Page 96 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

Meg ran her hand over the scarred kitchen table, feeling each groove as though etched through her own aching heart. She glanced at the wood counter where Grace, then Miss Reed had kneaded countless loaves of bread. A vase of lavender carried its scent across the room. Meg inhaled, treasuring the fragrance, the feel, the image of a room she loved, wishing to box it up and save it to open in a darker, more lonesome place.

She beheld the watercolor bird hanging over the stark, white wall, the sight of it pricking her eyes. Peter. He had undone her, presenting generosity so large it choked, as if kindness required no exchange. His selflessness terrified her.

She ensured the money jar was safe inside her satchel beside the food she required for a long day’s journey. Planning to stop only to change horses, she hoped to reach London that same day.

A crunch of gravel signaled the carriage’s arrival. She glanced at Peter’s dark windows. Departing remained the right decision. She waited for the familiar ache to follow, that tightening beneath her ribs, the pressure that had burdened her for months each time she thought of him. It did not come. Something unfamiliar moved through her, slow as the first draw of thread through thick fabric, loosening the stiffness in her arms. She breathed, and the breath reached deeper than it had in longer than she could remember. She had done this one thing, a single, clean thing, and it clothed her in warmth like only the best-fitting garment could.

She directed the coachman and his boy to load her trunks and stepped onto the mounting block. The carriage swallowed her whole.

32

The Monday morning after Michaelmas, Peter stood in the middle of his shop, evaluating the transformation he’d worked over the weekend. He no longer had any reason to wait. Hobbins, Halverton, and he had organized their venture. Now the longest table from the dyehouse filled a prominent space in the workroom. His grandfather’s journals decorated the walls, where their genius might be seen by the world. The mixing of dyes belonged in the dyehouse, but Peter had arranged kalam pens, stamping blocks, wax, and the necessaries for painting and imprinting cloth on a large bookshelf.

Calm steadiness settled in Peter’s chest. Certainty pushed him forward. He felt his father’s approval of the scheme, understanding that his own unwillingness to change had prevented his progress, not his father, nor the tired promise he’d made to his grandfather.

He nodded in satisfaction and stepped into his office, where he wrote another letter to Mr. Hobbins and Lord Halverton explaining the arrangement he’d proposed to the tailor’s guild.

The front door clattered open. Peter went to meet his apprentices. Before he reached the entrance, Miss Matilde’s voice preceded the thunder of the apprentices clattering in to begin the day’s work.

Miss Matilde’s arms were laden with gowns. Arnold and Johnathan were helping her peel each layer and reposition the fabric over a chair. From where they stood, the changes to the measuring room could not be seen.

At Peter’s entrance, Arnold turned to him. “Sloan Tailoring is saved. Miss Cooper has fled to London.”

A dreadful void cracked Peter’s chest. “What do you mean?”

Miss Matilde’s young eyes sagged with fatigue. “She said she could not stay in Stroud, but I never saw a better reception than her shop opening. Nothing persuaded her, though didn’t we beg.”

Had Master Dickson sent her away after all? “When did she leave?”

“So early yesterday morning that we did not say goodbye.” Miss Matilde sniffed, her mouth forming a childlike frown.

“What is all this?” Peter indicated the unfinished garments being unloaded onto every surface of the workroom.

“Miss Cooper said to bring everything to you and to tell you she is sorry for…” Miss Matilde eyed the ceiling as if searching for words. “Disrupting your work and causing a bother. No, that isn’t it, but something like it. Well, that is that. I return to Havenwood shortly.” She began blinking rapidly. “I enjoyed my time in Stroud. It was a pleasure to know you all.”

She disappeared before Peter could absorb the situation.

“Miss Cooper is gone?” Peter looked to his apprentices for confirmation.

“Sounds like it. Looks like it too.” Johnathan stood in front of the window that faced The Golden Thimble.

Peter joined him, noting the shuttered, lifeless appearance of a place that had vibrated with energy just days before. He could not imagine Margaret giving up, regardless of what Master Dickson had said. Something must have pushed her to such an extreme decision, and her family would likely know what had happened.

“I must go.” Peter departed for Halverton’s.

Peter reread the lines of Margaret’s letter to Lord Halverton. In leaving Stroud, I am gifting Peter what you have given me. The freedom to choose his own path. Then, I am not necessary to this place or people.

Could she believe that? She thought to make amends, but they were unnecessary; he had not been forced to pursue dyeing by anyone, not even by her. How was she blind to the essential role she took in the community? Peter had recognized the rightness of a female dressmaker. And Stroud loved her—the apprentices, the clients, the women whom Meg inspired. And now she was gone, taking his heart with him just as he’d feared she would if expelled by the guild. He did not want to be a tailor or a dyer as much as he wanted her. Reconciliation with her complicated character evaded him, but he must keep trying.

“And you don’t know where she’s gone?” Peter asked.

“I expect to hear from her in a day or two.” Lord Halverton sat beside his wife, concern etched on both their faces.

Peter reached for his cup of tea, then dropped his arm. Halverton’s drawing room brought Margaret’s absence to sharp reality. His memories of her helping Lady Halverton with her gown, her interactions with Samuel, their game of billiards—all of it rounded out her character and had been paramount in understanding it. He had fallen in love with her in these rooms.

“I will inform you as soon as I discover her whereabouts,” Lord Halverton said.

Peter stood. “Thank you for your time, my lord.”