Page 23 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

He knew the answer was yes. Miss Cooper picked up after the boys and tended the fires. In addition to their recent speed, he had noticed their seams were straighter and far less fabric went to waste. His mind stretched back to the words she had spoken in his kitchen. She had assumed credit for catching up with orders, setting the apprentices to collaborate, driving them faster than they’d ever worked. What else was she doing?

His mind grew quiet, uncomfortably still. He rummaged around but could find no argument to defend his behavior. The certainty he so easily carried toppled. Whatever the guild’s intentions, Miss Cooper’s excellence and tenacity deserved more than a corner for finishing work.

He felt his mouth draw into a rueful twist, astonished at all the ways he had misjudged her. The night before, illuminated by dim candlelight, he’d recognized compassion and humor in a woman he had determined to make little of. He’d understood he had taken her measure in one dimension. But that was only the beginning. She’d gained the trust of his other apprentices, guiding them more skillfully than he had. He’d deserved the trick she’d played with Mr. Lawrence. Blind to her contributions, he’d behaved as though she were a thorn in his side when he should have expressed gratitude for her willingness to keep the shop so well while he remained with his father.

She deserved a worthy concession.

7

Wearing the gown she intended to show off at the Saint Valentine’s festival, Meg cracked her bedroom curtain and noticed the window of Sloan Tailoring glowing back at her. She was not alone in forfeiting sleep. Despite exhaustion so deep she could sleep on a pile of rocks, she had stayed up sewing for customers and trying to solve the puzzle of the sacque gown.

She turned from the window. No matter how she applied every technique observed from Mr. Sloan, she had unpicked her efforts until the fabric edges frayed. Sleepless nights and tireless reworking would not teach her to make a proper sacque. She could not be seen in a gown, meant as a showpiece to garner future customers, that puckered and pinched in failure. The time for self-reliance had expired.

The betrayal she’d seen in Mr. Sloan’s eyes when he caught her going through his papers had not faded from her memory. Embarrassed and unappreciated, she had made herself disagreeable. He held the right to his exasperation. Dare she interrupt his vigil?

Absolutely. He owed her, and this was her chance to claim his attention. She changed and left the house with the ill-fitting robe draped over her arm.

Since childish conduct had driven her to relinquish her key, she was forced to tap on the door. “Mr. Sloan?”

She knocked louder and louder until scuffling sounded from a deep recess of the workroom.

Mr. Sloan opened the door. Curiosity, then concern, crossed his face. “What has happened?”

“Nothing at all, but we will require more light.” She strode past him, gathering and igniting candles.

“Nothing at all except this.” She tossed the gown on the worktable. “I have pressing questions that will not wait.” Her heart thudded. Nothing she’d done thus far had inspired Mr. Sloan to keep his end of their contract. She felt a desperate beggar, but what choice remained?

He stood with hands on hips, shoulders slumped, a lock of hair fallen over his forehead. A stab of pity twisted her stomach. She did not have to guess at the burdens keeping him awake. Grace told heartbreaking tales of old Master Sloan’s decline. She pulled her attention from him and found a pile of floral-patterned sketches littered across the cutting table. Not her business. One thing drew her to his door.

“I have been attempting to recreate this sacque for months, but no matter how I adjust the seams, it pulls and puckers.” She pointed to every place that caused discomfort. Her eyes began to burn. Refusing to cry, she blinked at the floor and bit her cheek until it tasted metallic. Composure regained, she glanced up and found him watching her. She met his eyes and raised her brow, refusing to look away.

Firelight flickered across his eyes.

“Will you examine my project?” The prolonged eye contact made her squirm, but she did not show it. “Well?” She suppressed the impulse to fold her arms or stare at the floor.

“It is not too late to go to London and find a mantua maker.” He did not sound judgmental, merely curious.

He took the dress and mutely turned the sleeves inside out, examining the raw edges. His fingers ran over each seam as his eyes scanned for imperfections. Feeling on display, she battled the urge to shield her face.

“Do you have nothing to say?” she asked, restless in the silence.

“I am impressed, Miss Cooper.” No mockery in his tone. “You are closer to constructing a proper sacque than I would have guessed.”

“But what am I doing wrong?”

“It may depend on however you fitted it. How did you manage?”

She hesitated but could not avoid the truth. “Lady Halverton recently gifted me one of your gowns, and I determined to recreate it. I adjusted the original to fit myself, then took it apart to use as a pattern.”

“A clever idea. But a pattern is insufficient with a sacque gown, and you could hardly mold the fabric to yourself. You’d much better practice on Miss Henton.”

“That is fair advice, but I would like the gown for myself.” For Meg, sewing felt like ordering the world. Cut here, stitch there, and out appeared something useful and lovely. A well-executed sacque gown lay apart from all other stitchery—for its majesty, of course, but also its difficulty. It was this ultimate achievement Meg sought, a bruise that never stopped smarting. Could she be blamed for wishing to crown her own body with the accomplishment?

If this hunger to learn could inspire his help, she needed him to grasp it. “This is why I cannot apprentice to a mantua maker in London.”

His head tilted. “I am afraid I don’t understand.”

“As I deconstructed Lady Halverton’s gown, I saw your genius. A London mantua maker holds no appeal against your artistry. Your expertise in dressmaking is why I demanded to be apprenticed to you.”