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“I thought using quiet colors would be more friendly.”
“It can be, but in this case, the pastels don’t say:You’ll use this, it’s beautiful, and it’s going to last.The personality of the artist should come through in the design. You’re not pastel.”
Anna sat back, nodded. “Keep going.”
Sonya spent an hour, asking questions, answering them, toying with a logo, and getting a feel for the needs of her newest client.
“I’ve got enough to get started. I’d print some of these basic ideas for you to think about, but I still have to find a way to get my printer upstairs. There’s a cabinet up there where it can be out of sight.”
“The DVD cabinet, sure. Can I help you with that?”
“Even if you weren’t pregnant, no. It’s a monster.”
“You should give Trey a call.”
“I imagine he has enough to do. I’ll figure it out, and meanwhile work up those options for you. If you like, we’ll move forward.”
“I already like. You had me at Practical Art. I got a lot in exchange for a coffee cake.” She rose. “And wait until the soon-to-be grandmothers get a look at Baby Mine. Now I’m getting out of your way so you can work.”
“I should have something for you in a day or two,” Sonya said walking Anna downstairs.
As they reached the first floor, the music Sonya had turned off when she answered the door started again.
“Well, that’s… weird.” Sonya looked up the stairs. “I must’ve jostled the app or something.”
“Or something. I don’t think I know the song.”
“More weird.” Sonya got Anna’s coat. “It’s one of my mother’s favorites. Apparently Dad had it playing when she was in labor with me. ‘All for Love’—an oldie.”
“They must like you.” Anna spoke casually as she put on her coat.
“They?”
“The lost brides, and the rest. They picked a song that has personal meaning for you.”
“You don’t actually believe in ghosts.”
Anna just pulled on her hat and smiled. “Ask me again after you’ve lived here for a week. Thanks for taking me on. I realize now I need you more than I thought I did. Talk soon.”
When she closed the door, Sonya stood staring up the stairs as the music flowed down.
A technology glitch, she told herself. They happened; ghosts didn’t.
It may have taken her a few seconds to push herself up the stairs again, but she went up. And got to work.
Chapter Eight
1828
I am, I believe, first a sensible woman. I have been educated, speak French fluently, play the pianoforte quite well indeed as well as being more than competent on the harp. As the oldest daughter, I have learned how to run a household, as I would, of course, one day make a fine match.
Above all this, I am pleased to say, my father instructed me, from a young age, on the workings of the family business. Some would say a young woman has no need to understand business matters.
I do not find those who say that sensible.
My father, the younger of twins by seven minutes, inherited the manor and his brother’s share of the Poole family business when, in the autumn of 1806, my uncle died by his own hand soon after the tragic death—by murder—of his bride of only hours.
My dear parents, already betrothed at the time, married the following spring. I was born ten months thereafter.
