Page 74 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

I did see the sunset, far more beautiful than I could capture, but I will try.

Dare I confess my friendly feelings are expanding? You may assume more significance than I have betrayed.

Your Valentine

He considered throwing away the note. The final lines, written with a trembling hand, assumed more confidence than he felt. Instead, secure in anonymity, he withdrew watercolors and fixed the bottom of the page with a dark silhouette of Stroud bathed in gold, peach, coral, and red, reminiscent of the way the light caught in her hair. He wished to sit beside her, teach her dressmaking, watch her measure, cut, and stitch. More than that, he wanted to state his feelings, allude to their kiss.

He set aside the letter to dry, unable to keep from laughing at himself. He was smitten, wasn’t he? At least he could admit that to himself, if not to her.

Peter watched from the shop window for Miss Cooper to emerge from her home. It was Saturday—she would not stay indoors forever.

Finally she stepped into the street. Already dressed, he dashed out his front door.

“Good morning, Mr. Sloan.”

“Good morning. It’s a beautiful day for a walk. Mind if I join?”

She adjusted a piece of linen over the contents of a basket on her arm. This was not the first time she’d been suspicious over the insides of a basket. Her eyes held the same wariness they’d displayed on that early morning so many months before.

“Of course not.” But her smile was stiff.

“Allow me to carry that.” He reached for the basket, but she pulled it from his reach.

“I can manage.”

The comings and goings of her household lay on open display from Sloan Tailoring. Often, women came in and out bearing packages, the sight causing a worming unease through his chest. He wanted to trust her. The idea that she might hide something from him was more painful than allowing the moment to pass.

“Where are you going?” she asked, pushing aside his lingering doubt.

“The sun drew me out. I have nowhere to be.”

“You tore yourself from the dyehouse. Well done.” They fell into step.

“You disapprove of my endeavor?”

“Not at all. Your expertise is most valuable in design and early fittings. Any one of your apprentices can stitch. In the London tailor shops, the tailor spends most of his time managing clients and supervising apprentices. You might give the apprentices more responsibility and make even more time for your dyehouse.” Her smile glowed into his chest. “It is none of my concern.”

“Isn’t it? You’ve infiltrated every corner.”

“Only the dusty ones.”

They shared a glance, for a moment at ease. Silence fell between them for the space of a few minutes.

“I have a confession.” Something in her tone spoke a warning. “I have made a thorough study of your books, spanning several years. Your business is not dying, but…”

“It requires more of my attention.”

“The numbers showed me when your father fell ill.”

“And you are telling me to spend more time in the dyehouse?” He laughed, trying to make a joke of it.

“Perhaps not right away, but with good management, eventually you might create chintz and sustain Sloan Tailoring.”

“Painting fabric is compelling.” The idea almost sounded plausible to him when she described it. Perhaps he would think on it later in private, but for now a change of subject was in order. “Lucius brought me more cotton yesterday. He said the guild hounds him endlessly, but they can do nothing as wool weavers.”

“Are you trying to tell me he’s my valentine? I received another letter yesterday. Perhaps he delivered it when he visited you.”

Peter laughed because she spoke in her old, familiar way.