In truth, Tabitha was little more than a servant with no money to speak of, no family to lean on, and no real prospects other than her creations on which to pin her hopes of ever escaping the lot she’d been given after her father died.
In the showroom, Tabitha scanned the floor in search of the new arrival. It took a moment, but her eyes finally landed on a small, older man in a fine suit. He had a slip of paper in his hand, and he approached Tabitha with the air of someone who didn’t waste time.
“Good afternoon, Miss,” the man began with perfect, practiced speech. “My name is Mr. McEwan. I serve as the steward in the house of Her Grace the Duchess of Stowe. I have a receipt for a series of hats I believe she had ordered, and she is requesting that they be delivered tomorrow afternoon.”
Tabitha felt her stomach sink. If this was the order she was thinking of, the one currently on her worktable, there was no way under the stars that the three hats would be ready by tomorrow. She was only one flower (out of seven) into the first bonnet, and it was a slow process to convince the requested velvet ribbon to behave.
“I am sorry, sir,” she began, trying to get his eyes off the wilder ostrich-plumed hats next to her and back on her. “That is almost four days before we agreed upon. I’m certain there is no feasible way the work can be done, and done well, by tomorrow.”
That got the older man’s attention. He huffed, turned a bit pink around the cheeks, and sputtered.
“There is simply no choice, my dear,” he said abruptly but not unkindly. “His Grace is arriving home from his trip to France early and therefore the parties his mother has planned for him will be adjusted accordingly. And so, her wardrobe must be ready — she said so herself. She is willing to pay handsomely for your ability to expedite the process.”
Tabitha drew in a breath at that and considered. She was having such a difficult time scrimping a small savings together to buy herself a seat at the Paris School of Millinery that this “bonus” money might perhaps get her there that much quicker. Assuming, of course, that Ellora didn’t catch wind of the extra earnings. She was quick to snatch up all but the barest pennies.
Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment and drew a steadying breath. If she worked through the night and her needle and thread held true, there was a slight chance that she could finish in time. She said so to Mr. McEwan, who beamed brightly at her.
“I knew it,” he said with a laugh. “I have faith you Miss — er, I apologize, I did not hear your name?”
Tabitha sighed.
“Tabitha Blackmore,” she said, noticing how quickly he’d changed the subject on her. “I did not exactly say that I would be able to—”
She was cut off again by Mr. McEwan, who gave her a slight bow and provided directions to the home of the Dowager Duchess of Stowe on the other side of the city.
“I shall see you tomorrow, then, my dear,” he said with a quick grin. “Be sure to pack a bag to stay at least one evening, maybe two. I am certain Her Grace’s attendants will need proper coaching on how best to pair the hats. You will be paid, of course!”
With that the short man with wisps of white hair on his head that stood up like smoke was gone, disappearing into the streets of Cheapside.
Tabitha leaned back against the counter behind her and blew out a breath, a little overwhelmed at the entire encounter.
On the one hand, she had found a way to increase her savings and take a step closer to the education her father had wanted for her. On the other, getting through the night in one piece was not guaranteed. She would have to return to the shop after dinner and do so without rousing Lady Blackmore’s suspicions, which would not be easy.
Tabitha kicked at a crushed crepe ribbon flower that hadn’t been tossed out properly. Another evening down the back drainpipe it was, then.
“Time away from the witch, I suppose,” she muttered as she returned to her worktable, a new fire of inspiration lit beneath her.
Dinner was more complicated than usual, thanks to the fact that Ellora, Tabitha’s stepmother, was having one of her moods. They could be brought on by anything — the weather (too foul or too pleasant), the noisy street they lived on, memories of her life when she was the daughter of an earl and had endless opportunities for money and titles, or even an egg that had too much salt.
Today’s mood, however, had more to do with the fact that her daughter Frances had been recently snubbed. Officially, Ellora was considered a member of the ton and her daughter’s first season the previous year had nearly cost them the roof over their heads. However, Frances was an ill-tempered, sharp-tongued girl who did little to ensure repeat invitations to dances and parties.
“A true-and-true witch,” their housekeeper, Alice, called her. Alice was the only servant left on staff besides Katie, the lady’s maid Ellora and Frances shared, so it was up to both Alice and Tabitha to make sure that meals were made and rooms were kept clean. Being an indentured servant in her own home was trying enough, but much worse was having to tidy the room that once held every memento of her father’s. It was now completely devoid of every memory of him.
It was as though Baronet Elias Blackmore had never existed. No portraits. No personal belongings. Nothing but the small locket he’d given Tabitha when she was nine years old, which she still wore around her neck.
This evening’s dinner was a morose affair, and Tabitha sat silently while Ellora ranted and raved about the social snub of her angel, Frances.
Tabitha looked across the table at her stepsister. Frances was very pretty, she’d give her that much. But her mouth was drawn thin and her blue eyes were more steely than pleasant. Frances had brown hair that one could call more dishwater in color than brunette. However, Ellora spent high sums of money on beauty products and bits and bobs for Katie to fashion Frances’ hair into something resembling high fashion each day.
Frances was pouting into her soup while her mother railed beside her. When she glanced up and caught Tabitha looking at her, she scowled.
Tabitha quickly looked away, but Frances jumped on the opportunity to take the attention off her.
“I saw a servant go into the shop this afternoon when I was returning from tea with Adela,” Frances said to her mother, her flinty eyes on Tabitha, who inwardly groaned.
So much for secrecy.
Ellora paused in her ranting and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Who was it?”
The words were clipped, and her nose was high in the air while she peered along it at Tabitha.
“A servant for the Dowager Duchess of Stowe,” Tabitha replied. “He came to inquire about an order the Duchess sent over a week ago.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie and it helped her corroborate her story because Ellora had already received the money sent over for the original order.
“And was the order ready?”
Tabitha swallowed hard. She wasn’t in the clear yet.
“Almost,” she said and lowered her eyes to take a sip of the soup as she inwardly seethed.
“Unacceptable,” her stepmother ground out between her teeth. “You lazy, no-good hanger-on. It is no wonder your father’s ridiculous hat shop is dying off. He had the laziest cow this side of the river working behind the curtains.”
She banged a fist on the table, making Frances jump.
“You get up from this table and you finish that order right this instant.” Ellora pointed a long bony finger in the direction of the door, ending Tabitha’s dinner before she had progressed past the soup. Tabitha’s stomach rumbled in protest, and her fists clenched beneath the table as she longed to tell Ellora what she really thought, but Tabitha knew this was a gift. She would nab a roll from Alice later.
“I am going to stop by in the morning to check your ledger and work progress to make certain you are being completely honest with me,” Ellora announced. “And woe be to you if I find that you have been neglecting your work and you have a backlog of orders.”
In reality, Tabitha was of legal age and the
threats should be harmless. But she was also lacking any real money, any job prospects, and had no titles her father could have passed down to her. Running her father’s milliner shop was the closest thing she would have to freedom for the near future, and it would be much better for her if she allowed Ellora the illusion of control for the time being, since the dreadful woman had inherited the shop upon her father’s death.
Ellora’s threat put Tabitha in a bind. She was due at the Duchess’ estate first thing in the morning. As it stood, she’d have to have those pieces done, as well as the other orders on her workbench before then. She closed her eyes and blew out a heavy breath.
It was going to be a very long night.
The Duke She Wished For is now available for purchase on Amazon, and is free to read through Kindle Unlimited.
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About the Author
Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history. For many years she has written short stories, non-fiction, and has worked on her true love and passion — romance novels.
In every era there is the chance for romance, and Ellie enjoys exploring many different time periods, cultures, and geographic locations. No matter when or where, love can always prevail. She has a particular soft spot for the bad boys of history, and loves a strong heroine in her stories.
The lake is Ellie’s happy place, and when she’s not writing, she is spending time with her son, her Husky/Border Collie cross, and her own dashing duke. She loves reading — of course — as well as running, biking, and summers at the lake.
She also loves corresponding with readers, so be sure to contact her!
www.prairielilypress.com/ellie-st-clair
[email protected]
Promise of Redemption Page 20