Page 87 of A Secret Correspondence
Marguerite glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to find Armand. She assumed her professional position, straightening her back and resting her hands in front of her. After spending so long believing he had been treating her ill, it was a difficult thing to retrain her mind to see the man innocently. The truth was that she wished to be separated from the time in her life he so strongly represented.
“Good morning, Mr. Leclair.”
He closed the door softly. “I have come to take my leave of you, Marie-Louise. It seems the Harrelsons are eager to return home, and my friends are only too happy to agree.”
She breathed out relief but smiled faintly. “Lady Faversham must be disheartened to know she will soon have a quiet house.”
His dark eyes flicked over her face, as though he searched for something but could not find it. “I do not know how she feels. I was hoping…but, of course, I was in church and heard the banns. I wish you well.”
Marguerite’s cheeks warmed, though only heaven knew why. She was not typically one to blush. “Thank you,” she said simply.
“Mr. Harding will make you happy?” Armand spoke as though he asked it as a question.
“Yes. I hope to make him happy as well.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
The silence in the shop was broken only by the sound of acarriage passing outside, the horses’ hooves clopping along the street. Marguerite had nothing further to say. She could not apologize to the man for wrongfully suspecting him, for he did not know of her suspicions. Indeed, they could only part as pleasant acquaintances.
The pop and crackle of the fire stretched on until Marguerite drew in another breath. “I do hope you have a safe journey.”
“Thank you.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he shook his head, bowed to her, and left the shop. If the man had been debating making a declaration of love, she was grateful he chose not to. She was marrying Samuel, and she was exceedingly glad for it.
Marguerite returned to her task. The dress form was heavy, and the red ballgown was made with a large train and yards and yards of fabric. She had splurged on this design, but wanted to snatch attention from the women passing by her window. Once she got the dress back in the window and situated correctly, she draped the other items she had chosen around the space, then let herself outside to look at it.
Hmm. The gown was not centered.
Returning inside, Marguerite shifted the dress form, moving the train so it would be visible from the street as well. She returned outside and nearly collided with a woman passing by. “Forgive me,” she said.
Miss Snubbs took a step back. “I was walking too near the door. It was my fault.” She glanced over and noticed the gown. “Oh, Madame Perreau, you have outdone yourself.”
“It is a fetching color, no?”
“The design! I should like to be married in that gown.”
“Married?” Marguerite’s eyebrows shot up.
Miss Snubbs grinned. She could not dim the light that shone from her countenance. “The gown you made me for the Faversham ball was indeed good luck. It caught the eye of a gentleman,and he began calling on me straightaway. We are going to have the banns read beginning this Sunday.”
“This is wonderful news, Miss Snubbs. I am very happy for you.”
She leaned close, lowering her voice. “I believe we ought to be happy for one another. Mr. Harding is a wonderful gentleman. You deserve each other. I am glad it isyouhe finally settled on.”
Marguerite’s joy matched that of Miss Snubbs. “Thank you. When you are ready, we can begin planning your wedding gown.” A sudden, horrible thought occurred to Marguerite. If Miss Snubbs was going to cease patronizing her shop, she should not have assumed the woman would use her services. She gave a wide smile to soften any discomfort her offer provided. “Unless you have chosen someone in Locksley. There are a number of fine modistes in the county. However will you choose?”
Miss Snubbs peered at her strangely. “Why would I go to anyone but you?”
Marguerite’s throat dried up, but she swallowed. “There have been unkind rumors circulating, and I would not wish for your reputation to be tainted by association, Miss Snubbs.”
“I care not for any of that,” she said, wiping away the words with a flick of her wrist. “I learned not to give heed to rumors that do not have a leg to stand on. Do not give them any mind. The people who matter will continue to support you.”
Marguerite was especially touched by this. She knew it was not entirely true. If Samuel had not immediately proposed, and the banns had not begun already, she could have lost even more customers than she already had. But she did not intend to sew gowns forever. Once she and Samuel began to have children, she would close the shop.
She said goodbye to Miss Snubbs and stood outside, looking at her shop for a moment, glad for all it had given to her. Fornow, at least, she would continue to work. Samuel supported her, and she could sew gowns for the patrons she had remaining from the comfort of their home, surely.
When Marguerite and Samuel had returned to her home and carried her mother’s trunk into her parlor, she had opened each gown and found an utter treasure trove. Her mother’s entire collection had been tucked away in the trunk, hidden in case the trunk had been searched or she did not make it out of France. Now, Marguerite could keep a good portion of the pieces she recalled, the ones with memories or meaning attached to them, while the rest of the collection could provide a comfortable living for them. With the rent from the shop, they would be set.
Smiling to herself, she whistled as she let herself back into the shop and went in search of her cat. She needed some tea, a furry companion, and a little sewing to pass the morning.
