A Love Made to Measure

by Eliza Emmett

  “Why would she want to stop working?” Adele attached herself to the easiest part of the conversation. “I think it is wonderful for women to be independent. I would love to work.”

  Lady Galavyin looked at Addy in what could only be described as contempt, and Grant’s heart felt heavy. Her nose was crinkled, as if she had detected a bad smell, and her forehead resembled a concertina, giving away her real age. Of all people, Addy was certainly the least deserving of any of that.

  Grant’s blood was searing. His mother’s cool and detached demeanor made her words more hurtful. The only silver lining was that now he knew the reason for Cora’s reluctance, and he felt even more protective of her. He wondered if responding would fuel his mother’s cruelty and give her the satisfaction of knowing that by marring Cora’s honor, she was wounding him too. In the end, he could not control his tongue and the words formed on his lips almost before he was aware of them.

  “You mean marry above her station like you did, Mother?”

  He threw his napkin on the table, and he did not remain in the dining room to witness her reaction.

  ****

  The Duchess of Keenary offered one of the first grand balls of the season, at a time when everyone in London was eager to brandish their best new costumes and shake off the stillness and drab of the winter months. Rich brocades, bright taffetas, and shiny, expensive stones would inhabit her ballroom for a night, while music would fill every last crevice of the palatial rooms of her city home. Her party was the best sign that the Season had started and was soon to be in full swing. Being invited was a great excitement, and because of Addy, Cora was to partake of the event.

  Cora’s gown was among the prettiest. Five layers of gold-toned trims decorated the full, pale-blue skirt. A tight bodice and small puffy sleeves framed her naked shoulders, while pearl and enamel earrings dangled from her ears. No one needed to know that the gown had been sewn from excess fabric a patron had given her, the same patron who years before had given her the precious earrings for Christmas. The result was so regal and spectacular it sent her heart racing every time she touched the soft, luscious fabric.

  Addy wore the dress Cora had made for her, a shimmery yellow gown with little red embroidered flowers along the bust line. She took a twirl in front of Cora as soon as they met. Her husband looked elegant and proud, and Cora noticed that he gazed at Adele in adoration, as if she were the only woman in the room. He danced the first waltz with his wife and made sure to request a dance from Cora as well. He seemed like a good man, and she was happy for Addy, who deserved a true gentleman by her side.

  Cora had made two visits to the refreshments room and had already imbibed an equal number of glasses of lemonade before she saw Grant Galavyin. He looked as distinguished as always, and it only took a few seconds for Cora’s expert eyes to analyze his clothes: a notable dress coat of black superfine fabric—which she imagined was lined with the softest of black silks—a black poplin waistcoat, and dress trousers of expensive black cashmere. By the time she finished examining his attire, he had spotted her.

  He walked in her direction with hands clasped behind his back. His jaw looked relaxed but he did not smile. He bowed. He always did in her presence.

  “I wonder if you would do me the honor of a dance.”

  She knew how to behave and would not breach etiquette because of what had happened. If anything, manners were even more essential now. No one was ever going to have reason to say she had no class.

  Cora felt Grant Galavyin take her hand in his with much care, as if it could break. He led her in the dance with a steady but yielding pace. He still didn’t smile, and she worked hard for the ballroom not to disappear, for him not to become the only person in the beautiful mansion. The more she looked at him the more into focus he came. Until his eyes were as clear as a mirror. Until she could see herself in them.

  They waltzed for a long time. She had a vague notion of the music changing, of whiffs of perfume that pirouetting bodies exuded. The same corner of the room came and went many times, and so did the faces of the young women who wanted to take her place.

  And then a tap on his shoulder made everything stop. She found herself in front of another man. Suddenly she was dancing an awkward dance, in arms that felt wrong and unsuitable. Even the music seemed off key, as if the musicians had lost their way—when in truth, she had.

  The man tried his best to be gallant, but it was in vain. Grant looked at her from the edge of the room, his eyes clear and piercing. Still no smile. He danced with no one else, despite the pleading looks around him.

  “Thank you, sir,” she heard herself say to the stranger when the music stopped—relieved that the quadrille was next. There was no interest on her part to dance that. It was too cheerful for a woman weighed down by her problems.

  She walked outside and sought refuge under large trees. It was a quiet night, which contrasted with the liveliness of the hall inside. A full moon illuminated the garden. She sat on a bench, letting the light that filtered through the windows bathe her back. The misty night air was invigorating and made her skin cold and fresh. She just loved the fact that gardens were havens of quiet and inspiration. She never felt bad for long if she was sitting outside. Then came the thought about the kiss again. It would burn her lips forever.

  “You waltz well, Miss Larsen.” The voice was unmistakable.

  “So do you, Lord Galavyin.”

  He sat next to her, an appropriate distance apart, although being outside alone was completely inappropriate. She could feel warmth emanating from his body, so she closed her eyes and tried to shun him from her heart as best as she could.

  “Perhaps now in this garden, I should apologize for that day in our garden.” He was leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. “Perhaps I should, but I don’t want to.”

  Cora tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. She didn’t want him to apologize either. “Then don’t. I was the one who kissed you. It was a mistake, a misjudgment on my part. You just happened to reciprocate. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Well, to me it matters. It matters very much. I don’t know what you think of me, Miss Larsen, but I don’t make a habit of kissing young women who come to visit my sister. So it did matter. It mattered a great deal.”

  Cora was silent. Any reply might give away how she really felt.

  “The truth is that”—he ran his hand through his hair, seeming unsure of whether he should finish the sentence—“since it happened, I have been hoping for it to happen again.”

  His candor was disarming. She was ill prepared to handle it. “I see,” was all she managed to come up with. She ran a hand up and down her opposite arm and imagined his hands were caressing her instead.

  He sat a little closer, his warmth even more obvious now. “I have never met anyone like you, Cora.” He turned her head toward him by holding her chin. “You make me bold. You make me be like I always knew I could. Because of you, I want to be better. Living a life of undeserved privilege simply won’t do. I want to be giving, like you.”

  Cora found it hard to breathe. There was more than one reason why the bodice of a dress should not be too tight. Could Grant Galavyin hear her heart thumping? She felt silly and elated, petrified and restless.

  “Lord Galavyin. You do not know what you’re saying.”

  “You’re mistaken, Miss Larsen. I have never been more certain of anything.”

  Grant Galavyin came even closer to Cora. His lips brushed lightly against her cheek, and she could feel his tepid breath against her skin. She let herself be kissed on her lips, and then on her forehead, and once more on her fingers. After that, Grant placed her hands on her lap, as if he were returning delicate porcelain to its shelf.

  “Lord Galavyin, we both know this cannot be.”

  “I don’t know any such thing, Cora.”

  She realized tonight was the first time he’d called her by her given name. It might seem like a little detail, and yet her heart
jumped in her chest. “Grant,” she said, tasting his name and daring to consider how much she liked it. Moving closer, she placed her hands on both sides of his face and kissed him once more, enjoying the fact that the air left his lungs with so much effort and that the rhythm of his breathing hastened.

  Then she stood, this time not running away like she did in his garden, but instead with decision and intention. She made a fist, which she placed on the left side of her chest, as if to close her heart and avoid it saying what she did not wish to hear. She walked back into the ballroom. People were still dancing and laughing. The ball continued unimpeded and unrestricted. Yet she couldn’t hear any music playing anymore.

  ****

  Grant sat outside in the yard for a long time. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. From the moment he met Cora, he knew she was the only woman he would love. And yet everything he had done to get near her had resulted in added worries and concerns for her. It was no surprise she walked away, even if he guessed she would have liked to stay. She was a proud woman, and he loved her even more for it.

  Maybe a less persistent man would walk away too and hope things would readjust themselves to their original balance. But the thought that they might never go back to the normalcy of the past haunted him. She might never get a store again. She might lose her clients. Her family might fall on hard times since they depended on work that would become elusive. It would all be his fault. He was the one who made his way into her life.

  So his desire to continue to help moved him forward, even more so than his desire to be with her. He had to do something definitive. She didn’t have to know. All he wanted was for her to be happy. Just the knowledge of that would make him happy too.

  He finally left the garden, but he was reluctant to rejoin the party. He was not in a festive mood. He would not be able to tolerate small talk, gossip, and other trivialities, but he didn’t want to be rude. Inside, Addy asked about Cora, which meant the beautiful Miss Larsen had really gone. There was nothing left for him to do but head home and concoct a way to get Cora out of the chaos his family had caused.

  Chapter Eleven

  One afternoon while she worked in her favorite corner, Cora realized that only twelve days remained until she had to vacate the shop. Fear and anxiety rose in her throat. Except for her sister, she hadn’t told anyone in her household. She couldn’t gather enough courage to speak to her father and hadn’t even confided in Nan despite Hattie urging her to talk to the other members of the family. In her worry, Cora had neglected to help the vicar for several weeks. It was one more thing to feel guilty about, and all because of the inconvenience of having to move her shop.

  She had a place already, one found like a miracle a week before. It was a surprise how inexpensive the lease was. In another section of Regent Street—if anything, an even more stylish one—the building had imposing dark-wood doors and a large window, where two or three of her designs could entice new clients. When she first noticed the place, she was sure she would not be able to afford it. Yet she had asked, almost out of curiosity and without any hope, the price of such luxury.

  She thought she had not understood it correctly when the landlord announced the cost of the lease. It was half her current rent. She had inspected the place as if with a magnifying glass in her hand, looking for what could possibly be wrong with it. Mold and humidity? A compromised structure? There was nothing.

  But now Cora had the unfortunate job of telling her father what would happen. He loved their shop like a home. It wouldn’t really matter that the new shop was more opulent. He would have preferred to stay where they were at any cost, and she would have done anything in her power to make that happen.

  “Sally, we need to start packing all the supplies that we don’t need anymore. We can start moving them tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Miss Larsen. I have hired horses and wagons. It will be a short ride. We can make the trip several times.”

  “Good, if we are careful, we won’t miss more than a couple of days of work. We cannot afford to stop. With the Season in full swing, we cannot waste a minute.”

  When she couldn’t ignore anymore how hungry she was, Cora took a break for tea. She sat at the back of the shop with a fresh pot of Earl Grey, and nibbled on little sandwiches filled with cucumbers and soft cheese. She considered Grant Galavyin between bites. Those days, thoughts of him never left her for long. It was as if he were sitting in one of the entry armchairs, ready to waltz with her in the main room at a moment’s notice, or to let her rest her head on his chest while they lay on the chaise lounge in her office. The images of him sent piecing pains through her body at the end of each fantasy, when she had to acknowledge to herself he was not there.

  Her work fell into a different routine. Pins and needles, thread and thimbles were now invisible objects that touched her hands without her being much aware of them. If it weren’t for the extensive experience that made her work mechanical, she might have spoiled a corset or sewn a crooked sleeve.

  Addy came to visit her amidst crates and boxes that held fabrics and tools. “I haven’t seen you,” she cried. “Since the day of the ball, you have disappeared.” And then looking around she added, “I can’t begin to tell you how ashamed of my family I feel at present. I can understand why you don’t seek us out too often…but I’m not one of them, Cora. Neither is Grant.”

  “Oh, Addy, please don’t think that even for a moment. I really have been busy with orders and the move. That’s all.” Cora could have told Addy that she was indeed hiding. That seeing Addy made her think of her brother, that socializing with Addy would necessarily result in her seeing Grant. She could have opened her heart. Addy was pure of intentions and altogether good. But Cora didn’t open up. Speaking of that would make her predicament real. She said nothing of it, and she swallowed her feelings as one swallows a bitter elixir.

  “As you can see, my life is in crates that will soon be taken to the new shop.” Cora felt like blurting out how her new friend would never understand what any of this meant since she had everything handed to her on a silver platter all the time, but that would have been cruel. Addy had been nothing but gracious and dignified.

  “I’d love to help.” Addy looked around as if deciding what she would do.

  Somehow Cora couldn’t see Addy lifting boxes and dusting shelves.

  “And after the work is done, I will take you to a Season event—a race, the opera, or a regatta. You choose.”

  Cora held Adele’s hands in her own. “My dear friend, you are really the chirpiest person I have ever met. Your enthusiasm is becoming and contagious. I still need to work, though. And I have already been to a ball.”

  Addy released a hand and brought her palm to her friend’s face. “Cora, nobody can work without a break from time to time, not even you. You are not a clock.”

  Cora laughed despite herself. “Perhaps it would be nice to be a clock. All function and no feeling.” The last part she muttered, since it was not really intended for Addy.

  “What’s that?” Addy picked up a cleaning rag and didn’t look particularly interested in the answer.

  “Nothing. I need to get back to work.”

  “Then tell me what I can do to help.” She shook the piece of cloth in front of Cora. “No matter what you may think of me, I assure you I can be quite resourceful. I’m strong too.”

  It would be unkind not to comply. She gave Addy a few more rags and a bottle of oil. “Could you buff up those shelves for me? Anything made of wood, really. I will not be thought of as the woman who vacated your uncle’s property and left it in disarray. I want to return it in the best condition possible.”

  “In an instant, mademoiselle,” said Addy. She curtsied and skipped off to work. “I wish my uncle knew that I was the one doing this. It puts a smile on my face just to imagine it.”

  “Addy, just about everything puts a smile on your face.”

  Cora then went on to remove the curtains that were still hanging by the li
ttle sitting alcove. Standing there, shaking the dust off the fabric and covering her face not to inhale it, she thought she saw someone. It all happened very fast, so she could easily have been mistaken. Yet she could swear it was Grant Galavyin who stood across the street and watched the shop. As she tried to open the curtains to see better, the figure disappeared. In its place was a void that no other person could fill.

  Adele’s voice interrupted Cora’s musings. “By the way, my brother is to escort us to Hyde Park a week from Sunday for a stroll and perhaps a carriage ride through Lady’s Mile. He has indicated he will not take no for an answer.”

  Cora lowered her hands to the side of her body. They were shaking. She had no doubt his warning was true.

  ****

  “Miss Larsen is quite charming. For a woman of her station, of course. One always expects them to be more…desperate. Less refined.” Lady Ashworth was stuffing cake in her mouth as she offered this assessment. It was teatime at Claremont House, and Lady Galavyin was doing her best not to twist her face in disgust and reprimand at the woman’s manners. Society women were meant to be never hungry, much less gluttonous.

  “Indeed she is quite…unexpected.” Lady Galavyin played with her pearls and looked out the window. She prepared her attack with the cunning coldness and the baiting skill of a green heron. “Of course having to live with the stigma of that little incident can’t be easy…”

  Lady Ashworth spilled her drink and promptly ignored the little misfortune. Nothing was more important to her than succulent gossip. “What stigma? What incident?” She smacked her lips in preparation.