“How exciting.” Mary gestured toward the rear of the shop. “Shall we step into the workroom for a moment?”
Margaret appreciated her effort to be secretive. She followed Mary into the back where they could be private then handed her the two designs. She had already made notes on each of them as to the features of the gowns as well as the fabric that had been purchased from the linen-drapers and would be sent over soon.
The shop already had Charlotte’s exact measurements along with a muslin smock that would serve as a pattern.
Once they discussed the details, they returned to the front of the shop, and Margaret glanced around. “Business seems to be very good.”
“It is indeed. However, we always have time for your orders,” Mary reassured her.
Margaret couldn't help but note the dull grey fabric of Mary's gown. While it was common for seamstresses to wear plain clothes, Margaret was surprised Mary never wore more attractive attire. It was as if she went out of her way not to draw attention to herself.
Though Margaret wanted to ask how Mary fared beyond her work, she held back. The woman was always friendly, but there was a distance to her manner as if she preferred to keep others at arm’s length. Margaret had hoped it would fade after she had been away from the brothel for a time, but that didn't seem to be the case.
Margaret wanted to remind her that there was more to life than working. But who was Margaret to offer advice when she spent most days caring for her parents? The rest of her time was spent drawing her fashion plates as well as designing the occasional gown for her sisters. Her life wasn’t particularly robust either.
“Allow me to see if Madame Beaufort is available to speak with you before you leave,” Mary said. In short order, she returned with the modiste who greeted her warmly. They briefly discussed the gowns, and she advised they would have them ready within a week.
Anxious to return home to check on her mother, Margaret didn’t linger overlong and soon bid them goodbye. Lady Gold was much improved though she tired easily, and Margaret wanted to make certain she didn’t overdo.
“Where is Lady Gold?” she asked Barclay as she set her reticule on the entrance table and removed her gloves and bonnet.
“In the drawing room with your father, miss.”
“Thank you.” She climbed the stairs and paused in the drawing room doorway, her heart warming at the sight of her parents sitting on the settee together. Her father read the news sheet while her mother embroidered a gown for one of her granddaughters.
“Will you look at this?” Sir Reginald said as he tapped the article he was reading. “They’re predicting that Anticipation will win at Ascot again this year.”
“Didn’t that horse win previously?” Lady Gold paused in her stitches to glance at the sheet.
“He won the cup last year. Perhaps he can do it again.”
“Hmm.” Her mother’s attention returned to the embroidery piece.
The scene was normal and ordinary for most married couples, but not her parents. Margaret drew it in even as she blinked back tears. For just a moment, she could pretend all was right with the world. That her parents shared moments such as this each day. That they didn’t need her, and she was free to live her own life, to marry and have children of her own. The ache of longing stole her breath, and she quickly swiped at a tear before it fell.
“Hello, my dear,” her mother greeted her with a warm smile followed by a look of concern.
“Margaret, shouldn’t you be with the governess?” her father asked with a frown. “You’re missing your lessons.”
A resigned look crossed her mother’s face.
“I only wanted to see if you were both at home.” The hasty excuse was the best she could come up with as she didn’t want to correct him. She should be pleased he remembered what horse had won at Ascot last year. It shouldn’t matter that he could recall that but not her age. At least he’d remembered her.
She forced a smile then left to go to the small sitting room to work on her drawings, hoping she hadn’t ruined the quiet interlude for her parents. At times, it seemed her presence upset her father as often as it soothed him. Surely, she was more help than a hindrance to her mother, wasn’t she? But the concern didn’t fade as she began work on her drawings.
Chapter Sixteen
Edward checked his cravat in the mirror after dressing for the day, turning from side to side as he contemplated the simple mail coach knot he always used. Should he try something more sophisticated? Then he shook his head as he realized the reason he questioned it was because of Margaret. She had him thinking about fashion more than he ever had before.
He’d never considered himself particularly conscious of such things until he'd noted how clever she was when it came to clothing. She must have an opinion on men’s fashion as well, which made him curious what she thought of his attire.
Then again, she had an opinion on almost every topic. She and Lady Dorothy were unalike in that respect. With a sigh, he quickly brushed away the thought as it only made him miss Margaret more.
He gave a last look at the white linen neckcloth and decided it would have to do. Before he could select a pin to secure it, an odd thump came from another part of the house. He paused to listen and when he heard it again, left his bedchamber to investigate.
He followed the source to his mother’s suite where the door stood open, and voices could be heard from inside. He knocked on the doorframe then walked in to find two maids and his mother standing amid disarray.
“Good morning, Edward,” his mother greeted him with a broad smile, looking quite pleased despite the chaos.
Gowns and other feminine items were stacked on her four-poster bed. Hatboxes and shoes were grouped on the floor. An empty spot where her desk and chair had been along the wall caught his notice.
“Whatever are you doing?” he asked then stepped out of the way as two footmen arrived. The servants paused to bow, then hauled away his mother's dressing table.
“I am changing bedchambers,” she announced, her smile still in place.
He stared at her in confusion when she said nothing more. “Why?”
“This one is for the lady of the house. It only makes sense for me to move into another.”
“I don’t understand.” Well, he did. But this felt like a step taken too soon.
“I would assume at some point in the near future, you will marry. Therefore, you should consider moving into your father's bedchamber and your wife will have this one.”
His stomach dipped alarmingly at her words, and he tugged at the cravat he’d just tied as panic struck. “There is no hurry for you to change rooms.”
In fact, he didn't care for this drastic shift at all. While he’d been searching for a possible bride for a few weeks, he hadn’t imagined her moving in here—with him in the adjoining suite. Doing so made the idea of marrying all too real. Suddenly he couldn’t catch his breath.
His mother walked close to stand before him and pat his cheek gently. “You have been a dear, Edward. So patient with me. I haven’t thanked you properly for that. Please know you have my gratitude. However, the time has come for a few changes. Charlotte will be leaving in two weeks’ time, so it makes sense for me to change bedchambers now.”
“Need I mention that I have yet to offer for anyone?” He felt it important to make that point clear.
His mother glanced at the maids. “Leave us for a few minutes.” She watched as they hurried out the door then turned back to Edward. “Now that you've inherited, it’s only natural that you marry.”
“Yes,” Edward admitted. “But I'm not on the verge of proposing, let alone saying my vows.” Not when he hadn’t decided to whom he would propose. He clenched his fist at his side to keep from pulling at his cravat once again. Surely he’d tied it too tight, which was the reason he couldn’t seem to breathe.
His mother tilted her head as she considered him. “Forgive me for mentioning it, but I sensed a certain tension between yo
u and Margaret Gold when she visited the other day. I thought perhaps she had your attention.” A small smile played about her lips, suggesting the thought pleased her.
Edward did his best to mask his feelings at the mention of Margaret. He thought he'd managed to hide his feelings about her. The fact that his mother seemed to approve of the idea only added to his confusion. “Miss Gold is a fine lady,” he began only to grimace at his ridiculous choice of words.
“Fine?” his mother asked, still watching him carefully.
“I admire many of her qualities.” He tried desperately to think of how to describe his feelings without revealing the true extent of them. “She has been an excellent friend to Charlotte and our family. However, it would make more sense if I were to marry an heiress.”
“I realize our finances aren't what they should be, but are they so terrible that you must marry wealth?”
“Doing so would provide the quickest path to set things to right. In fact, one particular lady has caught my interest.” There. Mentioning that should shift her attention away from Margaret.
If he had expected his mother to be pleased, he was disappointed.
“Caught your interest?” she repeated with a frown. “I would much rather she caught your heart.”
Edward stepped away even as something within his chest did a slow roll. Had Margaret caught his heart? He walked to the window to stare out at the garden below to where his mother’s peonies were beginning to bloom, his emotions in turmoil.
In truth, his visit with Lady Dorothy had been colored by Charlotte’s remark. He worried whether he and the lady would suit, in part because she was too agreeable. She had concurred with everything he'd said from the weather to a favorite color. She seemed unwilling to offer an opinion until he did.
For some reason, that made Margaret's honesty, along with her dry wit, all the more appealing. He had never realized before how difficult it was to carry on a conversation with someone who was of the same mind on every topic. Even worse, he felt nothing when he was with Lady Dorothy.
Perhaps he needed to give himself more time to come to know her, especially given the fact that Margaret had suggested he consider her.
“I believe Father was right in this one aspect,” he said at last. “It is best for the future Lord Wynns if I marry a title and wealth.” How irritating that no matter how many times he told himself that same thing, he still couldn’t accept it. Not deep inside where it mattered. Yet what choice did he have? He turned away from the window to face her and managed a smile. “It is my duty after all, as well as a privilege.”
“Oh?” His mother raised a brow. “It sounds more like a sacrifice to me.”
“Nothing of the sort. I don't want the rest of our lives, nor those of my children, to be spent worrying over financial ruin when I can do this one thing to change that.”
His mother stepped close and took his hands in hers. “Do you wish to hear what I think?”
“Yes, I do.” In fact, he was thrilled she was willing to offer her opinion when she’d spent decades snuffing out her thoughts and feelings to avoid being disparaged by his father.
“I want you to be happy. Whatever that means for you. I spent too many years of my life being the opposite and know the price of it firsthand. If there is one lesson I could teach you, it is to find happiness and hold on tight to it with both hands.”
As he started to protest, she shook her head.
“I know money is important,” she continued. “You have many people depending on you, not just your family. While I truly do appreciate that, I also believe there is another way. There has to be. I don't know what it is, but I know you are clever and strong, and you take your responsibilities seriously. I think you can find other avenues to rebuild wealth. I’ll do all in my power to aid you. We will continue to find ways to cut corners. I have no desire to throw lavish parties or buy expensive things. But my one wish is to see you happy. Please consider it before you make any decision.”
She released his hands and pressed a kiss to his cheek, something she hadn't done since his youth. Her familiar rose scent drifted over him, bringing forth a few pleasant memories from his childhood when she’d done the same. He was touched by both the gesture and what she'd said.
“Thank you, Mother. I will consider your advice.”
“Good.” She gave a single nod. “Now then, after I finish in here,” she said as she glanced around, “I will begin on your father's suite. You should consider moving in there soon. You can make it your own much like you have the study.”
The idea of moving into his father's bedchamber was less than appealing. After all, he’d watched his father take his last breath there. He had yet to release the guilt he felt over the events of that day. It didn’t seem to matter that he didn’t see what he could’ve done differently. His father had been unreasonable, and someone had to try to make him see that. Charlotte’s future happiness had depended on it.
Part of Edward’s guilt had to do with how much more pleasant life was without him. While he would never dance on his father’s grave, he hadn’t spent much time mourning him either. He’d told himself the late earl had been the best father he knew how to be, but even that rang false.
Edward need only look at James’ father, the Earl of Redmond, to see how a father should act. His steadfast and unwavering support of James was enviable. Edward hoped he could learn from his father’s mistakes and be a better parent when the time came.
Nonetheless, he appreciated his mother’s efforts to make changes. He would move to his father’s bedchamber before he took a wife. Leaving it empty only gave power to his father’s presence in the house.
He would do well to remember his advice to Charlotte about embracing change and focusing on the positives it brought.
~*~
Margaret set down her fork as she watched her father enter the dining room for breakfast two days later, hoping he was having a good day.
Her mother had departed with Annabelle and Thomas for a week in Bath earlier that morning despite reservations about leaving. Margaret still had difficulty believing they had convinced her to go. Had her illness made her realize she needed to take more time for herself?
Sir Reginald’s brow furrowed as he stared at her mother’s empty place at the table.
“Good morning, Father,” Margaret said quickly with the hope of distracting him before concern at her absence took hold.
“Did you sleep well, Margaret?” he asked as he took his seat then nodded when Barclay poured him coffee.
“I did,” Margaret lied. “And you?” In truth, she’d barely slept a wink due to worry over how the next few days would go. Confidence in her ability to soothe him if he became confused or upset had lessened of late. There had been far too many occurrences when he hadn’t responded well to her. Her presence often caused him bewilderment. He seemed to think she should be doing something different or be somewhere else when he saw her.
“Quite well.” He paused as if to consider his answer, a blank look filling his eyes that sent Margaret’s heart hammering with concern.
Could he not remember for certain?
Luckily, Barclay set a plate of coddled eggs, sausage, and a slice of honey cake before him. The terrible blankness in his eyes faded, and he set his napkin on his lap.
Was that how this week would go? Would she have to hope for one distraction after another to get him through her mother’s absence?
“Where is your mother?” he asked as he cut a sausage.
Margaret shared a glance with Barclay whose encouraging look reassured her. Thank goodness she had his help if the situation went awry.
“She’s with Annabelle and Thomas.” She waited for his response, her own meal growing cold. Yet how could she eat until her nerves settled?
Her mother had suggested not to tell him how long she’d be gone. At the time, it had seemed the best option. But now Margaret realized that meant they’d be having this same conversation several times each
day. Still, there was no point in attempting to explain that her mother was in Bath for the better part of a week when chances were he wouldn’t remember.
“How nice.” He slathered jam onto his toast then took a generous bite.
When he said nothing more, the tension gripping Margaret eased. She resisted the urge to explain further and decided he would ask if he wanted details.
“It looks to be a beautiful morning,” she commented with a glance out the window. The conversation continued about mundane matters as they finished the meal.
“Shall we take a walk, Father?” Margaret asked. The morning ritual was one she enjoyed and thought he did as well.
“I believe I’d enjoy that.” He rose from the table and followed her outside.
The exercise and fresh air were good for both of them. He rarely became overly confused during their walks as long as they took the same route. She liked to think it was another example of routine serving him well.
The day passed slowly, and Margaret spent nearly all of it with her father. The sensation of walking on pins and needles slowly eased when nothing untoward occurred. Her father kept to his schedule and only asked about her mother two more times.
Still, Margaret was relieved when evening fell, and he was settled in bed for the night. She looked forward to having an hour or two to herself to work on the next set of fashion plates for the magazine.
With an idea in mind, she worked at the desk in her bedchamber and sketched out two ladies, each in different attire, as well as a gentleman. The work calmed her, and the outdoor scene soon took shape. One lady wore a moss-green pelisse a shade darker than her gown, a color that would flatter Charlotte.
The gentleman’s clothing was more of a challenge. Men’s fashion hadn’t changed significantly in some time. Though some men dressed in bright colors, most preferred more of an understated style, something Margaret appreciated. She drew a narrow fall on the trousers with simple buttons to fasten them then moved on to draw the suit coat.
A Rogue Meets His Match (The Rogue Chronicles Book 7) Page 16