Page 7 of What a Courtesan Wants
The question her maid wished to ask died on thin air, though its implications filled the room. From time to time, the girl would attempt to prod Lucinda out of deep mourning, reminding her that she had several gowns fitting with half-mourning and more than enough time had passed for it to be appropriate. She didn’t care what anyone thought of how she attired herself, but the glimpse of herself in the bombazine gave her pause.
If she was to move forward with her life, she ought to cast off her widow’s weeds. She could still honor Magnus’s memory with half-mourning while she was about it.
“Mary, I think I’ll wear the gray sprigged muslin for my appointment—the one with the matching spencer.”
Mary’s face melted into an expression of relief, then brightened when she smiled. “A wonderful idea, my lady. I’ll prepare it right away.”
Lucinda bit her lip to keep from calling the maid back and changing her mind. This transition into half-mourning was long overdue and would need to happen whether she went forward with this arrangement or not. Glancing down at the shapeless folds of her skirts, she decided she wouldn’t miss them.
Glancing at his watch,Aubrey realized he hadn’t much time before he needed to leave for Madame Hershaw’s. Stepping out of his small office in the upper rooms of Rowland-Drake Haberdashery, Shawl & Linen Warehouse, he shrugged into his coat. He strode through the quarters he slept in when it grew too late for him to make the sojourn across London to his townhouse. A cursory glance in a mirror confirmed that his appearance was more or less in order, so he carried on—through the door and down the creaking wooden steps leading into the shop itself.
Bright afternoon light shined through the front bay windows, which allowed the patrons walking by to see the offerings exhibited inside. Bolts of fabric peeked out from the nooks carved into the walls, folds of silks and sateens billowing toward the floor as his apprentices unrolled yards for measuring and cutting. Behind one of four large counters, his assistant laid out spools of ribbon and lace for a matron and her granddaughter, while near the window, a man and his wife inspected a display of painted Chinese fans.
Aubrey nodded his satisfaction to see that his assistant and apprentice had things well in hand. While he’d always taken a hands-on approach to running the business that had become his after the death of his godfather, he held a great deal of trust in the people he’d hired to help him run the place. He could leave for the afternoon secure in the knowledge that the warehouse wouldn’t fall into disarray in his absence.
Before departing, Aubrey opened the door leading to a small back room, where his niece often spent her afternoons. Sure enough, he found Elizabeth on her usual stool, her head lowered over a confection of silk and gauze spread out over the table before her. Her hands moved with skilled, dexterous motions as she worked a needle and thread through the material, dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“It is time to leave, dearest,” he said, leaning against the door frame.
She glanced up at him and grinned, and for a moment he felt as if he stared into the eyes of his sister. Elizabeth shared the same whisky-brown eyes as Ellen, the same eyes Aubrey saw whenever he looked in a mirror. A sweet, round face was perfectly complemented by a narrow, plush mouth and a pair of dimples that made an appearance each time she smiled. She had skin somewhere between her mother’s deep brown and her father’s ivory, a warm golden tone further emphasized by coils of thick, black hair and sooty lashes.
“What do you think, Uncle Aubrey?” she asked, holding up the makings of an evening gown made of a fine cream-colored silk and pale blue gauze.
“It’s lovely, and you’ll be lovely in it,” he replied, not just saying so because he felt he must.
His niece had always had an interest in fabrics and clothing, begging to accompany him to the shop each day since she’d been a little girl. She had gone from walking about with one hand outstretched to experience the textures of the wools, muslins, velvets, and silks, to wrapping yards of it around herself and pretending she wore fine ball gowns, to pilfering scraps to sew together and using old gowns as patterns for new ones.
He’d turned what had once been a storeroom into a workspace for her, allowing her to sew and create to her heart’s content. Since becoming a courtesan, he’d earned the coin to send for finer fabrics for her—giving half to themodisteas she was outfitted for new clothing, and half to her for her own designs. She did fine work, and had been disappointed when Aubrey informed her she would not be allowed to occupy part of the building’s new expansion as a dressmaker.
Since she’d come to him as a babe of nearly two years, Aubrey had been determined she have the brightest future possible, which meant elevating her to a status beyond even his own means. Beautiful, educated, and accomplished, she’d make some gentleman a fine wife; she’d have no need to break her back laboring over gowns. He’d insisted she keep dressmaking as a hobby of sorts, but would not hear a word of letting her go into business.
“Must I go now?” she asked, laying the gown on the table and giving him a pleading look. “I had hoped to complete it this afternoon before leaving. Can’t Kit see me home after he closes for the evening?”
Aubrey glowered at the young shop assistant carefully cutting several yards of block-printed muslin for a waiting customer. Christopher Sanders was only a few years older than his niece, and he spent too much time staring at her for Aubrey’s liking.
“Absolutely not,” he muttered before turning back to her. “It will be too late, and I don’t want you alone with him.”
“Why not? Kit’s practically family, like your own son. There’s nothing improper about it.”
Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so a year ago, but his niece was blind to what he now saw all too clearly. The young man had eyes and could see as well as anyone else what a beauty Elizabeth had become. That she was still so innocent was a testament to her upbringing, but it made it damned hard to make her understand why things had to change as she grew older.
“It isn’t proper for a young unmarried woman to ride unaccompanied with a man who isn’t her family,” he argued. “And an apprentice is certainly not family, even if you did grow up in this shop with him. It’s the way things are now, dearest. I’ll hear no more of this.”
Her face fell, and her shoulders slumped in disappointment, but she laid her gown and needle down before rising from the stool. “Yes, Uncle Aubrey.”
Guilt pricked at him at the picture she made, mouth turned down at the corners, eyes downcast as she began cleaning up the scraps of gauze littering the table. Since she’d been a little girl sitting on his knee, he hadn’t been able to resist the urge to turn her frowns into smiles. Time had changed nothing, it seemed.
“All right,” he relented with a sigh. “You can stay. But Kit isnotto see you home. I’ll send word for Mrs. Baines to bring the carriage for you at five o’clock.”
Eudora Baines had been hired years ago as a nanny for young Elizabeth. Now that the girl had grown too old for a nursemaid, the woman acted as a chaperone whenever needed, and otherwise enjoyed a comfortable, quiet life as more a part of the family than a servant. Aubrey trusted the woman with his niece’s life.
“Thank you!” she cried, rounding the table to throw her arms around his waist.
He grunted when her little body collided with his, her head fitting against his chest. “I know how important your work is to you. But when Mrs. Baines says it’s time to leave, you’ll go without complaint.”
Disengaging from him, she bustled back to the table, her attention already with her work. “Of course. I ought to be finished by then, anyway.”
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
