Chapter 24
Perfection. After over a month—years, really—of experimentation, he’d done it, and the swell of pride ballooned larger when he imagined Meg wearing his creation.
The fabric, dried and pressed, draped across the sofa in yards of stamped cotton, shiny and flawless: floral crimson, indigo, gold, and jade.
Ideal for Margaret Cooper. Ideal for anyone. Good enough to sell.
The urge to run into the workshop, beg she allow him to make her a gown, and confess his feelings roiled in his chest. He stayed the desire.
No such overtures could progress until her apprenticeship ended, though he might explode for the wanting.
Never in his life had he imagined a woman who suited him so exactly would walk through his front door, less a female apprentice.
Yet, she had. Margaret Cooper, talented in her craft, resilient in her pursuit, and tender of feeling, made him want to stand near and simply watch her.
Her valentine letters allowed him to understand her as few had, and he wanted to share her hopes and soften her anxieties.
A sharp knock broke his reverie. Someone tried the latch.
“One moment.” Peter hurried to fold the cloth, secured it inside crimson linen, and set it beside the letter he’d written Margaret. It was a declaration to be delivered with the completed dress he had planned in two months’ time.
He opened the door, feeling his mouth curve into a grin when he found Margaret standing before him. She returned his look with a taut nod, hitched shoulders, and glossy eyes. She stepped past him, her usual air of efficiency drawn brittle.
His heart thudded into his stomach, a slick dread dissolving his delight in seeing her.
“What happened?” he asked.
“The ladies—Miss Reed and Miss Matilde—they are working for me.”
His heart returned to its natural position, relief spreading like dye through wet fabric. “Yes, of course they are. You are opening a shop this fall.” This was not the disaster her countenance conveyed.
“I solicited work, invited women to my home to embellish their gowns, sometimes adjust an old garment. I hired the ladies to help me manage the work.”
A hint of frost crawled across his chest. Was she implying her shop was, in some form, already operating?
He’d suspected for some time that Margaret was up to something secretive, but he had grown so enchanted with her that he hadn’t wanted to believe it.
Part of him had been afraid, he realized, what he might lose if Margaret proved to be of another character than he thought, and now that fear encased him in ice.
He could sense their intertwined lives beginning to unravel, not because he might legally be obligated to end her apprenticeship, but because the Margaret he loved seemed to be transforming into another person before his eyes. He must stop this.
In desperation, he glanced at the fabric he had wrapped.
He meant to present it to her as a finished gown, but never mind that now.
Faced with the possibility of losing her, he determined to lay out all his heart so she would remain unchanged, would stay his Meg.
He was ready to give her his final gift and reveal himself as her valentine.
“We can discuss that in a moment. I have something for you.”
She waved him off and withdrew a pair of letters, clutching them to her chest. “Even before I began my apprenticeship, I took orders for simple linens. I have cheated you.” The corners of her mouth quivered.
At the sight of her emotion, tenderness flooded his chest, so strong it almost shook his balance.
Who cared what she had done when they were meant for each other?
He stepped forward, ready to pull her into his arms. She extended the letters, a wall between them.
He scaled the barrier by taking the letters to appease her, then stepped toward her again.
“Margaret, whatever this is, I have something to say.” He would tell her how he had grown to respect and love her.
She had returned his kiss, written to him such tender confidences. “I am—”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head with one sharp, decisive motion. “These letters are from the guild, one for each of us. I stole your letter some months ago and hid it from you so I could continue my apprenticeship.”
Her words didn’t make sense, only she must heed him. “Margaret, I am your valentine.” He stepped toward her, waiting for her expression to change, for her eyes to soften. But she stepped back, her fingers clenching white across her middle.
“I broke our contract. I used my time in your shop to steal your female customers, showing them my stores of fabric and promising to create the most beautiful gowns with them. I convinced Giles to work with me, and he agreed. As you are aware, I’ve kept your books and can assure you that your business is decreasing.
While I did not intend that outcome, I admit the idea of taking all your customers occurred to me and was not distasteful. ” She pursed her lips and swallowed.
Her sails unfurled, she steered toward deeper waters. A panicked flutter pushed against his ribs. If she understood who he was to her, all would come to rights. “I have seen the ledgers and my declining business. It is my own fault, my own distraction that made the difference.”
“Yes, but I have made it worse with my illicit business. Examine them again to see the truth of what I’m telling you.
I apologize for all the harm I’ve caused you, but I cannot repent my behavior, as it seemed my one path to success.
Our indenture is void, and I will not pretend I have not deceived you any longer.
” She spun on her heel and marched toward the door.
“Wait.” He craved a response to the one thing that was most important. “I am your valentine.” He ran to the bundle of chintz he had prepared, stuffed his confession into its folds, and went after her.
The door slammed. He flung it open. “Margaret. Meg.” She turned, and he bound toward her. “Take this.” She hugged it to her chest, pausing to look at him. He stepped toward her, but she turned away, ran across the street, and disappeared into her house.
In a strange lightness, Peter returned home and collapsed onto the sofa. She had left without acknowledging the other side to their relationship—rejected him. The reality of her confession began to settle upon him. A betrayal. Sloan Tailoring dwindled because of her.
He was under no illusion of how poorly he had managed his shop over the years.
The decrease in business, while partially due to Margaret, had been happening since his father’s illness.
He did not believe Sloan Tailoring would cease to exist because of Margaret’s dress shop.
He turned over the letter addressed to him and found the seal broken.
It was dated in April, but now July had nearly concluded.
Dear Mr. Sloan,
You will no doubt be pleased to learn that we have received information which allows the termination of Miss Cooper’s indenture.
Your female apprentice is no gentlewoman, having broken the contract on multiple fronts.
She profits from her apprenticeship, wooing away your customers.
The apprenticeship is hereby terminated.
We advise you to dispatch her from your premises immediately.
Should you wish to bring a complaint before the magistrate…
Understanding withered the hope that sweet and wholesome feelings were growing between himself and Margaret.
He crumpled the letter, his breath pushing against something thick and bitter.
He loved her and she had deceived him. A fierce ache burned in his chest. Grief and anger naked, fierce, and unyielding, twisting behind his eyes and pulling at the depths of his middle.
He bent over, feeling that if he straightened, something would break.
She’d made a fool of his generosity. With what joy and pride had he watched her skill grow, ignorant that she was working entirely against him.
He’d known she’d leave him at some point and start her dress shop but had not guessed she orchestrated with such deliberation against his interests.
Had she kept the letter until all stood ready, until she could position herself as a dressmaker and, with Giles, steal the business of tailoring as well?
But she cared for him. He knew this, felt it as surely as he understood the combination of elements that created perfect red. Her kiss had not been a lie. Or had it been part of the ruse? He could not bear to think so ill of her.
If she’d been honest sooner, he would have done everything to ensure her success.
For months now, he’d felt her triumphs as keenly as his own.
When her shop opened, he would have sent every woman in search of a gown to her though it put a hole in his pocket.
In truth, she had poached from him, not confided in him.
Well, she had confided in him, in letter after letter. Had she known he was her valentine? Her letters implied she cared for him. Were her words part of the deceit? Her actions all seemed laced with duplicity.
He must speak with someone, for he could not see clearly. Who was Miss Cooper, the traitor? And who was Margaret, the woman he loved?
“You knew?” Peter ran his hand through his hair, then rested his elbows on his knees. He’d gone to the Ivy home wishing to discuss the problem but found no comfort in Lucius’s tale.
“Charlotte discovered the truth of it and informed the guild. I didn’t like it, but she made me promise not to tell you. She insisted that once the guild let both of you know the truth, you could deal with the matter as you saw best.”
Peter sighed. “If she’d told me, I could have discussed it with Miss Cooper before everything fell apart.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Charlotte. But I believe Miss Cooper is to blame for worsening matters.”