Chapter 14 #2
Emmeline did not relax. Instead, she watched Stephen prowl around, eyeing the shelves and running his fingers over the ribbons. Amelia had always thought their shop was fairly large, but with Stephen here, his head too close to the ceiling, it suddenly looked remarkably small.
“If I were you, I’d watch my tongue in the future, Mrs. Potts,” he warned, not even bothering to glance at her now. “I’m sure an apology is in order.”
No, Amelia wanted to scream.
“It is not necessary,” she piped up. “I am to blame here for not telling Emmeline of my situation.”
Emmeline shot her a quick, grateful look, clearly glad that her pride was spared.
I hope my job is spared, too, Amelia thought grimly.
Stephen shot her a long look that she could not interpret.
“As you like,” he said carelessly. “Amelia, do you see anything here you like? Fabrics, patterns, accessories, and so on? I really have no clue what ladies wear. If you don’t see what you need, we can always go to the modiste across the road. Madame Blanc, I believe.”
Emmeline reddened. Madame Blanc was a bitter rival.
“I know the fabrics and patterns that we have here,” Amelia answered, as firmly as she could. “We can get everything we need.”
He grunted, seeming to lose interest.
Letitia scuttled across the shop to where bolts of fabric were kept. She ignored the cheap, serviceable muslins that Amelia preferred for herself and went straight to the satins and silks and imported materials.
Emmeline shuffled closer, putting a hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “I should not have snapped at you like that,” she mumbled. “But I did believe that something terrible had happened to you. And I… well, we cannot manage without you, as it turns out.”
“Then hire somebody else,” Stephen spoke up, making her jump. “Because Amelia is no longer working here.”
Amelia gave a squawk of panic, clutching Emmeline’s wrist. “No! That is not quite true! But I… I won’t be here for a few months.
Two months, perhaps three. I know… I know this is not convenient, but there it is.
And once the time is up, I want to come back, Emmeline.
I really do. I like this job—I am used to it. ”
Emmeline stared at her. Amelia could imagine her thinking furiously, trying to work out what connection to a duke’s family could take Amelia away so suddenly and mysteriously.
As she’d expected, Emmeline’s eyes dropped to her waist. She was looking for the swell of a baby in her belly, along with signs that the dress had been let out recently.
There was, of course, nothing that could imply that a baby was due in two or three months.
Emmeline relaxed a little, but confusion lingered in her eyes.
“Very well,” she said at last. “I’ll hire another girl. When you come back, we’ll decide whether the girl stays. Perhaps I will need extra hands, after all.”
Amelia let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Emmeline.”
Emmeline offered a nervous smile, still eyeing her as if she were not sure about her. Perhaps now she saw her seamstress in a slightly different light. Only time would tell if they could go back to normal.
Perhaps I don’t want things to go back to normal.
“Oh, Amelia, come and look at this!” Letitia cried.
Amelia hurried across the floor. Letitia had half-pulled out a roll of deep emerald fabric. The material had an iridescent sheen to it, so that when the light hit it just right, glints of brown, blue, and even gold could be seen.
“Everybody remarks on this one,” Amelia sighed. “They are always so disappointed to learn how much it costs.”
Letitia smiled thoughtfully at her. “I want to buy this for you. I’ll have it made into a dress. It would go beautifully with your hair.”
Amelia reddened. “You’re too kind, but I must decline. It’s too expensive.”
“Nonsense. My companion must look the part.”
Emmeline drifted nearer, clearly sensing that a sale was about to take place. “You would suit it, Amelia,” she ventured. “Many young women don’t suit dark colors, but Her Grace is right. This would look perfect on you, with your skin, your hair…”
“But it costs too much,” Amelia insisted.
Letitia’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Do you hear that, Stephen? Amelia thinks you cannot afford it.”
“I did not say—” Amelia began, but Stephen interrupted coolly, not bothering to turn from where he stood in front of the window, staring out at the street.
“Miss Holt, I suggest you bow to my grandmother’s taste. If she thinks a fabric will look good on you, then it will.”
“It is ten shillings a yard!”
Stephen turned around to face them, meeting her gaze. She waited for shock, perhaps embarrassment, that he’d so easily assured her he was willing to spend all that money on a gown, of all things. Instead, he gave a slow, almost amused smile.
“You ought to listen more carefully to me, Amelia,” he murmured. “Did I not say that you can have whatever you like?” His gaze dropped to the fabric. “A pretty color. I suggest you buy enough for a gown and a matching pelisse.”
“I—” she stammered, only for him to interrupt her once more.
“As I said, Miss Holt,” he drawled, meeting her eyes. “You can have whatever you want.”