Page 51 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

“You promised to tell me when she came around,” said Lady Halverton.

“I would never agree to that. A tailor must avail himself of some secrets.” Mr. Sloan and Lady Halverton grinned at one another.

Meg moved behind the sofa. Mr. Sloan unfolded a large sheet of paper covered in drawings of gowns, some very odd indeed. He lifted the page for her benefit. “Leonore is something of an artist and brings me sketches from Northern Europe, France, Italy, India, and Japan.”

Meg rounded the sofa and moved to a chair, scooting it close. The three of them bowed over the illustrations, heads nearly touching, gasping over vibrant colors and sighing over the generous drape of the Japanese kosode and the comfortable cut of the Indian peshwaj.

Warmth crept into Meg’s chest. She felt a part of this group, akin to Louisa. Though she had sat with Lord and Lady Halverton countless times, this moment struck her differently. She glanced up and caught Mr. Sloan’s smiling eyes. He accounted for the difference. Heat gathered at the base of her neck. She required occupation.

“Shall we begin your fitting, my lady?”

“Louisa, if you please,” Lady Halverton said.

Lady Halverton disrobed behind a screen and emerged holding a length of azure silk. “A modest walking dress,” Lady Halverton explained. “I believe a move toward simplicity is on its way, and I wish to be ahead of the fashion.”

Meg glanced at Mr. Sloan, who grinned with a knowing glint.

The day before, she and Mr. Sloan had cut a linen shell for the bodice, which they now pinned to Lady Halverton’s stays before draping the silk.

“Few embellishments,” Mr. Sloan said, “contrasting an elaborately embroidered and beaded stomacher. What do you think?”

“Everything you make is spectacular. And Margaret will be by your side with every stitch. She knows what I like.”

Lady Halverton’s generous confidence soothed the envy in Meg’s mouth. Patronage from the Halvertons held power. Only the best work would hold Lady Halverton’s loyalty. Meg assessed the woman before her, trying to apply lessons from Mr. Sloan, who seemed to take the measure of his clients with instinct. Lady Halverton was petite, short waisted, had fidgety fingers, and eyes that darted as if trying to follow her own rapid thoughts. What did any of that mean in terms of how the lady should dress?

Meg drew in a breath and attached the cloth down Lady Halverton’s side, but it wrinkled. She tried again.

Lady Halverton entertained with a steady stream of chatter. “Hal, my cat, you know, dropped a disemboweled hare on a dressing gown, the rogue. I hope Nellie can scrub the stain. Do you have tips for removing blood, Mr. Sloan?” Then, “Oh. And I nearly forgot. Miss Fisher and Mrs. Bleecher were here yesterday and told us all about⁠—”

“My new boarder? Miss Reed?” Meg interrupted. The impossibility of concealing the women going in and out of her house when Mr. Sloan lived across the street weighed on her. She had told him they took in sewing, but he didn’t seem to grasp the full import of what she told him.

“Just so,” Lady Halverton said. “And I told them you would be here today, so Miss Fisher requested Miss Reed join us and return home with you—would that suit? Miss Fisher is so pleased to have her boarding with you as well. An older woman provides young company with a certain grounding and stability.” A glance at Mr. Sloan. “And of course she will be useful to you. As a boarder and one who can help with the chores.” A wink would have been less obvious.

Meg changed the subject. “What am I doing wrong?” she asked Mr. Sloan.

“Trying too hard. Understand that the fabric wants to obey you.” He removed each pin she had painstakingly placed. “Put your hand here.” He placed his palm between Lady Halverton’s shoulder blades, then pulled it away for Meg to mimic. When she did, he placed his hand over hers and guided it down Lady Halverton’s spine to her left hip. “Do you feel the silk unfurling?”

She was far more aware of his touch. Behind her, his chest grazed her shoulder, his breath whispered over the back of her neck. Heat burned the roots of her hair. Swallowing her discomfort, she focused on the fabric.

With her hand beneath his, he repeated the motion. This time she felt it, the silk giving way, practically showing her how to shape it. Mr. Sloan’s instruction, so patient and exact, infused her with the sense that he wasn’t teaching new concepts but showing her what she already knew, if she allowed herself the confidence. Perhaps she was, as her valentine wrote, blind to her own progress.

Meg completed her half of the fitting with flowering assurance. No buckling fabric.

The moment they finished, three women entered with the butler. Lady Halverton made introductions to Miss Fisher and Mrs. Bleecher.

“And this is Miss Reed,” said Lady Halverton.

Meg recalled their meeting at the literary breakfast. Miss Reed, a small, faded woman, nodded with a stern crease in her brow. A slight limp indicated the twist in her leg that Miss Fisher had so candidly told Meg about. She must remember to ask her new assistant which tasks tired her leg. Despite Lady Halverton’s implications, Miss Reed was not yet thirty.

While footmen moved trunks from one carriage to the next, Meg asked Lady Halverton if her husband was at home.

“He is in Gloucester on business and promised to stop by Foxmill School to see after Samuel’s health.”

“Thank goodness for that. Will you ask him to send word when he returns?”

Lady Halverton assented and kissed Meg farewell.

From inside the carriage, Meg watched Mr. Sloan help Miss Reed sit across from her, before he slid into the space beside Meg. The narrow bench allowed little space between them, causing their knees, shoulders, and hips to collide as the coachman maneuvered the road. Rather than discomfort, Meg found the proximity to Mr. Sloan easy, reassuring. Her gratitude for him increased with every lesson he taught.