Page 9 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

Their drinks arrived, and they clinked their mugs.

“May your mill turn water as well as money, and a woman scorn you until you’re forced to work for her affection,” said Peter, as it was their custom to make idiotic toasts.

“May you become as entangled with a woman as you are with your thread.”

They each gulped as quickly as they could. Lucius finished first and slammed his mug on the table. “I won and thus will speak my mind.”

Peter winced as he set his mug down. “Strong stuff. Did your friend add something to it?”

Lucius shrugged. “Listen, I’ve determined you must participate fully in the Saint Valentine’s festival. You require a distraction.”

“That’s the last thing I need. I’m already behind on orders, and today Mrs. Gainsworth commissioned me to outfit her servants and make her a gown. And she demanded I bring Miss Cooper, which I’d better not let the guild know about.”

Lucius regarded him with a consoling expression. “It’s happening already. Charlotte told me women might be eager for a female dressmaker. You need another place to settle your thoughts. Come, put your name in the valentine exchange with me.”

It had been a few years since Peter and Lucius had added their names to the valentine lottery, but why not? His head felt soft with the warmth of ale. A little fun could do no harm. “You make a fair point. I’ll do it, but I do not guarantee my full commitment.”

“No, no. You must promise me to keep it up until Easter.”

In the past, they had joyfully sent cards and puzzles to their assigned valentines for a few weeks until the pleasure was forgotten in other amusements.

“We’ve never made it past March.”

“We are older now, more focused. Come, let’s make a wager.”

“We are too old for such nonsense.”

“Then let’s make it serious. A challenge worthy of men.” Lucius called for more ale, then slapped the table. “The first to miss a week sending a valentine must agree to walk home from church with a lady of the other’s choosing for an entire month.”

“But that would raise false expectations.”

“Indeed.”

Lucius’s enthusiasm was hard to combat in the haze of strong ale, and the promise of amusement tempted Peter, who enjoyed paper crafts and watercolors. He extended his hand. “I promise to abide by the wager, committing to send weekly valentines to whomever I am assigned, even if it’s the Widow Tolbert.”

“She might draw you into her cottage and bake you into a pie.”

“Doubtless that is how she lost her other husbands.” The laughter and camaraderie allowed Peter’s troubles to fall away for a time—the mounting incomplete orders, his father’s growing need for supervision, his longing to spend his extra hours working with dyes rather than stitches.

3

Sunlight pricked Meg’s eyes, but she refrained from raising a hand to shade herself, though the chair in which she sat did not permit escape from the glare. She lifted a fine china teacup to her lips, the porcelain turning translucent as she emptied the last drops. The smooth complexity of expensive tea rolled over her tongue. When she replaced her cup, it tinkled rather than clattered against its saucer. Meg thanked Lady Halverton for the invitation and blinked through the sharp light.

“Oh, excuse my rudeness.” Lady Halverton stood to draw the curtain. “There. Now, tell me, when can I commission a gown?”

Each Sunday when Meg came to the estate, she noted Lady Halverton’s exquisite clothing, produced by Mr. Sloan’s skilled hand. She would never attempt to dress her ladyship until her proficiency rivaled his.

“That would be against the terms of my apprenticeship, my lady,” Meg said, her ears tuned for any sound of Samuel’s arrival.

“I think you mean Louisa.” Lady Halverton spoke with such gentle sincerity that Meg nearly used the familiarity. Lady Halverton had been married to Meg’s half-brother for a year and was near Meg’s own age, but Meg skittered from the friendship she consistently offered.

“And I cannot make a sacque,” Meg confessed.

“Mr. Sloan refuses to teach you? James will speak to him.”

“No!” Meg swallowed her sharpness. “Thank you. I must manage on my own. Besides, Mr. Sloan is taking me to Mrs. Gainsworth’s tomorrow to assist with her commission. She requires a new dress as well as livery for her servants before the Saint Valentine’s festival.”

“That is something.” Lady Halverton grimaced. “Though Mrs. Gainsworth is too big for her shoes, the daughter of a butcher who parades as a pigeon among peacocks.” She blushed. “Listen to me, whose father is a nothing squire. Who am I to accuse another? Though I did marry for love.”