“She’s pushing me away with a very firm hand and even encouraged my affection for Miss Moore.”
Michael grimaced. “The dancing woman?” He rubbed his chin. “Oh she must really love you.”
David stood and raised both palms into the air. “Then, for heaven’s sake, why is she running away from me?”
Michael stood and placed a palm on David’s shoulder. “For such an intelligent man, you don’t know a great deal about women, do you?”
David rolled his eyes with his grin. “I’m afraid I’m quite at a loss most of the time, but I’m a fast learner.”
“It’s a long and somewhat painful process of discovery once you start the study, and most of the time, you’ll probably still get it wrong.”
“You’re quite the encourager.”
“I’ve been accused of that before.” Michael shrugged off a smile, his face sobering. “David, I’ve known Catherine a long time, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her as terrified and confused as she is around you, which speaks volumes for her care.”
“Why would she be terrified? I’ve done nothing to frighten her as far as I know.”
Michael shook his head as if David was a hopeless cause. In regards to the complexity of women, perhaps he was. “You know her better than you think. If she purposes in her heart toward something, what is she going to do?”
“Fight for it with a veracity that’s almost maddening.”
“Exactly, and sometimes, like with the poor chauffer in town, she doesn’t think out the consequences of her well-intended plans, but she will make up for her weaknesses with fortitude. I think, in this, she’s fighting for you. Your reputation, your future happiness.”
“I’ve already weighed the consequences, and I don’t care.”
“That’s not the point. She’s not going to put you in jeopardy. She cares about you too much, and the importance of social acceptance has been a constant diet in her life. You may have weighed the consequences, but so has she, and she’s not willing to risk your future.”
“Why should she care if I don’t?”
“Probably because she doesn’t believe anyone would sacrifice that for her and then live without regrets.” Michael stepped over to his bag. “You’re not the only one jumping social hurdles here. Do you realize what she’s going through? Her whole life, she’s been taught to behave a certain way. You’ve met her mother—can you imagine what sort of nonsense she heard and what was supported?”
David groaned.
“She’s also been told who to shun and why. Drilled into her. Not from her Grandmama, God rest her soul, but from her father and mother. Believe me, I heard and saw plenty when I lived near them in North Carolina. She was always trying to measure up to, not only to her mother’s expectations, but her father’s too.”
Quiet followed, Catherine’s arguments mounting higher.
“What about the baby?” Michael’s voice entered the silence, brow raised in challenge.
What about the baby? David had asked himself the question many times in the dark of night as he prayed over his decision, his choice. With each prayer, each consideration, the answer cleared.
The little one had invaded his heart with as much certainty as Catherine herself, etching out a tender place in him he couldn’t define.
Michael continued. “The baby’s father doesn’t want him, so he’s going to be as much an outcast as Catherine. Are you ready for that?”
“No, in all honesty I’m probably not ready to be a father.” David shrugged, the daunting task tightening his throat. He drew in a deep breath of purpose. “But I’m willing. I’m willing to give my heart to that child as I do to his mother.” He chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I’ve developed a particular fondness for outcasts.
“Doctor, I think you’ve found your perfect match.”
“Then how do I convince Catherine of my sincerity?”
Michael threw his bag over his shoulder. “She’s as stubborn as you, probably more so. If she’s harboring that much insecurity, she’s going to need more than your words.”
Michael’s innuendo tugged at David’s smile. “You mean…”
Michael winked, his grin growing like a sly fox. “I reckon you’re going to have to show her how serious you really are.”
“Perfect.” David marched toward the door, determination in his steps. “There’s only one thing I have to do first.”
“What on earth could be better than finding the woman you love?”
“Ensuring that all ties to someone who might hurt her are broken.” David’s grin unfurled. “And then I plan to find Catherine Dougall and celebrate.”
Chapter Eighteen
Catherine stepped through the door of Madame’s shop, an unwavering smile on her face all the way from London. After the letters, and the waiting, and all the sacrifices to use menial supplies to serve the patients, they were finally going to have a steady flow of support to supplement Grandmama’s allowance. She breathed in the scent of perfume and new cloth, the bell over the door jingling as it closed behind her.
“Ah, ma chère. You have returned?” Madame, resplendent in a bright display of pale purple and green, tapped her nails against the counter as she rounded it. “I sold your first two dresses as soon as they decorated my window. Poof.” She snapped her fingers. “They were gone. And more people come every day to see your creations. Busy…busy.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
“Help?” Madame repeated, with a dismissal of her hands. “Why would I need your help? I only need your designs. Annie runs the sewing room like a work house, and Marianne is an excellent shopkeeper.”
Catherine nearly dropped her satchel. “You put Marianne out front? But Madame, what about her name? Her father was the biggest brothel owner in this part of England.”
“What’s in a name?” She wiggled her fingers in the air as if the argument fluttered away. “We changed it. Now, she is Miss Marianne Harrington, my niece.”
There was no point in arguing with the woman, and as Catherine thought about it, Marianne had been only twelve when her father left her in his aunt’s care. Perhaps those who knew her then would not recognize her now.
“And your new designs?”
Catherine reached into her satchel and produced her portfolio with some more sketches. “I have three.”
Madame’s hands came together. “Ooh la la, you are magnifique. Does your mind ever tire of ideas?”
“I can’t seem to quiet them.” Catherine handed the sketches over and Madame took them, cooing as she slid from one paper to the next.
“You know, we have already sold eight of the new designs since you left for London and have orders for five more. News of the ball will only add more requests, and soon, the entire town of Ednesbury will be wearing Dougall Designs.”
Catherine rolled her eyes heavenward. “Dougall Designs? Is that what you’ve named them?”
“Do you have something more eloquent?”
“I never imagined using one, but perhaps…well…” She cleared her throat, a bit overwhelmed by the actuality of it. Maybe there was something to be said for fairytales. “We could use my middle name? Maybe something like C. Everill Designs?”
Madame stared at her for a moment, tapping her stained nails onto her chin. “Oui, I like it, but I prefer Catherine Everill, if you must, or simply Everill Designs?”
Catherine drew in a deep breath. Hearing her name spoken in connection to her designs almost buckled her to the floor. “Very well, Everill Designs it is.”
Madame turned to the window display. “Fantastique. Now, I must prepare the shop for the next day and then make arrangements for my sisters’ arrival.”
“Your sisters are coming?”
Madame slid a beautiful oriental scarf around one of the blouses on display. “Oui, they hope to be moved before the festivities.” Madame sighed. “They are such lovers of a good ball.”
“They’re moving here?”
&nb
sp; “Oui. Younger, and what would you say, same face sisters?”
“Twins?”
“Ah, yes, twins. And when one decides, the other is quick to agree on a new adventure.” Madame shook her head and adjusted one of the gowns on display in the window. “When my kind-hearted brother-in-law, Dr. Burr, heard of our war hospital, he decided London did not need his services as desperately as Ednesbury.”
“Your brother-in-law?”
“Oui.” She bustled over to a row of blouses on her way to the counter in the shop. “Dr. Randolph Burr, a surgeon, I believe. You can tell the good Dr. Ross to be prepared for a man with as big a heart as his stomach. And he has quite a sizeable stomach.” Madame chuckled and then waved Catherine toward the back of the shop. “Go, see what my wonderful seamstresses are doing. They create, and all I have to do is smile, decorate, and convince women to open their purses.”
Catherine stepped into the back and stood to take in the changes. Four sewing machines, two brand new, stood before her, Janie at one and two new girls employed two of the others. Cloth, ribbons, lace, scissors, and a whole host of other gorgeous remnants fell in various disarray across the sewing tables, with a few on the floor. Two partially completed gowns hung on display. Catherine’s palm pressed into her chest. They looked even more beautiful than her sketches. Perfect.
“They’re good.” Janie’s voice broke into Catherine’s daydream.
“I’m pleased at your approval.”
Janie’s smile quirked almost imperceptibly. “Just speaking the truth.”
Michael emerged from the back, hammer in hand and covered in sawdust from cap to boots. “Well, well, look who’s back from the big city.”
“Michael? What are you doing here?”
“You mean besides becoming acquainted with this passel of lovely ladies.” He bestowed a lingering glance on a few of them. “I’m also helping Madame expand some rooms to accommodate the newest seamstresses.”
“How did you know about—?”
“Don’t worry, Kat, your secret’s safe with me.” He topped his declaration off with a wink.
She released her clamped air into a sigh. “How safe might be another matter.”
“Oh, you know you can trust me. We’re both much improved from who we used to be.” He peered past her to the shop door. “Which reminds me, have you seen Dr. Ross since your arrival?”
She narrowed her eyes, studying his less-than-innocent expression. “No, is he well?”
“For the most part.” Michael shrugged. “I was only curious if he’d had a chance to speak with you yet.”
“Michael, have you done something?”
“Not much, if you ask me.” Annie answered, entering the room and sending him a sizeable glare. “He keeps flirtin’ with the ladies and taking his grand old time on any repairs. He’s completely useless.”
Michael shrugged off her insults without a hitch. “You say that now, but you’ve been happy as a clam with what I’ve done so far.”
She placed her palms on her hips. “Just imagine how ecstatic I’d be if you worked more than you talked.”
“You can’t complain about the cost or the work.” He leaned close, eyes narrowed. “And you have to admit, I make a fine distraction in the middle of all this cloth and lace.”
Annie’s mouth dropped wide for a moment, speechless, which caught Catherine’s complete attention. Annie? Speechless?
Then the ginger-headed snippet narrowed her own eyes and matched his posture. “Oh, you American men think you’re so irresistible.” She imitated a man’s pose and tossed her head. “Those poor women need a strong man like me to rescue them out of their heartache.”
Catherine laughed as she imitated a southern American accent perfectly.
“Let me sweep in and watch ’em swoon for the loss of me.”
Despite himself, Michael grinned. “It’s uncanny how well you change your accent. Can you do any more?”
Annie turned to Catherine and winked, immediately tossing her hand in the air and walking forward with such flare there was no mistake who she mimicked. “Mes petite, white does nothing for anyone unless she is a bride. Bring me red. Bring me violet, but do not bring me colorless fashions.”
Catherine laughed. “It’s absolutely brilliant.”
“And imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, my little parrot.” Madame sashayed through the door. “She should only aim for the best.” Madame’s peaked brow and sly smile gave away her good humor. “And she has an ear for languages. She has been learning French with the speed of a child.” Madame waved a hand at the sewing tables. “But where are my new gowns?”
“You’ve added two more seamstresses?” Catherine scanned the room. “No wonder you sought Michael’s assistance to convert part of the storage rooms into bedrooms.”
“Your designs are selling with the same flair in which they were created.”
Annie walked closer. “And the women needed jobs. Two of them got the sack from the Cavanaughs.”
“It seems Ednesbury Court is not immune to the effects of war,” Madame added, nodding toward a young woman with gold braids pinned atop her head. “Eight have been released from service in the past week.”
Catherine knew more servants were leaving service voluntarily due to the freedom in other jobs, particularly in factories or as typists, but sacking eight in one week? That seemed extreme, even for Lady Cavanaugh.
“We will not be able to house them long in these cramped conditions. Especially as your designs spread in popularity. One woman arrived from Manchester yesterday who was so enamored with your work, she promised to send new buyers. We will need more space.”
Catherine looked to Madame. “I’m not certain what options we have for expanding until we locate more funds.”
“Well, we will make do for now and pray for blessing.” Madame’s manicured brow rose. “And beaucoup de patience.”
Catherine slipped in through the servants’ door and up the back steps, careful to keep as far from the hospital as possible, but Michael’s impish question niggled an aggravating curiosity. She’d convinced herself to go directly to her room and change upon arrival, but her Pietro Yantorny shoes turned her in the opposite direction. Clearly, the Italian designer set Cupid’s bow on the tips rather than the cloth buckle. She should have worn her practical English black leather lace-ups.
Her plum traveling suit caught the attention of almost every soldier she passed, and she tried to ignore the small thrill of pleasure. Their small gaze of admiration certainly did wonders for her confidence.
As she drew close to David’s office, the sound of music slowed her steps. Music? Suddenly, from behind, Jessica took her arm and pulled her to the office door.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually glad you’re here,” she whispered and gestured toward the room with her head. “You have to fix this.”
Jessica? Glad to see her? Something must be very wrong. “What is it?”
“Look.”
Catherine peeked around the frame of the door and almost lost control of her laugh. In the center of the room, Adelaide Moore danced with David…or at least, Catherine thought the aim was dancing.
“I’m no expert on dancing, but that doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before.” Jessica grimaced. “He’s as stiff as a nutcracker. In fact, so is she.”
“They do appear rather clockwork, don’t they?” Catherine lowered her laugh into her hand. “Your poor brother.”
“It’s fine for you to laugh now, when no one can see him, but I will not have him be made the fool.” Jessica’s harsh whisper grew in volume. “Go in there and show him the proper way.”
“What?” Heat drained from Catherine’s face at the thought of David’s arms around her. “No.”
“You would rather him dance in front of the whole town like this?”
Catherine cringed.
“Exactly.”
“You should be the last person asking me.” Cath
erine took another look at the pair. Dancing might have been Miss Moore’s goal, but it certainly wasn’t the result.
“Then it’s pretty obvious how desperate I am.” Jessica’s eyes took on a fire. “Go, help him.”
Catherine clutched Jessica’s arm and pulled her along. “On one condition. You must stay in the room at all times.”
“Why? Are you afraid you’ll do something irresponsible?”
“Not me, but I have the uncanny ability to inspire your brother toward ridiculous notions.” Catherine gave Jessica’s arm another squeeze for emphasis, hoping her steady gaze proved her point. “And both of us want him far from the ridiculous, right?”
To Catherine’s surprise, Jessica’s lips twitched into a smile. “You attempt the impossible. I just don’t want him looking like…that.”
Catherine shot Jessica an annoyed glance and stepped into the room. “Miss Moore, I am so glad I found you.”
Adelaide blinked her large eyes. “Found me?”
Catherine tried to avoid looking at David. Those eyes. His smile. “I’m afraid Nurse Ross has been beyond help with her nerves regarding this ball.”
Adelaide looked to Jessica. Jessica stared at Catherine and Catherine nodded. “Oh yes, only one week left before her very first ball, and she has no idea how to dance. Can you imagine the catastrophe?”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed into green daggers before she turned to Adelaide. “Yes, I…um…really don’t think anyone has the experience to teach someone as uncultured as myself.” Catherine stilled her smile as Jessica transformed her expression into a pleading look. “I’m afraid I’m a hopeless cause.”
Adelaide reached forward and gave a stiff pat to Jessica’s shoulder, as if Jessica might be unfit to touch in her nurse’s uniform. “No one is a lost cause. I was quite inept at dancing, but look at me now. It’s as natural to me as breathing.”
Catherine dared not look in Jessica’s direction for fear of bursting into laughter.
“What a relief, Miss Moore. Do you think you could spare a few moments for me and allow Nurse Dougall to take over with Dr. Ross?”
The Thorn Keeper Page 19