Page 13 of Duke of Emeralds
“Ah, Lady Hester,” he said, rising from his chair and hurrying over to relieve her of her burden. “I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about me.”
Hester laughed, a light, musical sound that echoed through the shop. “As if I could ever forget you, Mr. Jameson. You are far too important to me.”
Mr. Jameson beamed at her words, his cheeks puffing out with pride. He carefully set the package down on the counter and began to unwrap it, his fingers deftly working at the knots. Hester watched him, her heart feeling slightly anxious. She had spent countless hours on these tapestries, pouring her soul into every stitch. She only hoped they would be well received.
As the last of the wrapping fell away, Mr. Jameson let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Oh, just when I think your talent has hit its limit, you create something even more beautiful, My Lady,” he said, his eyes scanning over the intricate designs.
Hester felt a blush creep up her cheeks at his praise. “I try my best, Mr. Jameson,” she said, her fingers nervously twisting together.
Mr. Jameson began to sort through the tapestries, his brow furrowing slightly as he counted them. “Oh, there are only three?” he asked, looking up at her with a hint of disappointment in his eyes.
Hester’s heart sank slightly. “All I could squeeze in, I’m afraid,” she said with a sigh. This was the smallest order she had brought in in a while, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.
Mr. Jameson nodded understandingly, his expression softening. “The demand for your work has increased greatly, My Lady,” he said, his fingers tracing the edge of one of the tapestries. “The Duchess of Eldenham herself has placed an order. She wanted five of these, in three large and two medium sizes. I’ll have to give her all three now, and she’ll have to wait for the rest.”
Hester’s eyes widened in surprise. The Duchess of Eldenham was one of the most influential women in society. To have her work sought after by such a prominent figure was both thrilling and daunting.
“And the Countess of Whitsbury will simply have to remain on the waiting list a little longer,” Mr. Jameson continued, shaking his head slightly.
As glad as she was to see her work being loved, Hester wished she could meet the demand. “I wish I could do more, Mr. Jameson. I truly do.”
Mr. Jameson smiled gently at her. “God knows you try your best, My Lady,” he said, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I have never seen such talent before. I can’t thread a needle to save my life, and yet you create these with seemingly no effort. I thank you.”
“Ishould thank you,” Hester chuckled. “You help me distribute them.”
“Well then, I cannot wait to see what you create next. And the market cannot wait to take it off our hands,” Mr. Jameson said, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of a seasoned businessman.
Hester smiled, her heart swelling. “I shall certainly make more.”
A knot suddenly tightened her stomach. The responsibilities of her new title as Duchess loomed over her, casting a shadow on her passion. Would she still have time for her art? The thought was almost too painful to bear.
She inwardly promised herself to find a way. She couldn’t give up on the one thing she loved, the one thing that brought hersolace and joy. Not to mention the charity that relied on the proceeds from her work.
With a deep breath, she stepped out of the shop, her mind whirling with thoughts and worries.
“What are the odds?” a familiar voice drawled.
Hester turned to see Thomas standing there, his tall frame towering over her, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with amusement. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a flush creep up her cheeks.
“That I’d come out shopping?” she lied.
His gaze traveled over her, almost as if in search of something. And then she realized, she wasn’t holding anything to support her little lie. “I… I didn’t find what I was looking for,” she quickly excused, her cheeks warming with embarrassment.
Something akin to amusement came over his features, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. She could see the laughter in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was trying to suppress a smile.
“Wait… Why am I obligated to explain my reason to you for being out here right now?” She suddenly grew defensive, her chin lifting slightly, her eyes narrowing.
“Did I ask for any explanations, Hester?” he returned, that air of amusement still about him.
And she blinked owlishly. He never did ask for an explanation, she realized, her cheeks warming even more with embarrassment. She’d been the one rambling all along.
How do I always manage to make a fool of myself before this man?she thought.
“Are ye returning home?” he asked.
Hester nodded. Thomas offered her his arm, his eyes never leaving hers. “Come. Let me walk ye,” he said.
She had half a mind to refuse, but something in his eyes made her decide against it. She placed her hand on his elbow, her fingers trembling slightly. She was immediately aware of how strong his arm was beneath her touch, the muscles taut and firm. As she neared him, she inhaled his scent, a mixture of sandalwood and citrus that was uniquely him.
