” Widow Lankton pointed to the door at the side of the room. “There is an adjoining room right through that door.”

  Mrs. Wadsworth clasped her hands together, creating a minute clapping sound. “Temperance is welcome to continue her chores for me a few days a week after school. I can afford a few pennies per week and she might like to earn a little something of her own.” Mrs. Wadsworth said. “I’d like to keep my eye on her for a while. If she shows aptitude, mayhap I can take her on as an apprentice in a few years when Maisey’s contract has been satisfied, providing there is improvement in our economy. Moreover, I shall miss Tempe, as I will you.”

  “Now what say you, will you agree to the proposition?” Widow Lankton asked.

  Honour’s face brightened, her dark brown eyes filling with relief. “Aye, I shall. I appreciate your generous offer, Widow Lankton. And yours, Mrs. Wadsworth. You have both blessed me with your kindness.” Honour released a deep sigh, pulling her arms over her injury.

  “Dear, you must be fatigued, and perhaps it is time for something for the pain, no?” Mrs. Wadsworth eyed Widow Lankton.

  The widow glanced at a small clock on a shelf, “My housekeeper, Mrs. Hall, shall be here ere long to administer her next treatment.”

  Mrs. Wadsworth stood. “I must take my leave and return to the shop. I will remind your housekeeper on my way out.” She went to Honour’s bedside and planted a kiss on Honour’s forehead. “I shall bring Tempe next time I come. You get your rest now, dear.” She gave Joshua a quick glance. “Be sure this young man doesn’t tire you.”

  “Oh, he shall never tire me, Mrs. Wadsworth.” Honour grinned. “He is consistently piquing my interest.”

  Mrs. Wadsworth laid her hand on Joshua’s sleeve as she passed to the door, with a hint of warning in her eye.

  After she departed, Widow Lankton said, “You may have a few minutes with her, Joshua, and then you must allow her to get her rest. If you please, Honour.”

  “Aye, thank you,” Honour said.

  Joshua picked up his chair and brought it to the side of Honour’s bed. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, gazing into Honour’s serene face. Neither spoke as several moments passed. His thoughts returned to the time beneath the willow tree when he took her into his embrace. Was she thinking the same?

  A faint snore came from behind them and Joshua turned back for an instant, finding Widow Lankton had drifted asleep in her chair. “Does she often do that?” he said to Honour in a hushed voice.

  “’Tis a habit of hers,” Honour whispered, trying to restrain her mirth.

  “It appears everything has worked out well,” Joshua said.

  “Indeed, it has. I can scarcely believe it,” Honour said. “Yet, how odd I shall work on Emily’s bridal quilt, after all that has transpired.”

  “I was not aware you were acquainted with her until the other day,” Joshua said.

  “Aye, and only briefly, leaving me with the terrible secret which proved to be untrue.” She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Thank you for helping me see the truth, Joshua.”

  “You needn’t thank me for that. ’Twas purely selfish.” Joshua chuckled softly.

  Honour smiled demurely. “I appreciate your visit today, although I’m sure it was not what you expected.”

  “I only expected to catch a glimpse of your lovely face, and this . . .” Joshua took her braid in his hand and rubbed his thumb over the silky plait. He breathed in the faint scent of lavender at their nearness. He traced his finger along her hairline. “It does my heart good to know you are well.”

  She closed her eyelids, but for a moment, then looked again into his eyes. A little sigh escaped her lips—lips he desired to kiss again.

  “Before I depart, tell me, Honour, is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all.”

  Honour’s eyes widened. “There is. Would you retrieve my workbag? ’Tis hanging in the cupboard.” She pointed across the room.

  Joshua rose, retrieved the bag and handed it to her. Honour lifted the lid and pulled out a small piece of paper, handing it to him.

  “I intended to see to this matter on Monday, but here it is three days gone by. Would you please inquire about this for me, before it is too late?” Honour asked.

  Joshua unfolded the fragment of newspaper marked with tiny black print. An advertisement.

  Joshua looked up as Honour spoke again. “I believe these are my belongings, especially my quilt. I fear someone else may claim it and ’twill be lost to me forever.” Her eyes darkened with anxiety. “It means the world to me—more than that, it is filled with my mother’s hopes and dreams for my future, as well as my own.” He squeezed her hand as she went on. “I do not know the expense, but I have some money and you may take it. Inside the top compartment there.”

  “The expense is insignificant, Honour. You may entrust it to me, by your leave, and we shall figure it out later,” he said.

  Her eyes entreated his and he looked down at the paper, holding them between his thumbs and forefingers. “Linen white-work, he read aloud. He looked up. “Your quilt?”

  “Aye.” She bit her lip.

  As he continued to read the advertisement, his grip tightened. Inquire of the Printer, Mein & Fleeming. His pulse jumped. Joshua raked his hand back through his hair and squeezed his queue. John Mein, that enemy of Patriots and publisher of falsehoods.

  “Joshua?” Honour rasped.

  His heart plummeted and his palms grew moist as he looked into her eyes with as much earnestness as he could muster. “Honour, I would do anything for you—except this.”

  Tears filled Honour’s eyes once again as she tossed her head back against the pillows. She could still hardly believe Joshua had refused her request when she told to him how important it was to her. He attempted to explain, but Mrs. Hall had come to treat Honour’s wound and whisked Joshua out of the bedchamber. Honour managed to eat a small portion for the midday meal, but after a dose of laudanum the remainder of the day was spent dozing.

  A new day had dawned, and Honour had already received morning ministrations. The questions Honour had about Joshua’s refusal assaulted her once again. Did he oppose paying the duties? Of course, he did, but couldn’t he make an exception this once? Or would it have hurt him to make the inquiry? At least she would have had the peace of mind of knowing if her belongings were still available, or if another had claimed them.

  Honour could feel the tension in her brow and her temples began to throb. The items might have been put up for auction by now, as the advertisement did not indicate a date. She hadn’t the time to wait, too many days had passed already.

  Honour sat with care and brought her legs over the side of the bed. She rested there a moment, as the housekeeper had instructed her to do when necessity called. She grabbed the bedpost and pulled herself up, her legs wobbly beneath her. Honour released a shallow breath. She glanced down at her attire, such a state of undress in her short gown of calico, and plain petticoat rising just above her ankles. If only she had one of her better gowns or even the one she’d worn here, though that had been stained. How nice it would be to have her gowns from England returned to her.

  Honour braced her steps and stared down at her bare feet upon the cool, painted canvas floor covering. How would she ever manage to put on her silk stockings or buckle her shoes? She looked about the room,
not knowing where Mrs. Hall had put them. Perhaps they were in the cupboard. As Honour took a step, the tautness in her abdomen made her realize how silly she was. She could never bend to perform those tasks. If she pulled open her wound again, it would surely become infected. No infection had yet set in, but the housekeeper warned her that if it did, her herbal remedies would not be enough and Dr. Westcott would have to return and let Honour’s blood. She already was so weakened from her successive blood losses, Honour did not know how she’d endure it.

  Honour closed her eyes for an instant and let out a sigh. A wave of dizziness swirled around her. She opened her eyes, trying to regain her bearings, and she started to sway. Honour reached for the bedpost, but it was just beyond her grasp. One more step and she’d be there. She leaned her hand upon the small bedside table, but the weight of her pushing on the corner made it topple. Honour tripped back and fell against the bedstead, clutching the crewelwork counterpane as she slipped down to the floor.

  Widow Lankton’s maidservant and housekeeper came rushing in. “Good heavens! She fell from her bed. Grab her other arm and we shall get her up. Careful now,” Honour heard the older woman say.

  The haze dissipated and Honour focused on Mrs. Hall as she inspected Honour’s incision. “Get some lint, girl, and herbs for a poultice. I shall have to repack the wound,” the housekeeper instructed.

  “You fell out of bed, Miss Metcalf,” the woman said. “I cannot venture a guess as to how that happened, nor do I wish to.” She halted her hand mid-air. “I suggest whatever happened, the episode is not repeated.”

  Honour clamped down on her lip and looked down. This counterpane was not her own. Nor did she enjoy the comfort of her indigo quilt. And now, she would never have the linen white-work quilt she and her mother had started for Honour’s dower hope chest. The risk was too great to her health. But without it, her longings seemed ceaseless, her grief unending.

  Joshua snipped around the pattern of his father’s new suit with precise movements. Several weights lay atop the dark green gabardine, holding the pattern firmly in place. The design had been determined, the fabric chosen. The form was fitted, the pattern laid, the first cuts taken—and in a similar manner it resembled his life. The dictates of his family’s values impacted every decision he made, and those made on his behalf. And like the pattern weights upon the cloth, the heaviness of his situation bore down on him, constant, unmoving.