Page 25 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

Mr. Sloan draped the fabric over her shoulders. “Would you like a robe fermée or ouverte?”

She’d initially planned a sacque with an open front, displaying an opulent stomacher, but that would add difficulty and she wished to concentrate on perfecting the pleats. “Fermée.”

“I could have guessed.”

“Pray, what are you implying?” Since her instruction depended on his goodwill, Meg tried to maintain civility, but was this a backhanded insult?

“Perfecting one’s style requires finding a unique balance between restraint and ostentation. Listen, Arnold, this will help you as well.” He stood behind her, gathering fabric into pleats. “I prefer dressing women because most men want only comfort and to look like everyone else.”

“And what has this to do with my choosing a closed gown?”

“Clothing is one way we express character. So, I always consider what a customer ought to portray. For example, you are like a shell, sharp, hard…closed.” His hand ran down her spine to smooth the fabric, sending a brief wave of something—panic?—from her stomach to her toes. “Straight of back. Taut and strong, like a thread for gathering.”

His breath brushed her neck and she could not concentrate. She steadied herself as he walked around to face her.

“But your red hair⁠—”

“Auburn,” she corrected.

“—is disobedient and soft, a contrast to your edges⁠—”

“I did not ask for a study of my character.” Her laugh sounded thin. “Teach me the mechanics of the gown.”

“This is the first lesson. A lady’s gown demands equilibrium, which is different for every woman. Find it, and you have a customer for life.”

“Your father taught you that?”

“My mother.”

Meg squirmed. She had not counted on being so thoroughly analyzed but valued his wisdom. Perhaps his success centered on this secret.

“The gown I made for Lady Halverton would never do for you. She is vivacious and diverting but battles a fear of overwhelming others. She requires confidence, a gown that will hold her securely while reflecting how much she has to offer. You are self-contained, angled. However, we must account for the pliant curve of your cheek and the gentle slope of your shoulder.”

He ran his hand from her shoulder to her elbow, and she jumped. He drew back, surprise flickering across his face. With a gentle smile, he said, “Yes, you demand a bold cut with defying, soft frills. Lace. But you should wear patterned clothes.”

“Brocade is too fine for everyday wear.” She was breathless. Did he know her so well? But he explained Lady Halverton in similar terms. He merely showed his skill. And what skill.

“Too stiff. Chintz is your fabric—soft and complex.”

“Don’t I wish. The day an Englishman discovers the method for stamping cotton will become a national holiday.”

Peter nodded as if no one longed for that day more than he. “I’ll begin pinning. Four pleats between the shoulders come together at the small of your back.” His fingers brushed her neck, pressed against her back. “Arnold, more pins, please.” He took her by the hips and shifted her to the left. His touch was measured, scientific rather than sensual, but her belly warmed. She wanted to shake him off along with his fanciful words about her character. But she needed the gown. The festival was the following week.

“Let’s take that off, and I’ll show you what I’ve done.”

Meg slipped behind the screen, shedding his touch as the linen gown dropped to the floor.

When she returned, Mr. Sloan examined a pattern book of his own creation under candlelight. “This one.” He pointed to a diagram, explaining how to adjust the pattern for size and apply the cut pieces to what they’d done. Then he handed her the bodice to stitch and excused himself through a door at the back of the room, bringing with him a waft of strong, foul odor.

When Meg unspooled a length of thread to begin sewing, it felt like opening a door. She shared the pinned garment with Arnold, and they stitched like mad to the sound of banging pots.

“What is he doing in there?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know, but it smells like a dyehouse.”

“Has anyone asked him about it?”

Arnold waxed a fresh piece of thread. “His mother’s family were dyers, and his grandfather left his equipment to Mr. Sloan. It’s common knowledge.”