Page 7 of A Secret Correspondence
“My last two gowns were also blue,” Miss Kimball said.
“Hm.”
Marguerite waited. She had honed the skill of patience with years of practice. Some patrons demanded more fortitude than others, but everyone required some. The third time Mrs. Kimball’s eyes darted back to the yellow silk, Marguerite knew she had won.
“Have you found a decent plate?” Mrs. Kimball asked her daughter.
“I believe so. Look at this, Mama.”
They bent their heads over the open book, discussing the gathered fabric on the hem and draping train of the pictured gown.
Mrs. Kimball lifted her nose. “We’ve chosen.”
“Lovely.” Marguerite stepped forward. “The ball gown with the gathered train will suit you nicely, mademoiselle.”
“Thank you.” Miss Kimball blushed prettily. The yellow silk was going to make her glow.
“Will you alter it slightly?” her mother said. “I should like to have an original design.”
Of course she did. “In what way?”
“You are the artist.”
Marguerite turned the book and flipped a few pages until she found an evening gown with roses clustered on the hem. “We could add flowers in this manner.” She flipped two more pages and pointed to the back of another gown. “Or a cape on the back that would sweep like the train, butmore.”
Mrs. Kimball’s eyes glowed. “Both.”
“Mama, is that not too much? I should not like to be a spectacle.”
“If it is primarily done in the yellow silk, it will not be overbearing.” Mrs. Kimball glanced up for confirmation.
Marguerite nodded. “That is what I believe as well.”
“Then it is decided,” Mrs. Kimball said with a curt nod.
The door opened, letting in a rush of cool autumn air as the small bell jingled overhead.
“I will be right—” Marguerite glanced up and grew still, her words stuttering to a stop. Samuel Harding stood in the doorway, Claude the traitor lounging in his arms. Tall and lithe, Mr. Harding didn’t so much as wear his clothing as hedisplayedit. His dark gold hair was combed beneath a tall gray hat, and his sharp jaw was angled toward Marguerite. Shock momentarily flooded her body, but she quickly corrected it, clearing her throat as though she had merely stumbled over a cough. “Excuse me, Mr. Harding. I will be with you in a moment.”
“I am in no hurry,” he said magnanimously, dipping his head in a semblance of a bow to her before doing the same toward the Kimballs. “Ladies.”
“Mr. Harding,” they echoed.
Miss Kimball’s gaze lingered on the gentleman before dropping to the book on the counter. If she was considering how her gown would be received, she ought to have more faith in Marguerite’s wisdom. Yes, she had been trying to sell her silk, but she also knew a good deal about people. She’d spent most of her life observing them under Mrs. Gladstone’s tutelage, and her observations had taught her much.
Like now, how Mr. Harding had immediately turned away from the women, carrying Claude toward the assortment of buttons and ribbons on the other side of the shop. He was not interested in being drawn into their conversation. Judging by the way he held Claude, his back to them, he did not wish to discuss the cat, either.
She watched him a moment longer. In fact, whywashe still holding her cat? He could have let Claude down and left already. Perhaps he was concerned Claude would run again, that she needed to be placed directly in Marguerite’s arms. He would be disappointed to learn that Claude spent her days outdoors. Sheonly needed to be sequestered in the evenings, when her suitor was on the prowl.
Marguerite should never have chased Claude into the night. No, she should never have opened her window in the first place, but her fire had grown too warm and the room had needed a bit of cooling. She hadn’t imagined her sleeping cat would wake and seize the opportunity for freedom. It never would have worried her before, but the last time Claude had kittens, there were complications, and the cat had nearly died. Marguerite couldn’t bear to lose Claude. She had lost enough already.
“Shall we discuss a second gown?” Mrs. Kimball asked, pulling Marguerite from her thoughts.
“Of course. What is the other event you plan to attend?”
The women exchanged a heavy glance.
“Should we wait for the invitations?” Miss Kimball whispered.
