An Honest Heart (6 page)

She would never finish Lady Carmichael’s alterations this way. She set the blue gown aside and stood to shoo the redhead away from her latest disaster.

“Nan, please go assist Phyllis in the shop.” Caddy congratulated herself on the calm tenor of her voice.

“Yeth—yesss, Missss.” Nan’s shoulders slumped as she left the workroom.

Letty and Alice breathed overly loud sighs of relief.

“She is so clumsy.” Letty shook her head. “I do not know how you can stay so calm with her, Miss Bainbridge.”

“And the humming!” Alice gave a melodramatic shudder. “Only two or three notes over and over and over.”

“Girls!” Caddy stood, all four bolts hugged tightly to her chest. She set the heavy load onto the cutting table. “Remember that you each had your own mishaps and annoying little habits when you came to me four and five years ago. Nan is young and has a lot to learn to get to where you are now.”

The two young women began to protest, but Caddy held up a hand to stop them.

She raised her brows toward Alice. “You click your tongue.”

Alice turned crimson.

Caddy nodded toward Letty. “And how about losing an entire card of silver needles in the cracks in the floorboards?”

Letty also blushed.

“Nan will learn faster, and lose her clumsiness and annoying habits sooner, if the two of you show her more kindness and understanding, rather than avoiding and ignoring her.”

Letty and Alice hung their heads over their stitching.

“Think of the girls who were here when you first came to me and how they helped you learn the job, then see if you can do even better for Nan. I want each of you to think of something you can teach her in the next sennight, and I want her to demonstrate it—without your assistance—next Thursday.”

“Yes, Miss Bainbridge,” Letty and Alice chorused.

Caddy returned to her stool and picked up the blue gown from the table. The darts she added to the bodice to nip in the waist took tiny, tedious stitches. But despite her frustration with Nan, standing and moving about—lifting the heavy bolts, then scolding Letty and Alice—had done much to ease the ache in her shoulders and lower back.

As she started on the sixth and final dart, the squeaky third step pulled her attention away from the bodice.

Mother came through the door at the base of the stairs into the workroom, Mary on her heels.

“I see you are fully recovered from your . . . bad spell this morning.” Caddy couldn’t help the waspish tone in her voice. She thanked God that Dr. Stradbroke had suggested taking his payment in trade rather than demanding cash. Caddy did not want to dip into the money she was saving for her trip to London and the Great Exhibition in May. She wanted to be able to purchase the fine fabrics, notions, and decorative items she knew would bring in more customers like the Buchanan sisters and Lady Carmichael. She had budgeted down to the ha’penny for the trip and her purchases and did not want to have to recalculate.

“I do believe that young Dr. Stradbroke is a miracle worker.” Mother beamed a suggestive smile at Caddy. “You said he would be willing to consult with me if I allow him to complete a full examination.”

“Mother . . .” At the sound of muffled giggling, Caddy glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of two very eager young faces trying to pretend they weren’t interested in the current conversation. Caddy stood, set the bodice back on the table, and escorted her mother into the fitting room, closing the door with Mary still on the other side of it. “You know we cannot afford more doctors. I just finished paying Dr. Fieldstone’s bill from the last time you truly had a bad spell. The two dresses for Lady Carmichael will bring in enough to pay the mortgage and Mary’s and Phyllis’s wages and our bill at Howell’s, with only a little left over for other necessities.”

“You said yourself that Dr. Stradbroke was willing to take his pay in trade—”

“It is not right to assume he will do so again. He, too, has bills he must pay. We cannot impose on his generosity.”

“But you have ever so many orders for gowns, with all the fine ladies of Oxford preparing to attend the Great Exhibition this summer.”

“Yes, I do—but I must purchase fabric and notions to make those gowns before I get paid for them. Please, Mother, no more unnecessary calls for a doctor.” Caddy could not tell her mother about the savings account she had at the bank—the one in which she squirreled away whatever money she had remaining at the end of each month. A day would come when Mother’s health was bad enough to require almost constant medical attention. And when that time came, Caddy did not want to end up in the poorhouse because she couldn’t pay the doctors’ bills. Nor did she want to remind her mother how short her time likely was.

Mother sighed and dropped delicately into the white brocade wingchair. “Very well. I shan’t call for Dr. Stradbroke again—unless my need is at the utmost.”

Caddy shook her head and returned to the workroom with a strong suspicion she would be seeing Dr. Stradbroke hovering over her mother once again sooner rather than later. Mother’s definition of
utmost need
didn’t always match Caddy’s.

For the next hour, Caddy concentrated on the alterations to the blue gown for Lady Carmichael. With Letty and Alice working on the green gown, she might not need to stay up all night to meet the deadline.

Nan came through the door from the shop, a hopeful gleam in her large brown eyes. “The lady for the afternoon fitting is here.”

“Are there any customers in the store?” Caddy stood and hung the blue bodice on the dress form, not looking at Nan.

“Yes, miss.”

Caddy smiled to herself over not having to remind Nan to watch her enunciation. She was getting better at doing it on her own. “Then I think you’d best stay in the store with Phyllis until all of the customers are served. I will call for you if I need assistance with the fitting.”

“Yes, miss.” Disappointment dripped from Nan’s whispered words.

She hated knowing she’d caused the child even momentary distress over not getting to do the fun part of the job in exchange for the tedium of helping to keep shop. But Nan was a bit young to be attending dress fittings.

The wife of one of the Oxford college deans sat in stately grace in the wing chair in the fitting room. Caddy pulled away the sheet covering the gold-and-russet plaid silk gown, and the woman gasped in appreciation, rising to inspect the dress closely.

“Oh, Miss Bainbridge, you have outdone yourself with this one. The sleeves—I love how full they are. And the way you used the plaid to create contrasting banding at the edges! The undersleeves, oh, they’re sheer as gossamer. And the flounces.” She lifted the top of the four tiers of the skirt. “With flounces so full, I will not need so many petticoats to hold it out.”

Caddy endured the woman’s raptures throughout the fitting, appreciative of the woman’s high esteem for her talent as a designer and a seamstress, but wishing she were more reserved in her expression of it.

“No one in London will have a gown such as this. Not even Queen Victoria.” The dean’s wife turned to look over her shoulder at the reflection of the back of the gown in the cheval glass.

“Actually, the design came from a sketch I saw last time I was in London, which is rumored to be the style Her Majesty chose for the gown she will wear to open the Great Exhibition.” Caddy frowned, not liking the way the bodice strained against the hidden row of hooks down the back. “I may need to let the waist out just a bit.”

“No—I do believe my corset laces have stretched. Tighten them and let’s see how it fits then.”

Caddy did as bidden, unhooking the straining bodice then tightening the laces. Indeed, she was able to reduce her waist a good inch or two. And when she hooked her up again, the bodice fit perfectly.

With no alterations needed—and as this was the third fitting, Caddy breathed a sigh of relief—she assisted her customer out of the gown and wrapped it in the sheet of muslin to be packaged for delivery tomorrow.

The woman’s day dress buttoned up the front, so she did not need Caddy’s help to re-dress herself. But her constant stream of conversation kept Caddy from excusing herself on the pretense of giving the woman privacy.

“And I saw the most comely man walking up the street as my carriage arrived this afternoon. Never before have I seen a man so tall or brawny in urban dress and not at hard labor in a factory or on a farm. Do you know who he is?”

Caddy’s mind instantly conjured an image of Dr. Stradbroke standing in Mother’s room, his brawny arms bare to the elbow and crossed, making the well-defined muscles bulge. “I believe you may have seen the new doctor. He has recently moved into the rooms above the apothecary’s shop.”

“He? Not he and his wife and family?”

“I do not know. I have only seen him in a professional capacity—he has attended Mother twice. I did not think to ask after his personal life.” Caddy’s stomach gave an odd little lurch at the idea that Dr. Stradbroke might be married. Not that it should matter to her anyway. A confirmed spinster at almost thirty, she had no time for courting. Besides, she’d sworn at a very young age that, no matter how dearly she’d loved her father, she’d never marry a man in a profession that kept him so much away from home. And if any profession was worse for creating absentee husbands than the clergy, it was that of the doctor.

“Well, if he is not married, he soon will be. There are far too many unmarried women in this part of Oxford for him to stay single long. And once they get sight of him, it will not matter if he takes most of his pay in trade and never has two coppers to rub together. For what is deprivation when a woman has that to look at every day?”

Caddy laughed, as she knew was expected, but she quickly ushered her customer out the door with the promise to have the gown delivered the next morning.

The last thing she needed to be thinking of was the handsome doctor. For no matter how “comely” he was or how much she enjoyed looking at him, she’d worked too long and too hard to support herself and her mother to take on the burden of supporting a husband as well.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

W
here is your cousin this afternoon?” Oliver took the teacup and saucer offered him by Edith Buchanan. He enjoyed the irritation that flashed across her face before she composed herself.

“She is up with the dressmaker. Her wardrobe was appalling when she first arrived, so I had to take her in hand and make certain she had garments in which she could be seen in public.” Edith spread her skirts—yellow flowers and green vines on an orange ground—to take up most of the settee, including covering half of his leg. If she weren’t cautious, the rumor they were intended would be spreading before the house party ended.

“Dressmaker? My mother is always on the lookout for someone who might do as well for her as the one she sees in London. Who is she?” Oliver crossed his legs, effectively freeing himself from the covering of taffeta.

“Her name is Bainbridge. She keeps a shop in North Parade. I know—it is difficult to believe I would patronize anyone from that part of town, but she is comparable in her talent to my mantua-maker in London.” Edith swept an open-palmed hand down her torso. “You can see for yourself how well she does.”

The gown, though of eye-paining fabric, did seem to be well made and stylish in design. But more important, he’d confirmed that Cadence Bainbridge was here at Wakesdown. How long would she be engaged with Edith’s cousin?

Family quarters were upstairs, in the east wing of the house, if he recalled correctly. And Miss Bainbridge would not exit via the main staircase. He was well acquainted with the servants’ passages and staircases—they made excellent shortcuts from one part of the house to another. And one never knew whom he might run into. There was one maid, a pretty blonde named Artemis or Andromeda or Athena or something equally ridiculous. . . . She’d rebuffed his advances thus far, but no woman had long been able to resist him once he turned his attention toward her.

If he could slip away, he should have no trouble running into Miss Bainbridge. However, he could not think of a reason to excuse himself from the afternoon-tea gathering, as all guests were expected to stay and socialize until the gong rang to send everyone scurrying to their rooms to change for dinner. He could not even use the excuse several others did of retiring to their rooms early to write letters—Edith knew he’d just visited home two days ago.

As she prattled on about some nonsense, Oliver scanned the room, taking in the groupings. After more than three weeks surrounded by the same people, the pairs did not surprise him.

Ah, he finally saw his escape. “I beg your pardon, Miss Buchanan, but I must speak with Doncroft and Radclyffe.” Oliver set his teacup on the low table in front of the settee, bowed, and walked away before Edith could deny him permission to leave.

“Matters progress apace with the Queen of Ice?” Doncroft asked by way of greeting.

“Where were you this morning? Miss Buchanan was quite put out that there was not an equal number of men and women in the walking party. Your absence was greatly remarked upon. I told her you were indisposed this morning due to the richness of the food last night.” Oliver glanced longingly at the decanters of spirits on the sideboard, but it would not do to partake without invitation—and in this house, the invitation came only from Sir Anthony and only after dinner.

Doncroft’s ruddy complexion darkened.

Radclyffe guffawed, then inclined his head in apology to the young lady who glared over her shoulder at him from the grouping of chairs several feet away. “Donny discovered that the chambermaid who sees to his room is quite . . . friendly with visitors.”

Doncroft cuffed the taller man’s shoulder. “You make it sound so lurid, Rad. A few kisses stolen in the stairwell, nothing more.”

“Because you or she wanted nothing more?” Oliver thought about meeting someone in the servants’ stairwell and stealing a few kisses. Someone like Miss Bainbridge would consider herself fortunate to receive the attentions of someone of his status.