"I have no intention of fighting him. But it's possible that he's wrong once in a while."
Sarah shook her head. "What's totally depressing is how frightfully often he's right. Take it from me, Miranda, life is simply too short to spend it tangling with Devonwood. Maybe you don't understand what it means to be a duke here in England, but everyone caters to him. I know it's ridiculous, but what can one do?" She shrugged her shoulders.
"If you all wouldn't let him get away with his high-handed ways—"
Sarah wasn't listening. She turned the handle she was holding and pushed open the door. "Here we are. Ta da!"
The long room was hard to recognize as a former nursery. Bright sunlight spilled through sparkling clean windows, and the high ceilings were dotted with small lights that provided excellent illumination. The walls were freshly painted in a clotted cream shade against which colorful bolts of fabric shone like jewels. At one side of the room, a small sitting area held a love seat and two comfortable chairs, all upholstered in a smooth cream silk.
An enormous drafting table stood in the center of the room, with a fat roll of drawing paper perched on one end. As they approached, Miranda could see the paper had been stretched across the table, and was covered in doodles, silhouettes, and fully drawn designs.
Against the inside wall, rows of shelves held every kind of sewing implement Miranda had ever seen. Drawers lining the back wall probably held more supplies.
Miranda felt a pang of envy, sharp and surprising. What a workroom.
She couldn't picture Devon, either as a small boy toiling alone in this room, nor as the benefactor who'd provided this workspace to Sarah.
One thing she didn't see was any sign of modern technology. "You don't use a computer?" The design workshops Miranda had attended had all been fully computerized.
Sarah tossed her head, her blond curls bright in a long shaft of sunlight slanting through the tall windows. "I've told you I don't have much training. I do this for my own amusement."
Miranda moved closer. Sarah clearly had a flair for drawing. Strong lines sketched in beautiful gowns, flirty sundresses, modern tops, and pants in a wide variety of styles.
"Have you made any of these clothes?" she asked.
Laughing, Sarah twirled around the room. "I made this dress. I have a passion for dresses."
"It's beautiful." The silk-printed slip dress flowed lightly around Sarah's slender body.
Sarah stopped twirling. "Mumsie likes designer labels," she said in an exaggerated stage whisper. "Don't let her know I told you I'm dressing in 'homemade clothes'." Her fingers drew quotes in the air.
"I'm not likely to be exchanging confidences with Charlotte."
"She makes me buy something with a big designer name for important events." Sarah stopped twirling. "Like the ball we're having here in two weeks. Even though I would much rather make my own dress."
"How exciting!" Miranda clapped her hands together. "A real ball in a real castle. Do you know how lucky you are?"
"Pooh!" Sarah made a moue of discontent. "You wouldn't say so if you had an older brother who controlled every breath you took."
"Surely you can have fun at a ball."
"Not with Devon glowering at any half-way decent man who tries to flirt with me."
"Yes, I can see where that might be a problem." She could also see Devon doing exactly what Sarah described. "Why is he so protective?"
"He says they're all fortune hunters."
"I suppose some of them might be." Why in the world was she defending Devon?
Sarah giggled. "Except I don't have a fortune."
Miranda looked around the room. From the expensive lighting to the silk furnishings, even the former nursery spoke calmly of old wealth and new maintenance. Perhaps Sarah wasn't aware that very few people enjoyed this kind of lifestyle.
"If Devon manages your finances, he's probably in a position to know what he's talking about."
"No way." Sarah shook her head to emphasize her point. "Every year on our birthdays, he tells us we shouldn't expect to inherit anything."
"Greedy, huh? As the oldest son, he gets it all?"
"You don't know the half of it. He tells us we must expect to earn our own livings."
"Terrible." Miranda smiled. "I can see he's forcing you all to do so, as well."
Sarah answered with a wry smile. "Well, of course Godfrey and Daisy are too young. And Jack, well, he can't find a job. He doesn't know what he's suited for."
Convenient. Especially if you were part of the nobility and not required, despite what Sarah said, to worry about where your daily bread was coming from.
"So Devon controls all the money in the family?"
Sarah's eyes widened. "Of course. Who else?"
"I thought maybe your mother."
"Oh, no. Devon has always ruled the family."
"Always? Even when your father was alive?"
"More or less." Sarah frowned. "I suppose Father could have bossed us around, but I don't think he wanted to bother. It was always, 'Go see Devon, ask Devon, Devon will take care of it.'" She scrunched up her nose in displeasure. "It's no wonder he's a tyrant."
"I imagine his temperament fit the role quite nicely."
"Yeah." Sarah sounded despondent. "He always gets his way."
"Unlike Jack, at least you know what you want to do." Miranda pointed to the roll of paper. "Tell me about your plan to become a designer."
"Plan?" Sarah blinked. "I want to make clothes. I'm not into business or anything like that."
Miranda felt a flicker of sympathy for Devon. She herself had drawn up detailed plans for the accessories business she intended to start.
"I see." She thought for a moment. "Have you ever actually designed and made anything besides that dress you're wearing?" Anyone could sew an item or two.
Sarah laughed. "Of course, silly. I have tons of designs and clothes. You want to see?"
"Sure." It was always fun to talk shop. Her first impression, that Sarah might be a dilettante, one of those society girls who needed to pretend she had a hobby, was alleviated somewhat after seeing the drawings and realizing that Sarah made her own clothes. Maybe she'd never need to turn her designs into a viable business, but she still had talent.
"I drew this last night after meeting you at dinner." Sarah pointed to a spot on the rolled out paper where she'd drawn a scarlet gown with a fitted top and a long, flowing skirt. "I already have the fabric, which was so beautiful I couldn't resist buying it, even though red is not my color. But of course I thought of you last night when I was designing this. I thought this would be perfect for you for the ball." She tapped the paper.
"Me? What ball?"
Sarah giggled. "I just told you, silly. The ball we're having in two weeks."
"I won't be here in two weeks. Your brother would see me dead first."
Sarah gave her a sideways smile. "My brother is developing quite a crush on you."
Miranda could scarcely speak over the sudden pounding of her heart. "Devon?"
"No, of course not! That old fogy." Sarah rolled her eyes and laughed. "If you could see the look on your face. I meant Jack, of course." She narrowed her eyes. "Why did you think I meant Devon?"
"Of course I didn't think that." Miranda could only pray she wasn't blushing. "I was talking about Devon wanting to see me dead. I think I'm fixated on him in a bad way."
"What is it you want with Devon, anyway?"
"Just business." Miranda waved her hand. She wasn't desperate enough to confide in Sarah.
"You don't want to try to do business with Devon," Sarah said in a warning tone. "No one gets the best of him."
"I don't want to 'get the best of him'." A lie. That's about all she could think of. But she couldn't continue talking about him without raising questions in Sarah's mind that she didn't want to raise. Sarah was artless and frivolous, but she wasn't stupid.
Miranda cast about for a different topic.
"What type of ball
are you having?"
"It's for charity, of course," Sarah said. "Devon wouldn't allow it otherwise."
"Sounds like the perfect opportunity to showcase your work," Miranda said. "Are you making a wonderful dress for the event?"
"I don't think Mumsie would allow that. Remember what I said about the designer labels." Sarah frowned. "That's why I thought about making you a dress. It would be so much fun! I thought maybe you wouldn't have brought a ball gown with you."
"No, I did not, because I won't be attending a ball." Miranda stared at the drawing of the red gown. It was beautiful and, while tasteful, quite sexy. Sarah had sketched in two diamond cutouts, one on top of the other, between the bust line and the waist. "Maybe you have a friend who could wear this dress?"
"No. I designed it for you. A special gown like this one can't just be transferred to another body type."
Miranda nodded. "Of course. Like the hats I design. You can't put the same hat on every head."
Sarah clapped her hands. "You're a designer? That's perfect! I knew you were a kindred spirit."
"I only make hats. It's a specialty accessory, but it's really a booming category thanks to the Duchess of Cambridge."
"Oooh!" Sarah squealed. "I adore hats! Oh, I've just had the most splendid idea."
Chapter 11
"Do show me your hats." Sarah pulled on Miranda's hand. "Don't say you don't have any with you. They must be in your room. Let's go."
"Slow down." Miranda laughed. "I only have a couple in my room. I wasn't planning a display."
"Can you make them here?" Sarah waved at the wall covered with supplies. "I must have everything you need. Can you make one for me? We're having a garden party this weekend. I have the perfect dress—but not a stitch of a hat, not a feather, nothing! Do say you'll make one for me."
"Sarah, you don't understand. As soon as Sharmie is well enough to travel, we must leave."
Sarah stopped abruptly. "Why? Where are you going that's so important?" Her tone suggested that nothing could be more important than a prolonged visit with her.
"It's not so much where we're going. But you must know the duke is not fond of company."
"Pooh! Who cares what he wants?"
"You just finished telling me he's a despot who forces you all to bend to his will."
"Well, of course, he is. I mean, everyone knows that." Sarah shrugged. "But you have to work around his bossy disposition. You can't just let him have his way all the time."
Miranda laughed. "Make up your mind. Either he's a bully who regulates your every breath, or he's a toothless tiger you manipulate as you wish."
"Never mind about him." Sarah clapped her hands together. "I have the most amazing idea. How many hats do you have with you?"
"Like I said, I only brought a couple for my personal use. I wasn't sure what we'd be doing in England once we finished meeting with your brother."
"How long will you be here? Oh, this is perfect! We can have so much fun together."
"I have only two weeks of vacation from my job. I know Sharmie wants to include a visit to her fiancé in that time."
"Sharmie can do whatever she likes." Sarah disposed of that problem with a little wave of her hand. "Now listen to me. I have a fabulous idea. Come over here." Sarah grabbed her hand again and dragged her over to the wardrobe. "Hats and garden parties. They go together like caviar and champagne."
She flung open the door to a large wardrobe in the corner of the room. "Ta da! Here are the dresses I've made."
Miranda's mouth fell open. A color coded line-up of dresses marched down the length of the closet. The dresses ranged from mini-skirts to floor-sweeping evening gowns. She hurried over to examine them. "These are beautiful, Sarah. The workmanship is exquisite. I thought you said you'd never been trained."
"I've worked for the past year with a local seamstress who used to work at a fashion house in London. There was a lot I needed to know about pattern-making and needlework and all that stuff." She frowned. "There's still a lot I need to learn."
"You have a passion for this work."
"That's exactly what I've been saying."
"So these dresses are just sitting there? Have you worn them all?" Miranda longed to sift through the dresses, to check out the hand detailing on the more elaborate models, to figure out what new ideas Sarah might have dreamed up.
"I've worn a few. Mostly I make them to experiment, and see how my designs work out."
Miranda understood that. She did exactly the same thing with her hats. Many of them would never see the outside of her workroom, but she learned something from every creation.
"Anyway." Sarah began sliding the hangers across the rod, evaluating each dress. "There must be something in here that would be a perfect garden party dress for you."
Miranda hated to spoil her fun. "But," she protested, "I don't have a garden party to attend."
"Of course you do. This Saturday. Mumsie is having her annual party to show off her new night garden."
"Night garden?"
"The flowers bloom at night. Mumsie's absolutely mad for gardening."
"If she's responsible for the gardens I visited today, she's very talented."
"She designs with plants. I design with clothing. It's all creative work, right? Of course, Mumsie doesn't get paid for it, so she thinks that puts her work in a different category than mine."
"There's nothing wrong with getting paid for hard work. Would your brother be more open to your being a designer if you did it without pay?"
"Devon? No. I told you, he wants us to support ourselves. The problem is he doesn't think I can support myself with what he calls a 'dressmaking' business." Sarah shoved two dresses along the rod. "He thinks I'm too flighty and he's always saying my life is not to be frittered away. But I like being frivolous. Why shouldn't I be happy?"
"Looks to me like you've worked very hard on something you're passionate about." Miranda resisted the urge to touch the beautiful fabrics slipping by. "How do you pay for all your materials?"
"My allowance," Sarah replied casually. "It's only five thousand pounds a month and it's always gone before I'm done shopping."
Miranda restrained a gasp. Five thousand pounds a month was sixty thousand pounds a year, which was somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred thousand dollars a year. Which was quite a sum of money for someone with no daily living expenses. A positive thought about Devonwood's generosity flickered through her mind but she forced it out. The money probably meant nothing to him.
She focused her attention on Sarah. "You've done a wonderful job," she said. "We need to figure out a way to prove to your brother that you can turn your dressmaking into a viable business."
"Before we do that, I want to find the perfect dress for you."
Sarah frowned at the rack of dresses, as she continued sorting through them. "I hope I don't have to whip up something for you. You need jewel tones to go with your black hair and ivory skin. I tend to wear more spring garden colors."
"Sarah, I—"
"Perfect." Sarah pulled out a silk column of a dress with a curved neckline leading to a strip that ran down the middle of the dress. Indentations at the top and bottom of the strip drew the eyes to the sexiest parts of a female body. The thin center panel was decorated with a vertical row of small gold buttons. Otherwise, the dress was simple, except for a slight flare at the bottom of the skirt.
"White washes me out," Sarah said, "but I loved the fabric so I had to have it." She held the dress up to herself and pirouetted around the room. "You see how things work out, just when you're feeling they never will." She came to a stop in front of Miranda. "Some strappy gold sandals, a fabulous hat, one for me and—"
"Wait." Things were moving too fast for Miranda. "What hats are you going on about?"
"The hats you're going to make." Sarah giggled. "Look at me, planning everything. Devon would ask if my body had been taken over by an alien."
"You mean hats to sell?"
&nbs
p; "You need money, don't you?" Sarah said simply. "That's the only reason anyone ever comes to see Devon."
"It is?" A pang twisted inside Miranda. That was sad. Was he nothing more than a money machine to his friends and family?
"Well, maybe that's not absolutely true. Women would swarm even if he didn't have money."
"They would?"
"Yes, because of the title."
Holy moly, that wasn't any better. "Does anyone like Devon for himself?"
Sarah peered at her. "What kind of a question is that? Who cares? He doesn't. He's perfectly happy, sitting there in his library, saying 'No' to everyone who enters."
Miranda sighed. "I'm sorry he doesn't support your desire to be a designer. I think you're really talented."
"Thanks!" Sarah pressed the white dress to her own willowy body. "So what do you think? You like?"
"I love the dress. But I don't know about the party." She wasn't sure if she had the nerve to simply linger at the castle without an invitation. "I really don't think Devon will allow us to stay through the weekend."
"Pooh! Don't worry about that. Can you make the hats?"
"I don't have my materials. I need fabric and trimmings and—"
Her brain whirled. She'd been working for an accessories company in New York for almost three years, and she'd planned to start her own business in New York. However, hats were to the British as bikinis were to a Brazilian. If she could attract the interest of some influential Brits, even from the nobility, maybe she could think about starting her business here?
Of course, she couldn't live in England. Even her own natural optimism couldn't go that far. But, if she had a business here, she could certainly travel here for extended amounts of time. And that meant, she'd have a perfect excuse to remain in the orbit of Sharmie and the twins.
She gazed unseeingly at Sarah, her mind buzzing.
"You know, Sarah, I don't see your mother being happy if I'm hawking hats at her garden party."
Sarah laughed. "That's the understatement of the year."
"So what are you thinking?"
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 119